The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

this had been a smaller scriptorium, possibly a classroom. It covered nearly half of one wing with an identical room adjoining it.
    The pack beast brayed obnoxiously and Zebbiah freed himself from the gloaming. He’d had a time coaxing the pack beast up the circular stairs, but he refused to be separated from it or the packs loaded on its back.
    “I never thought I wanted to sever my link to my clan before,” Zebbiah said, dropping his head into his hands. “Their blood calls to my blood. It is a comfort and an asset most of the time.”
    “Except when danger to them threatens you as well.” Miranda reached out and touched his hand.
    His expression brightened and the last little bit of mist around him seemed to evaporate.
    “In times of danger, the mind-to-mind link and access to magic helps the entire clan. Each of us has all the others to draw upon for help, for strength, for courage. This time, they draw upon me as an anchor to life outside this fog. They drain me.”
    “This . . . this link, does it allow all of you to participate in the . . . the activities of one of your numbers?” Katrina asked. She’d been pacing the room while she examined the lace and the pillows that Miranda had liberated from the palace. Her fingers constantly tangled the lengths of edgings and she nearly shredded one particularly fine cap while moving about the room. Curiously, she kept to the edges, looking out of the row of windows at every pass.
    “Sometimes. Why do you ask?” Zebbiah watched her carefully, as if he saw something more than a normal eye could discern. The strange mist started to gather around him again.
    Miranda grabbed his hand, and the mist went away. For a time. Fatigue clutched her heart. How long could she keep him here before he fully joined the others? She wished she could see them as easily as the magicians seemed to. If even a dim outline appeared to her, she’d feel more comfortable with their looming presence. As it was, she constantly looked to see if an unseen eavesdropper hovered nearby.
    Her back itched as if a thousand eyes watched her every breath, waiting, ready to attack her.
    “Was Neeles Brunix, the owner of a lace factory in Queen’s City, one your clan?” Katrina ceased her pacing for a moment at the cost of the linen lace doily that unraveled beneath her anxious fingers.
    “Brunix, bah! ” Zebbiah spat the name. “His mother was of our clan. Technically that makes him one of ours. But his father’s people raised him to despise us. He took what he wanted of our rituals and customs and perverted them to suit his needs. We never admitted him to our special link.”
    “Yet you did business with him.” Katrina held up the remnants of the doily.
    “Rovers trade where the trade is best. Brunix provided us with the best lace. Brunix gave us many unique designs. The palace lacemakers had not enough imagination to try new things.” He grinned at Miranda in a sort of apology.
    “I designed this piece and several others in your pack. He stole the patterns from me during the three years he owned me. My lace.” Katrina nearly shook with the emotions that racked her.
    Miranda sympathized with her. Designing and working a pattern required a great deal of diligence, dedication, and devotion to the art. To have it stolen represented almost a sacrilege to a true lacemaker.
    Except that the women who designed lace for the palace workers had been locked into specific forms and techniques, never taking a chance on something new and different.
    Miranda wanted nothing more than to let the world pass her by while she made lace now. She wouldn’t even mind the invisible watching eyes as long as she had the bobbins in her hands and the rhythm of the pattern in her body and mind.
    “Whatever happened to you, the clan did not participate in, or sanction the actions of Brunix,” Zebbiah comforted Katrina. “Too often have our people been enslaved over the centuries by those who do not understand our ways, who fear anything they do not understand. We deny anyone the right to own another. All should be free to rove as they choose. As we choose.”
    “But your people steal. You hide behind half truths and you take children from their rightful parents!” Katrina resumed her pacing. Her words sounded more a recitation of oft told tales than an accusation.
    “When people refuse to sell us things we need to survive, we often take those things, but we leave something of value behind in payment—just