The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

one dared probe it lest they be drawn into the statue as well.
    As Rejiia toured Hanassa, she levitated the tin weasel behind her in a subservient position, much as Krej had done to her in her youth. Lanciar knew how much humiliation she had suffered under her father. Now she took her revenge.
    But she needed Krej animate to fill in the missing ranks of the dispersing coven. Lanciar could stand in only one corner of the eight-pointed ritual star. He was supposed to be anchoring that corner in SeLenicca rather than here, searching for his son.
    He no longer trusted Rejiia or any of the other members of the coven. He’d rather work as a solitary magician than ever work magic with Rejiia again.
    Lanciar kept his face buried in his mug, pretending to be just another mercenary waiting for a war to break out until Rejiia passed. She shouldn’t recognize him with a full beard. He’d added layers of dirt to his hands and clothing to complete his disguise.
    The tilt of her head, the sway of her hips, the way her black hair with a single white streak at her left temple fell in enticing waves, curling around her breasts, triggered memories of better times with her. Lanciar felt a stir of his old lust. Pregnancy and childbirth had filled out her breasts and hips without detracting from her long legs and slender waist. She ran long, elegant fingers through the white streak in her flowing mame. The eyes of every man in the vicinity followed the path of those fingers.
    She didn’t need a staff to focus her magic. She had other tools.
    Lanciar’s heart ached to hold her one more time. He had loved her once. But then she had tried to pass their infant son off as King Simeon’s bastard, possible blood heir to all three kingdoms on this continent. When she discovered that Simeon had been half brother to her father, Lord Krej, she had tried to tell the world that the brat died at birth.
    Lanciar knew she lied. Lied more easily than she told the truth.
    He hardened his heart against her, likening her to the empty mug in his hand.
    Rejiia looked his way.
    He raised the mug as if taking a long pull on the sour brew to hide his face from her view. He automatically armored his aura and magical signature and buried them deep inside his gut.
    Rejiia and her entourage of magicians passed him by without a second glance. He saw no nannies or servants carrying her infant son. Where had she stashed the boy? Certainly not in the bottom of his mug where he looked for answers.
    When he lifted his gaze once more, he noticed that Krej had dropped into the dust. The statue remained stubbornly still. Had the spirit of the man revived enough to try to defy Rejiia? Lanciar smiled at the thought of the inevitable battle of wills that would ensue.
    A moment later, Rejiia paused and scowled at the statue. She sighed heavily and snapped her fingers. The statue rose a hand’s span above the dirt and floated behind her once more.
    How long before Rejiia turned her full attention to reversing the spell? Krej’s magic would give the coven a seventh magician—if Lanciar decided to remain one of them. They needed nine.
    She probably would not attempt to revive Krej until she was ready to depose Darville of Coronnan and claim the Coraurlia—the magnificent dragon crown made of precious glass—for herself.
    Then she’d set up Lanciar’s son as her heir.
    Not as long as Lanciar lived. He planned on keeping his boy safe from the machinations of the coven.
    He decided to search Rejiia’s quarters in the palace while she paraded around the city causing misery.
    Rejiia’s not-so-dainty footprints showed clearly when he allowed his eyes to cross slightly. She carelessly left her magical signature of deep black and blood red in each of her footsteps. Easy enough to retrace her path. He placed his own foot atop her prints, allowing her magical signature to mask his own.
    One hundred steps, and he faced the gaping cave mouth that served as entrance to the palace of Hanassa. A lazy guard propped up the wall while he cleaned his fingernails with his dagger.
    He took one more step toward the cave mouth and halted in mid-stride. A band of Rover men emerged from the palace. Their leader, a middle-aged man with distinguished wings of gray in his thick black hair, followed the same footsteps Lanciar traced—but in reverse. The Rovers trailed Rejiia. Why? Up to mischief certainly.
    Their leader grinned widely. Sunlight glinted off his teeth, his eyes twinkled and years