The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

by Irene Radford

  Chapter 11

  Brevelan stretched her arms over her head in a luxurious welcome to the bright morning sunshine. Birds greeted her. The morning mist dissipated under her gaze. Life was beautiful once more. Her back muscles arched in relief after the long weeks spent in bed recovering her strength. The baby stretched, too. His head pressed against her ribs while a foot planted itself firmly upon her bladder.

  After the hours of pain and weakness, she appreciated that small, but very normal discomfort. She looked down at her swelling belly. Every day the child seemed to grow faster. Her gown strained over the bulk of the baby, where before the ordeal of premature labor it had draped loosely.

  “Good morning, love.” Jaylor’s arms sneaked around Brevelan’s middle as he nuzzled her neck in greeting.

  “And a beautiful morning it is.” She turned in his embrace to receive a more intimate kiss. A piece of her mind sought Yaakke’s presence to make sure of their privacy. They were safe. The boy was down at the bathing pool, splashing in youthful abandon.

  “How do you feel?” Concern touched Jaylor’s brow as he ran his hands over her body.

  “Very well. Remarkably well. I think I could climb the mountain today.” She couldn’t help smiling. Her body and her mind were throbbing with vibrant health.

  “You mustn’t overdo until we know for sure you are truly recovered. It has only been a fortnight. I’d be less concerned if we were nearer the University. Surely among all those magicians there will be one who could help you in another crisis. I’ll not trust Krej again, especially with your life.” He pulled her tightly against his body, reminding them both of how close they had come to being permanently separated by death.

  Brevelan shuddered in premonition. “Then perhaps we should go to Coronnan City.”

  “The journey is too long. A week or more of fast walking, if there are no delays. It will be too hard on you.” His hands lingered on her as if he needed constant touch to reassure himself of her well-being.

  “But I feel like running and jumping, working and playing with boundless joy. At the very least, I am going to clean the flusterhen coop today.”

  Jaylor lay his head back and roared his laughter. “You did that yesterday—while you were supposed to be still abed, recovering.”

  “Yaakke could send us to Coronnan City.” They both sobered at that thought.

  “ ’Tis too chancy.” Jaylor shook his head and clung to her, lest she try the journey on her own.

  “He did it twice that night without undue fatigue.”

  “I think I need to chat with the boy. He stretches himself too far, too fast. One day his magic will backlash on him.”

  “Lord Krej was ready to pay dearly for the secret of the spell. I felt him seeking a way to force you to tell him,” Brevelan said. She ran her fingers through Jaylor’s auburn curls. Today his mind was clear and strong; no trace of Krej’s malevolence tainted his thoughts. And his heart beat in a regular rhythm without any trace of damage or blockage.

  The image of Krej’s magic dissolving the blockages had been real. Jaylor was now healed.

  “If Krej finds out that Yaakke threw that spell, he’ll risk anything for access to the boy.” Jaylor denied her suggestion once more.

  “My father has beguiled the Council into believing he has only the best interests of Coronnan at heart. Perhaps Yaakke could serve as bait for a trap. If the lords saw how desperate Krej is to further his own ends, his magic would be exposed, but not by you.”

  “Yaakke is too vulnerable. His sense of morality is too unformed. I’d rather not risk him.”

  “I’ll not have you risk yourself.”

  “Don’t worry, love. I know Krej. He’ll never be able to corrupt me.”

  A cloud drifted across the sun. Brevelan felt the chill of darkness encroach on her soul.

  Rosie listened to Janataea’s quiet, even breathing. She could count on her governess being asleep for at least another hour. When Janataea awoke in time to dress for dinner, she would have a headache. Blame for her ailment would fall on Rosie, followed by suitable punishment. Usually several hours locked in the wardrobe after dinner. The routine had been followed nearly every day since their arrival in Coronnan.

  At least dinner would be a quiet affair. Prince Darville had refused to see Rosie since that awful night when his cat attacked her. There was no doubt in Rosie’s mind that the evil beast had been trying to kill her. His Grace had sent a message that he would be reviewing his troops in the field. Most likely that was an excuse to avoid another embarrassing meeting with her.

  She couldn’t use an appointment with the prince as an excuse to avoid Janataea’s increasingly foul moods. Rosie didn’t ride and she wouldn’t read, though she’d been taught the rudiments. She was running out of places to be that were outside the suite when Janataea awoke.

  “Tell my governess that I am invited to share a glass of wine with Senior Magician Baamin.” Rosie dismissed the tiring woman with a wave of her hand.

  Though it was true the old magician had invited her to visit him anytime, he had not specifically asked her to come today. Janataea approved of Rosie meeting Baamin. She had been instructed to kill the Senior Magician, Chancellor of the University, and adviser to the crown. Rosie doubted she would bother following those orders.

  Sometimes, when the pain was too much for the beta’arack Baamin swallowed in increasing doses, the old man’s temper was as vile as Janataea’s or Uncle Rumbelly’s. But he never directed his anger and frustration toward Rosie. Some lord named Krej and a dragon called Shayla were the victim of Baamin’s acid tongue.

  Rosie wished she could use words as effectively as the elderly magician. Quite frankly, she liked Old Baamin. She would visit him today and take her time getting there.

  Everyone would understand if she became lost in the dark passageway that led from the palace, underneath the river, to the University.

  Endless nooks and crannies within the palace corridors invited exploration. Over the past fortnight, Rosie had discovered many of them. The corridor she followed ended at a blank wall. Backtracking a little bit, though, revealed a concealed doorway and access to a tunnel. Rosie loved the tunnels.

  She ran her sensitive fingertips over the stone wall to her left. A drop of water splashed on her face from above at the same time she was trying to avoid a shallow puddle at her feet. The perpetual dampness within the long spiral staircase was a nuisance. But the smells that lingered in the stale air were so interesting and the tunnels harbored the most unusual shadows.

  She wound her way deeper down the stairs than she had ever been before. The dark silence suited her.

  A mouse scurried toward her from the opposite end of the long curving tunnel. It stopped short within a few feet of her. Whiskers and nose bounced up and down. The mouse looked behind, as if deciding which direction was safer. Barely an instant later, it dashed past Rosie and into a crack between two of the wall stones.

  Curious. Tiny creatures were supposed to run from her. There must be someone or something coming this way. She hoped it wasn’t the cat. Rosie would willingly face Janataea’s increasingly unpredictable moods rather than that cat.

  Every time she came within a few yards of the multicolored creature, Rosie felt sick to her stomach or dizzy, or both. Frantically, she searched the tunnel for a means of escape. The mouse’s crack was too small for her human body.

  The scrape of leather on stone sounded in the distance. A shoe or a boot. The footfall came again to her ears. Heavy and slow. A man’s tread, moving with care over the slippery dampness.

  The flicker of a torch on the walls reflected a huge shadow of a man just around the next curve of the tunnel. Her nose twitched and her tongue tasted the air. The smell of male sweat and horse and . . . something too elusive for her to grasp quickly, masked the man’s identity.

  Rosie froze in indecision. She didn’t have permission to explore the palace and its secret passages. But she hadn’t been told to stay in he
r apartment either. Should she run and invite pursuit and punishment, or stay and accept whatever reprimand the man chose?

  Before she could decide, the shadow moved forward, wavered in the uncertain light, and consolidated into the figure of a tall slim man. His golden hair hung free about his shoulders. Several days’ growth of beard shadowed his cheeks and jaw. He wore black leather riding clothes and a long sword at his hip. The torch he carried in his right hand was fresh and burned brightly.

  “Your Grace,” she whispered, as she dropped a curtsy. The cat wasn’t with Prince Darville. She breathed easier.

  “Princess Rossemikka? What are you doing down here?” His voice was curt, but not angry.

  Rosie shrugged. “Exploring. I was bored.” She didn’t dare look directly into his eyes. As she rose from her curtsy she made sure she took a step backward.

  “Then we do share at least one interest. I spent my childhood memorizing these passages. But you travel without a light?” He held his torch higher to illumine more of the tunnel.

  “I didn’t think to bring one.” She put two more steps between them. Moisture filmed her upper lip and her back.

  “Are you one of those rare individuals who can see in the dark?” Darville sounded envious.

  How was she to explain that she didn’t exactly see in the dark? Her perception was more a matter of knowing where she was and what her next step should be. All of her senses guided her, not just sight. Rather than put the complicated thought into words, she lifted one shoulder in the age-old gesture of indecision and moved farther away from him.

  Her nose twitched again in the tunnel’s shifting currents of air. She smelled blood on the prince. Old blood, not fresh. And fear gone stale. Rosie wanted to run from him and the coiled tension in his muscles.

  “Why do you fear me?” His free hand jerked out to grasp her arm, as if sensing her need for flight.

  Rosie shrugged again and swallowed a scream.

  “You seem to fear many things.” Darville’s hand turned gentle, but still restrained her.

  “There are many things I do not understand.” She looked behind her, seeking a way out. “Until I do, I’m . . . I prefer to watch from a distance.” Rosie tugged her arm a little. Politeness had been drilled into her for so long she feared offending her betrothed almost as much as she dreaded remaining in his presence.

  “Wise advice, Princess. We would all profit from watching and listening rather than jumping to raw conclusions. My Council should be so cautious. And so must I.” A smile touched his lips. But his eyes were too weary to echo the sentiment.

  “I was told you were patrolling the hills with the army. Have you been gone all of these last five days?”

  “I’ve just returned.”

  “Alone?”

  His smile spread further. “We stable the steeds on the mainland. I came across by boat to the end of this tunnel, rather than walk through the city across the bridges.” The smile vanished. “There are times when even a king must be alone with his thoughts. When he must make a decision without benefit of council.”

  “Then I will not intrude, Your Grace.” Rosie ducked her head and tried to back away. He retained his grip on her arm.

  “Please stay. I need to see someone fresh and beautiful and innocent. You’re the only one I know in the city who answers that description.” His sadness radiated from him in almost tangible waves. “And call me Darville. If we are to be married, we might as well enjoy the privilege of first names. I understand your family calls you Rosie?”

  “I must return, Your Gr . . . Darville. My governess does not like me to be out of her sight for too long.” She struggled against his grip.

  “A young woman needs a chaperone. But I hope when you are my queen, Mistress Janataea will not continue to govern all of your actions.”

  What did his expression imply? He was both fierce and disgusted. She hoped he would not vent his emotions on her.

  “Janataea is very devoted to me. I cannot dismiss her.” True enough. Rosie couldn’t dismiss her guardian; only Uncle Rumbelly could do that. But she would certainly like to. Especially when Janataea came back from one of her secret outings in the middle of the night. For a long time Rosie had suspected her governess of having an affair with her uncle, or even with Kevin-Rosse. Now she wasn’t so certain. Janataea’s disdain for men seemed too genuine to allow a sexual liaison.

  “I’ll consider retaining her for our children.” Darville smiled down at her as he took a step along the corridor. His grip on her arm remained.

  “Release me. Please.” Rosie gulped.

  “Release my hand or release you from our betrothal?” He stopped walking to turn his glittering eyes on her.

  “Both.”

  “Explain.” His hand fell away. Flickering torchlight made his golden eyes fierce and feral.

  She was reminded of a wolf. Then she remembered the elusive scent on him. Death. Darville had recently killed something. Or someone.

  “I’m afraid of you. I’m afraid of marriage. Uncle Rumbelly made all the arrangements before he told me. I don’t know you, or your country.”

  Darville’s face lost all expression. “Ignorance breeds fear,” he muttered. At a cross corridor he paused, then moved on past it. “I’ll show you back to your apartment.”

  Rosie didn’t ask what was down the ignored tunnel. Her curiosity pulled her. Next time. She’d explore that one tomorrow. If he allowed her to stay in Coronnan.

  “This next corridor leads to the royal suite. We’ll move in there after the wedding. And off to our left is the staircase that will take you to your present bedchamber.” His tone was cold and impersonal.

  “You still insist on marrying me?”

  No answer.

  They began to climb the narrow stone steps.

  “Do all of the bedrooms have secret exits?” Rosie was surprised she hadn’t found this one. But then, she hadn’t had the opportunity to explore her own suite, not with Janataea keeping watch on her.

  “No. Only the family chambers are important enough to need an extra way out. This is the oldest part of the palace—the keep. It was built almost a thousand years ago, before Coronnan was consolidated into one kingdom. In those days, war and pestilence raged. My ancestors built a fortress in the center of the largest island. The river was a natural moat.” His manner lightened, as if he had made an important decision.

  “But the palace is so big now. It covers almost the entire island.” The time he spoke of was incomprehensible to Rosie. And so was the prince. She had expected him to hit her for invading his tunnels. Instead he was giving her a history lesson.

  “There have been a few years of peace,” Darville smiled. “My family expanded the palace, and rebuilt sections that were destroyed during the last war. Palace Reveta Tristile—the palace of a sad rebuilding. Everyone lost a great deal during that war.”

  And he was the last of his line. He needed her to provide children. He needed the armies that were her dowry. She was trapped.

  “Who else knows about these tunnels?” Rosie looked forward and back apprehensively.

  “Frightened of invasion? I assure you, Rosie, these tunnels are part of our defense in case of invasion.”

  “No. Not invasion.” Though Kevin-Rosse and Uncle Rumbelly would give much to know a secret way into the castle. If they invaded and assassinated Darville, she would be released from the marriage.

  Or killed with him.

  “I just do not want strangers wandering into my bedroom.” She took the last step to a landing which ended in a wooden door.

  “There is more to fear from those we think trustworthy. Their betrayal hurts more than invasion.” His mouth took on a new grimness. “Watch from the shadows, Rosie. Watch and know your true enemy before you act.”

  Was he talking to her or to himself?

  “The upper entrances of the tunnels are cunningly hidden and mostly forgotten. You are the only person I have ever encountered down here, Rosie. The river
entrance is well concealed and requires an expert boatman to negotiate the currents. You needn’t fear strangers.” His voice was gentle, but his touch remained firm, almost possessive.

  Rosie shied back.

  Without another word, Darville pushed against the wooden panels. The door slid sideways into a recess in the stone. Before them was the brocaded curtain that decorated the back of the wardrobe cupboard. With the wooden door in place, one would never suspect the wall behind the massive piece of furniture was not solid stone.

  Next time Janataea locked her into this dark wardrobe, she had an escape route.

  Chapter 12

  “Explain the procedure to me once more.” Jaylor clamped down on his impatience. He was well again. Truly well. His heart had miraculously healed while Krej’s magic burst through the blockages. Now he was anxious to expand his magic and explore new techniques.

  “ ’Tis so simple, Master, I don’t know how I do it. I just do it,” Yaakke protested. He held out his empty palm. A flusterchick appeared in the boy’s hand. The baby bird pecked angrily at his fingers.

  “Pretend I’m a senile old man who has forgotten everything.” For the first time, Jaylor had a glimmering of understanding for his own tutors. How many times had he failed to explain to them how he performed a spell? And each failure resulted in keeping Jaylor from advancing with his classmates.

  “As senile as Old Baamin?” Yaakke grinned widely.

  Jaylor nodded his agreement. “Master Baamin was born senile. Now talk me through the spell, as if you were telling my master.” He placed a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Send the chick back. I’ll observe your magic every step of the way.”

  They both took the three ritual breaths that sent them into a light trance. Jaylor waded through the colored mists that radiated from Yaakke to find a core of magic. Yaakke blinked and the chick vanished.