The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

not always what the original owner thinks has value. Half a truth is better than a lie. Parents often give us unwanted children—those who are deformed or simple or sometimes just one too many mouths to feed. The only children we steal are those who are beaten and treated as less than dirt by their parents.” Zebbiah answered each of her accusations in turn with resignation.
    Katrina nodded. “Jack says much the same thing.” She resumed her pacing. This time she alternately touched the walls and ran her fingers through her already disheveled hair.
    “I never thought about slavery before,” Miranda mused. She brushed damp hair off Jaranda’s brow. She seemed cooler, sleeping easier than before. Perhaps the fever had broken. “I never thought about my people before. All I cared about was my lace. I was happy to allow Simeon to take the burden of rule from my shoulders. I was happy not to have to think about the hardship of others. I can’t let that happen again. Slavery in SeLenicca must end.”
    A hole opened in her heart. If she took over the responsibilities of the crown—responsibilities she had inherited but never been allowed to exercise by her parents or husband—then she’d never have the time to work the lace as she had before. She’d never have the concentration to design new patterns or lovingly recreate old ones.
    But then, SeLenicca must never again become dependent upon lace, only one export, to support the entire economy. Her people must be trained to other tasks. The land must be nurtured rather than exploited. Her people must become self-sufficient, as the Rovers were self-sufficient. Only she could change the entire culture of SeLenicca. She had to go back.
    Jaranda whimpered in her sleep. She thrashed in her mother’s arms. Her movements mimicked the rhythm of Katrina’s pacing.
    “Katrina, what ails you?” Zebbiah asked before Miranda could.
    “This place.” Katrina hugged herself. “The cold follows me. My arms are all lumbird bumps. If I were trapped here, as your clan and nobles are, then I do not think I would want to live.”
    “Come sit by the fire. Let it warm you,” Miranda urged, trying to ignore the chill that climbed her spine and set the hairs on her neck standing straight up. “ ’Tis your fatigue talking, nothing more.”
    The invisible eyes seemed to increase and move closer, sensing her unease, ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness.
    “No!” Katrina protested too violently for the nature of the suggestion. Then she breathed deeply, forcing calm. “Fire. The ghost of Ackerly fears fire.” Slowly she walked closer to the cheery blaze, as if she forced one foot in front of the other.
    “No, P’pa, no,” Jaranda whispered in her sleep. “Don’t kill me, P’pa. I’m too little to sacrifice.”
    “Wake up, Jaranda.” Miranda shook her baby. Memories of Simeon and the tortures he delighted in crowded around her vision, forcing out the present. “Wake up, baby. It’s only a dream. Wake up.”
    “M’ma, don’t let P’pa take me to the fires.”
    “We must leave this place, cherbein Miranda.” Zebbiah stood up, grabbing the packs in one graceful movement. “The ghost will poison all of us if we do not leave. Now.”
    Jaranda’s eyes opened and she stared over her mother’s shoulders. “Go away, P’pa. Go away. You are dead,” she sobbed.
    “Don’t leave me alone here!” Katrina protested. Her eyes darted frantically all around. “Do not leave me with Simeon’s ghost. If he haunts this place, then Brunix will, too.”
    “I would say let us all leave immediately, but we have nowhere else to go,” Miranda reminded them.

Chapter 39
     
    “F ound it!” Marcus whispered excitedly. He looked around the library for someone to share the good news with. The place was deserted. All the apprentices seemed to prefer taking their books outdoors to study. Had Margit started that tradition? He had had more than enough of the out of doors to last a lifetime.
    At least now he knew how to lay the ghost to rest. He even had an idea of how to remove the curse from the gold. But he needed help.
    This information should go to Jaylor first. Marcus gathered the texts he had studied repeatedly for days. Too many days. How long before the army reached the monastery?
    Moments later he knocked upon the door to Jaylor’s office. The wooden panels echoed emptily within. He rapped again, a little louder and longer.
    Jaylor always spent the midafternoon in