The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

dusty lean-to rather than issue the angry retort that nearly choked her.
    Outside the cottage she breathed deeply, holding each breath within her lungs before letting it out. The cool morning breeze taunted her with hints of other places it had visited before blowing here. It tasted cool and tangy, like salt, everblue trees, and rich loamy dirt. Bits of the mist and haze scattered to reveal patches of blue sky.
    A tear stung her eyes. If only she could follow the breeze wherever it led her. She clutched the silver-and-amethyst amulet beneath her shift. If only she could claim the acres Farrell had bequeathed her. If only she and Robb could leave this place together. If only . . .
    But none of that would happen. She had to fetch fresh well water and tend to Jeeremy’s burns under the hostile stare of his mother. Then she had to take fresh food up to her ghosts. Tomorrow and the next day and the next promised her no difference in her routine. Her freedom fled with the breeze.

    They think to keep me in darkness. But I do not need light. I need only my magic to keep safe what is mine. The kardiaquake did not stop them. The nightmares did not stop them. I must try something else. As I send out my senses, seeking another diversion, I see others gathering. They come from many directions. Diverse people with different priorities and warring ideals. An idea planted here. A whisper there.
    Soon they will fight among themselves rather than bother with me and mine.

    “Just hold that lace pillow nice and gentle, Lady, while I strap it on tight,” Zebbiah said.
    The nameless woman did so while she took one last look at the palace where she had wandered aimlessly for . . . at least five days before she awakened and two days since then.
    “Zebbiah, do you think I have the right to give myself a name, since neither you nor my daughter remembers my true name?” she asked intently.
    Yesterday, while she’d packed the lace, he and Jaranda had scavenged food and other journey supplies. They had tried to leave at dawn as planned. An explosion outside the palace walls had frightened the pack beast. It sat and brayed as if in pain for a long time. It did not understand that the terrible noise was probably only someone clearing rubble. The beast would not rise again, no matter the enticement or provocation, for almost two hours until the city that surrounded them on three sides had quieted.
    Now they seemed about to set forth. Into danger? Perhaps only adventure. But she still had no idea who she was or why she and her daughter had been abandoned in the palace. Something about her daughter having red hair rather than the blond of a true-blood?
    “Choose whatever name you like, Lady,” Zebbiah said as he secured more straps on his pack beast. The obnoxious creature let out a mournful bray, extending its neck and laying back its ears as the Rover cinched the girth strap tighter. It shifted its rear hooves restlessly. Both the Rover and the woman moved out of range of those dangerous feet.
    It kicked back once and arched its back. But since it had not connected with anything, or anyone, it settled again.
    “I’ll think about a name as we walk to the docks. Are you certain the ferries are still running upriver?” The traffic on the river she had observed from the palace windows was sporadic at best.
    “Sure as sure. My uncle’s cousin’s nephew has a boat waiting for me. We can pay them with that linen doily you found tucked inside your favorite pillow,” he answered, still concentrating on the packing. “Lace still has some value here, mostly to people trading outland, but hard work and sharp weapons have more. We’ll save the Tambrin lace for trade in Coronnan.”
    From the palace windows she had watched the river. Some people left on outland barges, others moved back into the city in small groups. In the city, she had watched a few people trying to clear away rubble and start new buildings, others attempted to rebuild their damaged homes and businesses. No one stopped the looters or bully gangs that robbed at will. No one traveled alone. Almost everyone, men, women, and children, carried weapons.
    She knew that was wrong. Weapons had no place in this peaceful city. She had never carried a weapon, wouldn’t know how to use one if she had. What little crime prowled around the edges of civilization should be handled by the city guard—or in extreme cases by . . . She couldn’t remember who judged the more serious crimes,