The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

there!” the steward protested.
    “I must. The kingdom is in dire danger.” A new voice. One he hadn’t heard in several days. Hoped not to hear again until he had some answers. Nimbulan.
    “Open the door, Your Grace!” Fierce pounding followed the magician’s words.
    “Gently, Lan. We need calm and wisdom now,” a feminine voice soothed. A voice he barely recognized. But only one person alive used Nimbulan’s childhood nickname. A woman who had no business being in Coronnan at all.
    His exiled sister, Myrilandel.
    Nimbulan had broken the law by bring the witchwoman back to the capital. He’d been implicated in attempted murder and conspiracy. He’d deserted Quinnault when the king needed his advice.
    The door nearly buckled under fierce pounding.
    “Wait a minute, Nimbulan,” Quinnault yelled back angrily. He reached for his robe. “Katie?”
    She didn’t answer.
    “Katie?” he asked a little louder.
    “Just a minute, Scarecrow. I’m . . . um . . . busy.” Her voice came from his dressing room. Not hers. Not the water closet.
    “ S’murghit, Katie what are you doing?” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
    “This won’t wait!” Nimbulan replied as the cross bar on the door flew across the room, toward the shuttered window. The door crashed to the floor. Light spilled into the room from the corridor revealing Katie leaning over a strange black box no bigger than her tiny palm, tapping a code into the bizarre apparatus.

Chapter 37
     
    T he door to Quinnault’s private chambers, in the center of the old keep, had landed on the stone floor with a resounding thunk . Nimbulan stared at the offending barrier with a glimmer of satisfaction. Some of his frustration echoed down the spiral staircase with the collapsing door.
    Some. Not all.
    The entire day had been one thwarted plan after another, followed by a series of long delays. Seannin and Tssonin had been the engineers of many stops along the journey to the capital. Granted, they were young dragons, unused to carrying the heavy load of six adults. Granted, they had all needed a bath and meal while the dragons rested. Granted, Nimbulan had benefited from an aerial view of King Lorriin’s troops hidden in the mountain pass near the border city of Sambol.
    But each stop and detour had pushed them past the time when Quinnault would wed the false princess from a nonexistent country. Now he had arrived too late to prevent the marriage, or the consummation of that marriage.
    He needed to smash something. The door hadn’t been enough.
    “What is the meaning of this?” Quinnault asked in outraged tones. His gaze flicked back and forth between Nimbulan and the princess—queen now—crouched over a strange black box.
    “That looks like one of my ’motes.” Yaala pushed past Nimbulan and crossed the room to the other woman in six long strides.
    “ ’Motes?” Quinnault and his bride asked in unison.
    “Yeah, they turn ’tricity on and off. The Kaalipha uses— used—them all of the time,” Yaala said with unusual enthusiasm. She hadn’t shown so much animation since Powwell had sabotaged the monstrous machines that powered Hanassa.
    “ ’Motes and ’tricity . . .” Queen Maarie Kaathliin murmured. “Remotes and electricity!” Her eyes brightened. “You have generators and remote controls? That’s impossible. The family covenant forbids technology on Kardia Hodos.”
    “If that was indeed what the Kaalipha of Hanassa possessed, they work no longer,” Nimbulan reminded them. He didn’t understand what the queen talked about. Maybe he could use her arcane knowledge to discredit her and end this marriage. “What were you doing, Your Grace?” He pointed at the black box.
    “This is none of your concern, Nimbulan,” Quinnault said sternly. His kingly dignity was severely impaired as he flipped the sheets back across his lap. “But there are several questionable matters that you need to answer for.” He stretched for a dressing gown, just beyond his reach on a nearby chair, while trying to keep himself covered.
    Beside Nimbulan, just inside the doorway, Myri sucked in her cheeks to keep from giggling.
    “The security of this kingdom is my concern, Your Grace,” Nimbulan said, trying very hard not to yell at his king. “I have reason to believe that your bride is a spy planted here by your enemies.”
    “This breech of . . . um . . . protocol is almost enough for me to label treason, Magician Nimbulan. On top of the