The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

about them.” Old Lyman stood in the doorway, arms crossed, face frowning in disapproval. “Off with you three. Your master needs rest and privacy.” He shooed the apprentices out of the room.
    “Part dragon, indeed,” Nimbulan snorted as he dragged himself to his knees by clinging to his chair. He must have fallen off of it at some point.
    “Do you have a better explanation for surviving a lethal dose? I didn’t think you stupid enough to try those berries at all. Perhaps I should have taken you into the void to discover your past existences.” Lyman cocked his head as if listening to a voice in the far distance. Then he scratched his neck with fingers longer than normal with purple shadows on the tips.
    “Get into the privy, even if you have to crawl. Then we’ll discuss your experience.” Lyman grasped Nimbulan’s arm with the long, long fingers that looked more like talons than human digits.
     
    Myri eyed the rapidly rising waves with skepticism. Amaranth struggled in her arms to be free of the encroaching wet. She held him closer to keep him from escaping. The moon had pulled the tide to its lowest point in many weeks. A storm hovered just over the horizon, sending large erratic waves.
    If she and Televarn didn’t dawdle in crossing the slippery, broken rocks of the lowest point of the headland they might make it to the next cove unscathed.
    Might. Each time a wave rushed to the shore, a deep boom warned her of the dangers. She counted the waves, edging across the sharp rocks, one step for each wave. A ninth wave, bigger than its fellows sprayed water above their heads.
    The ninth such wave would signal the turning of the tide. They hadn’t much time.
    Amaranth mewled plaintively, burrowing his head beneath her arm. His damp tail lashed at her side.
    She risked this trip to the next cove and the Rovers only so she could consult a different healer about his bruised back. Myri had given the flywacket strict telepathic instructions to keep his wings hidden. Despite her misgivings about meeting the Rovers, she knew Amaranth needed help. He should have healed by now, with or without her aid.
    (You draw your magic from the Kardia. I need healing magic that floats in the air,) Amaranth told her again. He’d been saying that for over a moon. Myri didn’t understand what he meant.
    If she’d spent more time with her familiar, rather than in Televarn’s arms, maybe she’d know how to help him. She caressed the flywacket’s fur, feeling guilty for neglecting him. But . . .
    Why did Amaranth mistrust Televarn so? The Rover promised her everything she wanted most out of life—a home and a family, people to love and be loved by.
    Memory of Televarn’s extreme interest in Amaranth and his wings before his fall haunted her for the first time in the moon she’d been with him.
    How much of their meeting and his subsequent fall did he really remember?
    She banished the thought. I love Televarn.
    (You love his body and his tender lovemaking,) the voices in the back of her mind reminded her. They had been silent since she’d found the cave—letting her remain there for the winter. Why did they plague her now with doubts?
    “Silly cat. Hiding your head won’t keep you dry.” Televarn brushed his hand along Amaranth’s back.
    “Hssst!” Amaranth lashed at the Rover with unsheathed claws.
    “Dragon’s spawn!” Televarn raised his scratched hand to strike back.
    Myri reared back in surprise and loathing, pressing her body against a jagged outcropping. The waves continued to pound the land just below them.
    At the height of its arc, Televarn stopped his hand. He narrowed his eyes in speculation, then lowered his wrist to his mouth. He sucked on the bloody scratches a moment, never taking his eyes off Amaranth.
    “He’s in pain. Of course he’s temperamental. Watch your step, Myrilandel. That strand of wavebulb will be slippery.” A calculating smile lit his face, but not his eyes.
    Myri’s unthinking count of the waves registered eight. They needed to move or be overcome by the tide. Amaranth needed another healer. She needed to understand Televarn’s true motives. She’d never trusted her own judgment before, always relying on the guiding voices.
    I need to be strong enough to think for myself.
    Did Televarn truly long to return to his own kind for Amaranth’s sake? Or had he tricked her with his vulnerability and charm to steal her familiar?
    Those couldn’t be her own thoughts. They had be