The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

conditions are not perfect, they will wait longer, much longer. They choose their consorts from among the males they can tolerate dealing with day after day. And they never mate while still suckling their young. I will not allow you to control me, Yaassima. Seek your sport with another.”
    “Your foster daughter is willing.”
    “Kalen is barely eleven summers. She doesn’t know what she offers.”
    Some of the guards shuffled their feet a little. Myri sensed their embarrassment. Elite assassins they might be, but they maintained their own rough code of honor among themselves. Raping young girls violated even their code.
    “I think the child knows precisely what she risks.” Yaassima narrowed her slightly uptilted eyes. An extra lid fluttered down, obscuring the pupil from external view while she looked out on the world from a different perspective. Myri didn’t have that extra dragon eyelid. Her body hadn’t been born dragon—merely borrowed by a dragon. The dragon personality had forced the body to exhibit some draconic characteristics, but not all. Her spinal bumps were barely noticeable compared to Yaassima’s.
    “Kalen has been Televarn’s hostage for over three weeks now,” Yaassima said. “He always samples his female slaves before selling them to traders in SeLenicca within a few weeks of capture. But only after he tires of them. He likes training young girls for life in the brothels. The male slaves, he sells to the mines. But he has not sold this girl, nor her foster brother. Why? What sport do they offer him?”
    “Televarn captured hostages, not slaves, when he laid a trap for us among my villagers,” Myri replied. “He hoped I would come to his bed willingly in return for their freedom. You thwarted his plans by claiming kinship with me.”
    Myri closed her eyes briefly, trying to banish the images of the nightmarish day when Televarn had burned an entire village, murdering those who stood between him and Myrilandel.
    Yaassima threw back her head and laughed long and loud. The sound rose in pitch and shrillness, echoing around the Justice Hall. Myri was reminded of the deafening sounds made by dragons when they communicated among themselves.
    “Your defiance speaks well of your ability to lead the ungovernable filth who inhabit this city,” Yaassima said when she gained control of her mirth. “You must be strong of will and ruthless of action to remain alive. I will find another, more willing, victim for my men tonight. Kestra, I think, since she was willing to break my rules to have a man inside her.” She waved her hand and the ceiling panels dimmed. The flickering shadows of the torchlight replaced the too bright directionless glare.
    The band of guards visibly relaxed. One of the black-clad men slipped out, presumably to fetch the woman.
    Stiffly, Myri turned to leave. Wariness overshadowed any sense of relief.
    “Tell me, Myrilandel,” Yaassima called to her. “Do you reject these men because you loathe them specifically or do you prefer the touch of women?”
    Myri froze in her tracks. Truth had served her well so far on this dangerous night. Would it be strong enough to continue to defend her?
    She looked over her shoulder at the tall woman with white-blond hair and unnaturally long fingers and toes. Her instincts told her to find safety in a high dark place, become invisible and slip away unnoticed. Alone.
    She couldn’t. Baby Amaranth, Kalen, and Powwell all depended upon her.
    The sense of belonging to her children banished her lingering thoughts of becoming a dragon. She wasn’t a solitary creature anymore and she never would be again.
    (Nimbulan must be part of the circle.)
    A dragon thought? She hadn’t heard the guiding voices in her head since the kidnap. Why now? She didn’t have time for questions, only relief that the dragons hadn’t completely deserted her.
    “No dragon would ask that question, Yaassima. Mating is for the purpose of begetting young. The rest of their lives are solitary, without thought of another of their kind. Why waste the effort of a mating flight on a fruitless passion?”
    “Yet Moncriith tells an interesting story of how you murdered his father when you caught him in the arms of your guardian, Magretha. Why would you kill the man with witchfire and permanently disfigure Magretha if not out of jealous rage? You were eleven at the time, the same age as Kalen.” Yaassima raised one eyebrow. The gesture often replaced a laugh or a