The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

consciousness from the drugs Erda gave her—still gave her—and the concussion she had suffered during Televarn’s kidnap.
    (Who will guard you and the babe? I don’t want to leave,) Amaranth replied even as he flew higher.
    North. Fly north until you find my husband. Her shoulders hunched and her arms spread slightly as if she could catch the wind and fly with Amaranth.
    She could sprout wings and fly with him to freedom—ending forever Kaalipha Yaassima’s enslavement of her.
    What if she couldn’t transform back into her human body once she took dragon form? Her tiny baby, barely three weeks old, depended upon her for life and nurturing. Powwell and Kalen were also captive. She couldn’t leave them behind in this city of cutthroats and thieves. She didn’t dare escape—yet.
    For the moment she and her children lived. She could extend her thoughts and cares beyond the immediate circle of her daily routine.
    She had to warn Nimbulan of Televarn’s treachery before Yaassima returned to the suite and prevented Amaranth’s escape. Myri hated the decadent opulence of the rooms she shared with Yaassima. She might have rich food, lovely clothing, and comfortable furnishings, but it was a prison nonetheless. Nor did the two separate bedrooms with a large common room between offer the privacy and solitude Myri craved. Someone, a guard or a maid, always hovered nearby.
    She hadn’t been allowed outside the suite since that horrible day Televarn had kidnapped her and brought her to Hanassa. The baby had been born the day she arrived.
    How long had Televarn kept her mind blank while they traveled here? How long had her husband suffered, not knowing her fate?
    If only the silver cord of magic still connected her heart to his, she would know if he lived.
    Myri turned her attention outward again. She established contact with Amaranth’s mind. A sense of free soaring overtook her. A cold wind blasted Amaranth’s face and lifted his wings. Freedom!
    Through her familiar’s eyes she saw the wide curve of the Great Bay, the mudflats on the western shores, and the braided delta of islands that made up the growing capital city.
    Almost there. Quickly, Amaranth. Yaassima comes.
    Her breath shortened in anticipation. Within a few heartbeats she would see the beloved face of her husband. “Nimbulan,” she whispered. “How I miss you, husband. What made you stay away so long?”
    Deep within her mind, she heard Amaranth cry out. He’d spotted the palace where King Quinnault lived. New construction gave the ancient keep an untidy look. She didn’t dwell on the changes that had occurred in the last three seasons. The island next to the palace was her destination; the island where a vast pool of magical ley lines slept, hidden beneath compacted mud and silt. She honed in on the quiescent power in the pool.
    She directed Amaranth’s vision in an anxious search for the man who had given her love and trust and a child when no other could.
    Together, she and her familiar picked out the window of the room in the ancient monastery, now the School for Magicians, where Nimbulan slept. She had shared the room with him for a few precious days before her exile from Coronnan. Her baby had been conceived there. Conceived in love.
    And now the baby’s father didn’t even know she existed. Myri had never told him, waiting for him to come to her so that she could relay the joyous news to his face. She had waited impatiently for him to come, always hoping that tomorrow . . . Neither she nor Powwell nor Kalen had perfected the summons spell. The road between the capital and her clearing was still too dangerous to trust a messenger to get through.
    Pain stabbed her neck and chest, hot and fierce. Amaranth had been stabbed! He faltered from the wound. Myri’s inner vision darkened as the pain swelled to encompass her entire being. Amaranth’s agony pulled her mind deeper into his pain. Each heartbeat spread the burning acid through his veins.
    Poison. Magic poison pierced them. His pain became hers. A deep wound beneath his left wing, perilously close to his heart, made him falter and lose altitude.
    Myri clutched the baby to her breast. The warmth of the tiny body anchored her to the reality of her physical existence. The familiar pressure of milk swelling in her breasts kept her from following Amaranth deeper and deeper into paralysis.
    Voices in the corridor warned of Yaassima’s approach. Abruptly the pain ceased. Myri’s vision