The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

to Coronnan would be caught dead with a large hoop earring piercing his left ear and a belt full of dangling coins from many countries.
    “You don’t know me. Surely every beautiful woman in these parts knows Televarn, by reputation if not in fact.” He swept his hat off and held it across his heart. Every movement he made showed an enticing ripple of muscle beneath his shirt and trews. His limbs perfectly balanced the proportions of his torso. He moved with an easy grace. Even when standing still, he seemed about to step into a beautiful dance.
    She wanted simply to stare at him.
    Her fingers felt incomplete. She needed to reach out and caress his marvelous face, feel the smooth movement of his muscles beneath his flawless skin in order to become whole.
    (He knows not how to tell the truth if a lie is more interesting.) Amaranth’s voice broke through her mental fog.
    No memory of this man stirred in her. Not unusual. Most of her memories of recent months had fled. An ache of loneliness formed in the center of her chest. If she had ever known this beautiful man, she didn’t remember.
    Distrust replaced the lonely ache. Only Amaranth remained a constant in her life and her memory. She trusted only Amaranth.
    “Where did you come from, Master Televarn?” Myri stepped forward to stand between Amaranth and the stranger.
    “The cove beyond that headland.” He pointed over his shoulder, never taking his sight away from her. Every movement he made compelled her to watch him. “We always winter there.”
    “We?” she squeaked. “How many?” Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Thoughts of spending the winter in her own snug cave halfway up the cliff vanished. A tribe of Rovers so close. . . . Her lungs labored at the thought of so many people invading her privacy. They would demand cures for endless small ailments. Her talent would compel her to help them time and time again until one of them met with a fatal accident or died of old age, or a disease she couldn’t cure. Then they’d accuse her of murder and threaten her until she was forced to flee for her own life.
    The pattern of life for witchwomen was always the same. Over the years, she and Magretha had met many such women, always on the move. “The next village will be kinder,” they said. “If not that village, then the next one beyond that.” Rarely did any of them spend more than a few seasons in each village.
    She and Magretha had lingered in their last village for nearly two years. Two years of goodwill and mutual dependence before the villagers turned on her.
    “Only my family winters in a cave in the next cove. A dozen or so.” Televarn flicked his fingers in dismissal of the paltry number. “May I see your pet’s injuries, witchwoman?” He stepped closer. His legs were long enough and strong enough to bring him dangerously close in three strides. His aura glowed with warm charm.
    “Why do you call me that?” Suspicion flared within her. He was too beautiful. She remained where she stood, protecting Amaranth. She fluffed her skirts nervously, hoping the inquisitive flywacket would remain out of sight until he hid his wing.
    “Who else keeps a flywacket familiar. Both of you seem to be faded from view, or blending with the morning shadows. Is something wrong, witchwoman?”
    “I think you are mistaken. My cat is just a cat. He was curious and became entangled in a fishnet. Your net, perhaps?” A quick glance confirmed that Amaranth had his bruised wing safely folded beneath its protective fold of skin.
    “Only old women and untried boys use nets. I have skills that charm fish onto my hooks and I reel them in by the dozen. Is he truly only a cat?” He stepped closer again.
    “Stay where you are.” She erected a little armor around herself and Amaranth.
    “A witchwoman’s duties include providing relief from all sorts of ills. I have an itch that needs to be scratched.” He touched his crotch suggestively.
    “Only a witchwoman of little power buys the loyalty of men with her body.” She fought her instinct to run. Amaranth was still too tired and sore to follow.
    “But I love all women. How could I betray any one of them?” Televarn held his hands out away from his body as if reassuring her he carried no snares or hidden weapons.
    “Your women will always be jealous of your whores. They will poison the minds of other men against one they fear or dislike. Their whispers will make her a witch even though she isn’t one.