The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

matter his age or responsibilities in the capital.
    Jaanus, the journeyman who had been dispatched on the search for Myri didn’t know how to look for the elusive witchwoman. Only Nimbulan could find her. He was sure of that now.
    “You must see a healer before you begin reorganizing the world, Quinnault. Coronnan can’t afford for you to be laid low by some hidden injury that flares up later.”
    “I’m glad I made you my chief adviser, Nimbulan. I can’t envision governing without you at my side. Why don’t you move your quarters into the palace where you are close at hand?”
    And under the king’s constant eye.
    Nimbulan sighed, wondering if he’d have to risk losing the king’s friendship and trust by running away. The Commune’s influence in the new government had been based upon Nimbulan’s relationship with Quinnault.
    Surely the new king wouldn’t remove the Commune from advisory positions because he was angry with Nimbulan. Quinnault was fairer minded than that. Several of the lords on the Council weren’t so generous. Konnaught led a faction that preferred the old way of ruling where personal privilege of the lords was more important than the welfare of the country.
    Nimbulan shuddered in memory of the chaos that had run rampant through Coronnan when Konnaught’s father had proclaimed himself king.
    The ties keeping him in Coronnan were almost as strong as the ties that pulled him to search for Myri.

Chapter 11
     
    T he Kaalipha and her guard stared at Myri from a frozen tableau. The flaring torches and uncanny yellow ceiling panel lights cast conflicting shadows around the room. An aura of evil followed the shadows.
    “Promise me, Kalen, that if Yaassima kills me, you will care for Amaranth. You will keep her from the clutches of the Kaalipha. And if—no, when —you escape, you will keep her away from Moncriith and Televarn. Guard her with your life.” Myri clutched at her daughter’s sleeve. Her long fingers wound around the girl’s thin arm, clenching with a grip as tight as the one Yaassima had used on Golin.
    “Let me take your place, Myri. They won’t kill me.” Kalen looked up at Myri with her wide gray eyes, all innocent and trusting.
    Behind the familiar mask of näïvete’ lurked cold calculation. Myri wondered when in the last three weeks Kalen had lost what remained of her innocence. What went on in Televarn’s slave pens? Had her virginity been stolen, too? She feared so and grieved that her daughter hadn’t had the opportunity to learn joy in sex at an Equinox Festival.
    Too early Kalen had figured out that every adult in her life used her—and her talent—for their own benefit. She used her mask of childish trust as a blind while she thrust her own will upon those around her. Myri doubted she had ever been innocent and trusting.
    Myri addressed her adversary rather than her daughter. “No, Kalen. This is not about sex or punishment. It is about control. Yaassima cannot control my love for Nimbulan, so she seeks to destroy it by making me feel soiled and unworthy. If I allowed you to take my place, I would feel even more worthless. I refuse to be manipulated by her.”
    Yaassima maintained her steady gaze at Myri, saying nothing. A malicious smile crooked one corner of her mouth upward. Her eyes showed no trace of amusement. The manacles lay between them in mute challenge to both their wills.
    “But in raping me, or watching you, Kalen, become her victim, my sense of self-worth would shatter. That is not in her plans. She no longer has an heir of her body, and so she seeks one who bears dragon blood to rule this city when she is gone. Dragons are long-lived, but they do die. Sometimes they are killed. Amaranth and I are her only possible heirs. I do not think she will live long enough to see my baby grown and ready to assume the title of Kaalipha. She is older than she looks. She has many enemies who lust for her power, including Televarn and Moncriith.” Myri didn’t drop her gaze from Yaassima.
    “Your logic is very good, Myrilandel, but not perfect,” Yaassima said. “Have you forgotten that dragons always mate with three or more consorts? The more fathers, the larger and stronger the litter. I should think you ready to welcome the attentions of these men.” She gestured to the incorruptible guards who watched the battle of wills between Myri and Yaassima. None of them had left to fetch the women.
    “Dragons can only mate once every two years. If