The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

own dark purple-and-red coloring, extensions of Zolltarn’s colors. The boy would never have an identity or personality of his own as long as he remained with the clan.
    Lanciar had to get him away from here and soon.
    “But first I need a drink. A very long and cold drink. Let me hold the boy while you fetch the ale.”
    “I will take him with me to the wet nurse. He will be hungry again soon.”
    “But . . .”
    “When we marry, you may hold him all you wish. Until then, he belongs to the wet nurse.”
    “I’ll get my own ale. And lots of it.”

    Jaranda fretted and cried. Her face flushed with fever. Her mother held her on her shoulder, gently rubbing the child’s back.
    “Hush, baby. Hush,” she murmured over and over.
    Jaranda pouted and stuck her thumb into her mouth.
    “Zebbiah, she’s feverish,” Miranda called to her traveling companion. “We have to find someplace warm and dry. My baby needs rest and nourishing broths. We have to stop!”
    Zebbiah frowned, looking up and down the line of march. “We need to stay with the caravan. These parts aren’t safe,” he said quietly. “Look, she’s fallen asleep. I’ll carry her for a while. She’s just not used to traveling.”
    “It’s more than that, Zebbiah. I remember a time of great sickness the winter she was born. I remember the funeral pyres—the terrible smell. Most of all I remember the fear every time someone spiked a fever in a matter of moments. I will not let my baby die because you refuse to leave the dubious safety of these thieves and vagabonds.”
    “Lady, if I take you to a place where you can rest, will you make lace for me to sell?” Zebbiah asked in a whisper.
    “Travel dust kept me from working the pillow by the campfire. These thieves and vagabonds have already tried to steal the lace. They’d steal the glass beads, silk threads, and bag of lace for the price of a meal. If you find me a quiet place with a roof and a fire pit and proper food, I’ll gladly sit and make lace every day as long as the light allows.” Until she remembered everything.
    She’d gladly separate from this caravan to get away from their fellow travelers. None of them had spoken civilly to her since they’d ousted the leader. And they kept their distance, making sure each evening to light their fires well away from Miranda, Zebbiah, and Jaranda.
    She had pieces of her memory, her name and that of her husband, flashes of faces from the past, but little else.
    “Lady, where I plan to take you, I’ll have access to witchlight come winter. You’ll be able to make lace in the darkest corner in quiet privacy.”
    “Witchlight?” she gasped, frightened and exhilarated by the danger of sorcery. Often enough on this long trek through the mountains she’d seen the other travelers make the ward against witchcraft and evil whenever Zebbiah passed. She knew the motion of crossed wrists, right over left, and then flapping hands from a deep memory that seemed a part of her from her very beginnings. She wished she knew the origin of the gesture. Then perhaps she could understand the nature of the magic it warded against.
    Something flapping, like a bird’s wings . . .
    She yanked her mind back to the immediate problem. Letting herself drift with minor remembrance often led to a true memory. But she didn’t have time for that now.
    “Yes, take me to this place, and I will make lace for you to sell while my baby recovers. Turn the place into a home, and I might stay there forever, content to make lace and raise my child in peace.” Easier than returning to SeLenicca to take up the reins of government.
    “Peace I cannot guarantee for long. But not many people know of this abandoned monastery. Most who know of it shun it because it is haunted. I have yet to meet a ghost there. It is not far from here, a day at most. We will break away from the caravan at the first bird chirp.”
    Jaranda stirred in Zebbiah’s arms, snuggling close to him. She slept peacefully, thumb slipping free of her mouth. Something solid and honest about the man soothed her more than her mother’s presence.
    “We leave before dawn,” the woman agreed.
    “Take your baby now. I will make sure we camp close to the hidden path within the hour. I don’t want to have to backtrack. Not on the open road. These vagabonds and thieves might well follow and attack us as soon as we are out of sight. I need to make plans to divert them.”

Chapter 28
     
    “W e’ve only the one