The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

her key while her fingers sought a sensitive place at the top of the crack.
    In another portion of the factory, the sound of a door being thrust open with violence startled her. The vibrations from the wooden panels shattering against the wall traveled all the way up to the top floor. Katrina’s feet tingled as the entire building shook.
    A few more moments of privacy and she would know if the precious shawl had been made with Tambrin, or if Jack and King Simeon sought a different piece.
    Heavy boots pounded upon the first flight of steps to the dormitory level. She almost didn’t hear the click of the hidden lock over the noise.
    Brunix would be anxious to claim her when he returned, but surely his large boots wouldn’t make that much noise in his own factory.
    The panel swung open. Glimmering lace spilled out. Reel after reel of precious white lace, ivory lace, and ecru. Slender insertions, square mats, round doilies, fans and flounces as wide as her spread fingers.
    A fortune spilled out of the cavity. All of it made of Tambrin. Enough to hang the owner who cached the forbidden treasure.
    The footsteps slowed as the stairs steepened between the dormitory and the workroom. A few screams from startled lacemakers rose through the flooring.
    Hastily, Katrina fumbled through the vast mound of lace seeking the familiar texture of her mother’s shawl with her fingertips. At the back of the safe, beneath a stack of fans she found it. Sensitized by years of thread work, she knew without looking that the shawl had Tambrin spun with the silk. Both fibers were so fine they had blended together, neither distinguished from the other unless examined closely by an expert.
    A particular creak indicated someone had left the workroom and now sought the top floor of the factory.
    Katrina bundled the spilled lace and shoved it into the cavity. There was so much of it, she couldn’t hold it all in place while she closed the panel.
    The lock on the outer door rattled. A fist hit the immovable panels.
    Heedless of damaging dirt and tangles she crammed the reels together, held them in place with her foot while she closed the panel.
    An alien foot slammed against the locked door.
    The secret panel clicked closed.
    She returned the long pin to its customary place within one of her plaits.
    The door to the apartment crashed to the floor. Six palace guards crowded the landing.
    Katrina backed up, hiding with her skirts the telltale tendril of shimmering white filigree peeping from the crack in the wall.
    “Restrain her,” the slender man who had searched the warehouse last night ordered.
    Fear robbed Katrina of speech and will. Two men, much taller than the magician in charge, stepped toward her. The manacles looked puny dangling in the massive paw of the broadest of the guards.
    At the last moment she stepped back, coming up against the wall abruptly.
    “Owner Neeles Brunix holds me in slavery. You must have his authority to—”
    “Owner Neeles Brunix is dead,” the magician interrupted. “Murdered by one of his outland kin. At least we presume the night watchman in his employ is kin,” he dismissed her protest. The magician’s gleeful grin killed whatever hope Katrina might have had. “You belong to King Simeon now. Or the coven. Take your choice, Slave Kaantille.”
    “Brunix is dead?” Katrina didn’t know what else to say, wishing only to stall. She had no doubt Jack had a good reason for committing murder. Like preserving his own life. But he was too smart, too powerful a magician to be caught so easily. Unless he didn’t do it. Unless . . .
    The cold iron of the manacle slapping her wrists drained the blood from her head and the strength from her knees. White spots appeared before her eyes, as cold sweat broke out on her back.
    All these years of keeping Brunix at bay, of avoiding Simeon and his evil rituals were for naught. The Solstice was mere weeks away.
    What will Simeon do to me when he finds out I’m no longer a virgin?
    “Yes, Brunix is dead. I made certain of it when I twisted the knife before removing and cleaning it,” the magician gloated as if he had committed the murder himself. “Now where is the shawl, Slave Kaantille?”
    “What shawl?” she asked. Her eyes darted to the just completed piece on her pillow. Never would she betray to anyone but Jack the hoard of lace inside the wall.
    “This shawl.” The magician lifted the lace gingerly between two fingers, as if afraid of being contaminated