The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

seek,” he murmured in a singsong. His talent flew along the path of his chant through the glass into the flame. In his mind he watched a tiny flamelet jump from the candle, fly along the desk, drop to the floor and travel along the carpet without igniting the fibers.
    King Darville watched the candle, oblivious to the movement of the ghostly flame. It traveled to Mikka’s gown, across her lap, and out the closed window in the space of three heartbeats. The queen shifted position restlessly three times during that brief moment. Her own magical talent might make her aware of the spell, but she couldn’t participate.
    Jack breathed easily again when the flame passed onto the roof of the wing below the study tower. In his mind he followed the tiny spark on its journey far to the south. It gained speed as it traversed the land, uphill, jumping rivers and creeks, through forests, over pastures and plowed fields. At last, it found a nameless little village perched on a cliff above a treacherous cove. It paused a moment as if catching a breath near the triple festival pylon, still decorated with flowers, new foliage, and grasses from the spring celebrations. Then off again, steeply uphill along a narrow but well-trodden path. At the boulder split by a tree, the path seemed to pass to the left. Jack’s mind and the flamelet pressed to the right. He saw the iridescent shimmer of the magical barrier that protected Brevelan’s Clearing. No human could pass through this barrier without Brevelan’s or Jaylor’s express wish. But the flame did not live, and Jack’s body remained in Coronnan City.
    A sudden thrumming in Jack’s mind told him the flame had found a piece of glass and sent a signal to the owner that a summons awaited. The vibration of the signal set Jack’s teeth on edge. It had set his fingers twitching before a second flame appeared in his glass. Then Jaylor’s familiar face emerged, as close and clear as if he sat on the opposite side of the desk.
    “What?” Jaylor asked abruptly. His gaze wandered to his left and stayed there. Worry shadowed his eyes and drew his mouth into a deep frown. His beard looked untrimmed, and his hair had pulled loose from his queue restraint.
    “Jaylor, I have a solution and need help. Shayla has agreed to meet us with the twin purple-tips on Sacred Isle tonight,” Jack replied. Jaylor’s distraction worried him. The Senior Magician of the Commune did not allow his students anything but full concentration on any spell and taught by example.
    “Not tonight. No time.” Jaylor raised his hand in the time-honored signal that he closed the communication.
    “But it has to be tonight!” Otherwise Katrina might find another excuse to delay their wedding.
    Otherwise Ariiell and Laislac might find a way to grab the position of heir to the throne.
    “Not tonight. Brevelan is in labor. It’s not going well. I can’t leave her, and I won’t delegate this chore.”
    “What’s wrong?” Darville asked. “Tell him we can go to the Clearing instead of to Sacred Isle. Tell him about the eavesdroppers. Tell him that Mikka . . .”
    “Do you want to do this?” Jack looked at his king, slightly exasperated.
    “You know I can’t. Tell him . . .”
    “Jaylor, we can come to the Clearing. I can transport Their Graces and Katrina and myself.”
    “Not tonight!” Jaylor nearly screamed. Then he took a deep breath, composing himself. “Give us three days to recover from the birth. Then we will meet you in Shayla’s lair. All of us.” He ended the summons abruptly.
    “I’d better tell Katrina she has a three-day reprieve,” Jack murmured sadly. Three days for her to think up new excuses for delay.
    Suddenly, he knew she did not need the three days to find an excuse. She’d make one of her own today.
    Without bothering to extinguish the candle or take leave of his king, Jack pelted out of the room, down the stairs, across three corridors, and out into the sunny courtyard where she usually worked. He gasped for breath, seeking a trace of her presence.
    Gone. Lace pillow, patterns, and herself. She might never have been here an hour ago when he left her. The ragged wall still showed marks from Amaranth’s talons. Jack hadn’t dreamed Katrina’s agreement to marry. She had promised.
    Where would she go?
    Back inside, he traced the route to the honored servants’ quarters where she slept or sometimes worked by rushlight when rain threatened.
    Not a cloud in the sky, he