The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

to the danger point. They may never recover enough to feed the dragons. Dragons are more necessary to your peace than a precipitous marriage just to get an heir.”
    “My wife’s father assured me they will spread their harvest across all of Coronnan and take the leaves in two batches so they don’t endanger any of the trees. Besides, Shayla personally approved of our marriage.”
    “Shayla?” Myri asked. “She left us in a hurry before she could carry us to safety. Did she come here? She wouldn’t respond to my call afterward.”
    “I faced your dragon at dawn.” Maarie Kaathliin shuddered and finally ceased her tapping. “Then she flew off. We haven’t seen her since.”
    “I had a message from your dragon, sister. You are not to worry, she will be with you after she rests from her . . . er . . exertions.” Quinnault flicked a shy glance to the bed.
    “Oh!” Myri clasped a hand over her mouth. Then she cocked her head as if listening, a sure sign that the dragons spoke to her and her alone. “No wonder Shayla ignored me. Only two of my brothers, barely half-grown dragons, could be spared to fly us home. All of the adults were—engaged. Congratulations, brother. You’ll be a father by the Autumnal Equinox.”
    “Really?” the queen stepped closer to Myri, hands pressed against her belly as if seeking confirmation.
    “You still haven’t told me what kind of illegal magic your wife’s people intend to work with the Tambootie. I can’t believe the dragons would willingly give up so much of their necessary food supply.”’
    “Not magic,” the queen said, clutching her husband’s arm. Her voice carried a note of desperation that made Nimbulan want to believe her. “My people need the Tambootie for medicine. A plague threatens our very existence and the leaves of the Tambootie provide the only cure.”
    “Why should we give this valuable drug to your people? We might need it later ourselves. Plagues travel wide and unpredictably. Your very presence could infect us all,” Nimbulan said.
    “This plague will not attack you. I guarantee that.” Maarie Kaathliin stood straight and defiant. Her small face suddenly looked much older and jaded than Nimbulan first thought. “As long as we keep the machines out of Kardia Hodos, the plague has nothing to feed on.”
    Quinnault draped an arm about her shoulders and pulled her close. His gesture clearly signified that they belonged together. The top of her head barely reached his armpit. Granted the king was tall compared to the majority of his people. But a woman’s average height was closer to that of the average male. Maarie Kaathliin’s head should reach the king’s chin, at least.
    “How can you guarantee that a plague will not come to us in a trade ship, or on the back of a steed wandering in from SeLenicca, or on the khamsin wind from Rossemeyer? How can we trust you when you say you come from a land that no longer exists?”
    “She didn’t say she came from Terrania. I did,” Quinnault said. Then he turned to face his wife, hands on her shoulders “Why did you confirm the idea I pulled out of the air?”
    “There has been a misunderstanding of my origins. I hail from Terra, not Terrania.”
    “Terra is not a land I have heard of. Why would you claim she hailed from a barren land that has not been inhabited for many hundreds of years?” Nimbulan searched Quinnault’s face for signs of the lie he knew must come.
    “Because she is a Varn. Her father is a Varn. Her grandfather is emperor of the Varns. Try telling my Council that and make them believe it.”
    “No one living has ever seen a Varn. Legends. They always appear a hundred years ago. Never now. And they never reveal their true form.”
    “Because we cannot allow you to learn our secrets. You would destroy yourselves and create the same environment that breeds our plague before you realized the dangers of our technologies,” the queen insisted.
    “Machines? You do everything with machines?” Yaala tugged at the queen’s sleeve. Her passion for her machines was written all over her face. “Can you help me repair my machines? Can you make Old Bertha live again?”
    “Old Bertha?” Both Quinnault and his bride stared at Yaala.
    “The largest of my machines, the key to a network of littler generators and transformers that powered the lights and gadgets that imitate magic.”
    “Bertha was the name of one of my ancestors. A strong-willed woman who never married, took