The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

clan. You don’t have to go back to Yaassima’s brothel. You have other choices. Other men are not so selfish. Another man will give you a healthy baby. Your baby died because its father was too closely related to you. My husband didn’t father your child. Televarn did.” Myri repeated the rumors she’d overheard in her exploration of the palace. She longed to say more. The necklace reminded her that Yaassima heard every word spoken in Myri’s presence.
    “For women in Hanassa, there is no other choice. I accept Televarn’s orders or Yaassima’s, and they both want me to be the toy of any man they choose. Any other action brings death or the pit.” Maia gulped, then firmed her chin.
    “As soon as any child I bear is weaned, Televarn will take him from me, just as he took my first son from me,” Maia continued. “I thought that Nimbulan was strong enough to change things in the clan, but he deserted me. He deserted you, too. We’re both Yaassima’s whores right now. That jewelry marks you as clearly as the tattoo she put on my butt.” Angrily Maia flipped up her skirt and dropped her drawers enough to reveal the outline of a dragon drawn in blue ink spread across her left cheek. “The dragon bitch enjoyed every scream I let loose. She watched while her men did this to me, and she drooled while they did it. I couldn’t sit or lie on my back for over a week afterward.
    “Does Televarn know?” Thankfully Amaranth drifted off to sleep, little milk bubbles caressing her puckered lips. The baby wouldn’t know the horror Myri felt at the evidence of Yaassima’s continued cruelty. Some of her resentment of the Rover woman drained away. They had both been used by Televarn. They were both victims of Yaassima’s complicated plans.
    “I don’t know. He wasn’t there when they did it to me. He won’t like it if he sees it. It marks me as Yaassima’s property, not his.”
    Myri longed to reassure the woman that she would include her in the escape plans. She couldn’t promise. Kalen, Powwell, and Amaranth had to take priority.
    “Neither Televarn nor Yaassima will give up anything they possess,” Maia reminded her. “Remember that when you try to escape. They’ll kill you rather than give you up. Your children, too.”
    “What makes you think I plot escape?” Myri asked mildly, remembering that Yaassima listened.
    “Because you’re a dragon just like the Kaalipha. You have to try, and you will die in the process.”
     
    Nimbulan and Rollett wandered into a wineshop—one of a dozen or so scattered throughout Hanassa. So far they’d discovered no inns. People either slept in the cave of their sponsor or sat up all night, drinking and gambling. All of the businesses seemed to be owned by the Kaalipha and run by people loyal to her. How deep that loyalty ran, Nimbulan couldn’t tell without a great deal of money for bribes. The guards at the gate had stolen his only valuable coins.
    Perhaps they’d get a little information in this hovel built out from the back side of a large rock formation. He assumed that all life within Hanassa took its orientation from the palace which dominated the south wall of the crater. The outcropping stood between the wineshop and the palace. The gate—the only gate into or out of the city—lay on the west side of Hanassa. This place was dirtier and more decrepit than all of the other wineshops combined. The Kaalipha’s authority seemed less present, out of sight of the palace.
    The stench of unwashed bodies, spilled wine, garbage, and refuse assaulted Nimbulan’s senses. He shuddered in revulsion beneath his enveloping robes. He thought he’d become inured to the filth in the city. This shop was worse, much worse, than he’d thought. Information might come cheaper here.
    Rollett loosened his belt knife. His eyes shifted restlessly in the gloom. Instinctively he stepped behind Nimbulan, guarding his back.
    No one seemed to notice their entry. Strangers must not be that unusual here. Nimbulan sat down on a backless stool, the only empty one, near the center of the four-table room. One leg was shorter than the others and he teetered precariously, grabbing the table for balance. The crude planks wobbled when he braced his weight. Five cups of wine already on the table sloshed onto the stained and scarred surface.
    Rollett remained standing, wary and alert. Nimbulan had never fully appreciated the young man’s ability to observe and absorb detail until now. By the