The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

wings for a launch. The dragonet tilted dangerously forward, nearly brushing his nose against a prickly rosebush.
    Jack dashed forward to make sure the dragonet didn’t bump his muzzle and sensitive horn bud—again—when he crashed into the paving.
    At the last minute, Amaranth got enough air under his wings and cleared the courtyard by a talon length. Moments later he disappeared into the air, one more silvery distortion of light on this bright spring day.
    “Tonight, my love. I’ll do the spell tonight. Trust me, everything will be all right. Then we’ll go home to SeLenicca.” Jack promised.
    “I trusted you with my life when all of SeLenicca conspired against me,” she replied, looking at her threads rather than him.
    “Tomorrow we will wed.” He kissed her again, cherishing the warmth of her body in his arms. “Trust me. We will be happy together. I’ll never hurt you. Ever.”

Chapter 12
     
    V areena opened the sagging gates of the monastery. She must remember to send Yeenos with a work party to repair the hinges.
    The villagers grumbled about the extra—and to them unnecessary—work of keeping the old site in good repair. Some, led by Yeenos himself, had refused outright when she’d requested repairs to the broken gutters last moon. She wondered how many more times she could command them.
    If the orders had come from Lord Laislac, they would obey without question. But since they came from her, a spinster no man wanted, they questioned their duty constantly.
    Did her mother and grandmother have the same trouble with recalcitrant villagers?
    What she really needed right now was a bolt of lightning, judiciously aimed at a few reluctant backsides.
    Instead, she had two new ghosts to cater to, just when she thought she’d get a rest from her duties and a chance to escape.
    The silver-and-amethyst amulet weighed heavily against her neck. It seemed to taunt her with broken promises of freedom; from her duties, from the scorn of the villagers, from her brothers.
    She kept the amulet hidden beneath her shift lest her family steal it from her.
    Early sunshine barely penetrated to the monastery courtyard through the ever-present haze. The mist seemed thicker today. “Good morning!” she called cheerfully. In all this haze she’d not see her ghosts easily. They’d have to come to her today. With direct light or within the building, she could see them quite easily as misty outlines with hints of color in their clothing. Hair and eye color tended to bleach out with only vague suggestions of fair or dark. Out here, with the light scattering in all directions and lingering nowhere, even those brief hints of their presence evaporated.
    If she couldn’t see them, could she pretend they did not exist and make her escape to the promised acres in Nunio?
    No. These two new ghosts had only recently passed into their amorphous existence. They needed her.
    She took a moment to stand beside the fresh grave among the foundation stones of the original temple in the southeast corner. When the magicians and priests abandoned this place, they had dismantled the house of worship to prevent desecration. “Stargods, watch over your servant Farrell as he passes to his next existence. Guide him with your wisdom. And grant his family peace in accepting his death though they have heard nothing from him in over two years.”
    Silence hung so heavy in this corner that she wondered if her prayer had escaped any better than any of her ghosts.
    Prayers complete, she searched for traces of Marcus’ magician-blue tunic, trews, and sash. She suspected the color matched his eyes exactly. Robb on the other hand, with dark, hooded eyes that brooded mysteriously, favored black for all but his identifying tunic and cloak.
    She worried about him. He hadn’t accepted his transition to ghosthood with Marcus’ good humor and optimism.
    “Over here, Vareena,” Marcus called to her.
    Without seeing him, she sensed the smile behind his voice. Her own lips curved upward in response. He told wonderfully funny accounts of their journeys. He made her laugh when her life seemed so hopeless. She searched the curtain wall on the other side of the gatehouse tower for signs of his vague outline.
    “No, I’m over here by the well,” Marcus called again.
    Vareena turned toward the stone circle that enclosed the pool of water. It had once provided for over one hundred men. Now it served only two. She trusted Marcus to direct her correctly.