The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

fly from her fingertips before it dissipated. But what? What could she do that would not get her into more trouble?
    She wiggled her fingers and the knot in the leather thong that held Vareena’s amulet loosened. The thing dropped into Andrall’s outstretched hand.
    “Farrell gave that to me on his deathbed. I nursed him for two years while he resided here in this monastery. With the amulet comes a bequest of acres in the Province of Nunio,” Vareena replied proudly. Her spine looked like it was lashed to a broom handle or her magician lover’s staff.
    “Farrell? So that’s the name he gave you,” Andrall mused, tracing the silverwork on the amulet lovingly with his fingertip. “Farrell. He always wanted to be a hero. But poor Iiann never had the courage to do anything but run away.” The lord closed his eyes and grimaced as if in great pain.
    Ariiell had heard that he had suffered from a weak heart recently, that he’d kept to his home more frequently because of it. What would happen to her plans if she encouraged his heart to fail?
    Without his accusations, she had a better chance of gaining the crown for her child. Without his testimony, no one else would have the courage to remember her untimely confession to membership in the coven.
    “She murdered your brother for the land,” Ariiell whispered into his ear. She used the last of the magic from his anger to fuel her words with compulsion. He had to believe her. He had to condemn this spinster on the spot. And then she’d feed off his pain and give him more.
    “Your bother died of the effects of age and loneliness and grief that he could not return home one last time.” Vareena reached a placating hand toward Andrall and the amulet.
    “Where is he buried? I’d like to pay my respects.”
    “No!” Ariiel bit her tongue to keep from saying more out loud. She raised her hand to push some of her own outrage into Andrall, to keep his anger at a fever pitch.
    Red trails of magic compulsion dribbled from her fingers, dissipating uselessly in the dust.
    Robb finger-combed his beard. Laughter sparkled in his eyes.
    “How dare you laugh at me!” she hissed at him.
    He merely raised his eyebrows and pointed to his chest in mock surprise.
    Ariiel suppressed a snarl.
    “Over there,” Vareena pointed to the far corner of the herb garden, ignoring Ariiel. How dare she! “He’s with the other ghosts who have perished in this cursed place. The foundations of the old temple seemed appropriate for their last resting place.”
    “Don’t believe her!” Ariiell had no more magic to push Andrall into drastic action. If only the coven had taught her to tap a ley line. But her fellows did not believe the ley lines worth bothering with. They relied on rituals filled with music, dance, nudity, and sexual perversion to enhance their powers. Ariiell had no power to tap unless she could push these strangely placid people into violent emotions again.
    “My lord,” Robb interrupted, “I was with your brother in his last moments. He died peacefully, anxious for his next existence. Will you honor his bequest to Vareena?”
    “Of course.”
    “No, you can’t! You have to condemn her for murder right here and now!”
    “Oh, shut up, Ariiell. Go back to the room and behave like the lady you want to be.” Andrall dismissed her with a bored wave of his hand.
    The trio ignored her as they approached the graves in the corner by the wall.
    “You can’t do this to me,” she murmured quietly. “I still have the book of poisons. I can still take control.” A nice little demon let loose within these walls ought to liven things up. Rejiia would know how to conjure one.

    “Stay with me, Zebbiah,” Miranda called anxiously to her friend. His face faded into mist and then reformed in this reality followed by his body. Twice now, he’d drifted off into the strange haze with the rest of his clan. Both times she’d been able to call him back. But this time he seemed to have difficulty getting all of him to step free of the engulfing mist.
    Her lace pillow lay forgotten beside her. She dared not lose herself in the lace she loved. The entire purpose of their long journey had been for her to sit and make their fortune with her work. Zebbiah’s anchor to this reality was still too tenuous for her to concentrate on anything but him and her daughter.
    She rocked Jaranda gently in front of the little fire Zebbiah had built in one of the large second-story rooms. Possibly