Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III

by Irene Radford

  With a half smile she suddenly realized that her lack of memory offered her a kind of freedom. She and her baby could make a home for themselves anywhere they chose. They could set the rules and style of their home to suit themselves. They need please no one else—except possibly Zebbiah if he stayed with them.

  The heat quickly penetrated her bones, and her mind lightened. “I didn’t realize I was cold until I touched heat again,” she mused.

  “Cold can be like that. When it gets really bad, it almost feels like warmth and then you fall asleep and never wake up.”

  “Will you protect me and my baby from the cold?”

  “If I can.”

  “And from the bandits and bully gangs?” She shuddered.

  He paused a moment before answering. “My word as a Rover. I’ll do my best to protect you from harm of any kind.”

  “Even from yourself?”

  He grinned, flashing a huge number of teeth, just like his pack beast “My word of honor, Lady. You are as safe from me as you want to be.”

  A long silent moment passed between them. The woman looked away first.

  “You hungry?” Zebbiah asked.

  The woman shook her head. “We scavenged in the pantry. But we will need to eat again by nightfall.”

  “I’ve food for the three of us. We’ll leave at dawn.” He fished a pot and some packets wrapped in oiled cloth from one of the panniers. “Is there water?”

  “The well behind the kitchen still tastes sweet.”

  He nodded abruptly and rose from his squat in one graceful motion, without using his hands to brace himself.

  “You need anything while I’m out?”

  The pack beast shifted his head and began nibbling her tangled hair.

  “If you could find a hairbrush or comb?”

  He nodded again and left without complaint.

  “We’ll deal well together, Zebbiah,” she whispered. “I’m not sure why I trust you, but I do.”

  Oversized teeth nipped her ear. She batted the pack beast away. It then began grazing on a piece of lace dangling from a corner pillow. “But you’ll have to teach this beast of yours some manners, Zebbiah.” She settled Jaranda on the floor and followed the beast to rescue the priceless ornament.

  “I don’t suppose you know my name?” she asked the beast as she pulled half a yard of lace free of its jaws

  “Heeeeeee haaaaaaaw,” the beast brayed in answer, or protest.

  “Somehow I thought you’d say that.”

  Jack waited outside King Darville’s private study, impatiently shifting from one foot to the other. He pretended to stand guard while listening with every sense available to him. He needed to speak to the king and queen alone. How much longer before Darville and Rossemikka freed themselves from the increasingly loud political conversation?

  Lord Laislac had spent the last hour haranguing his king. Lord Andrall, the king’s uncle by marriage, had spoken a couple of times. Laislac’s daughter Ariiell had whimpered occasionally. Jack had seen Andrall’s and Laislac’s wives enter the room, but so far they had remained silent.

  Darville had said little, asking only an occasional question. Queen Mikka probably sat in the window embrasure, basking in the afternoon sunshine, stroking the sensuous texture of her gown with long fingers. She said little during these sessions, but she observed everything and counseled Darville afterward.

  Jack did not have to open his magical listening senses to hear the scandal in the making. Long ago, when he’d been a kitchen drudge, considered too stupid to even have a name, he’d learned to listen carefully with all of his senses before entering a room. He’d also eventually learned how to make himself seem invisible in order to avoid the local bullies.

  Today invisibility came from his plain guard’s uniform and his presence outside the king’s study. No one noticed him because he belonged there.

  But Jack had to stand still, at attention, hoping his impatience for a moment of privacy with the king and queen did not alert anyone that something unusual was about to happen.

  He needed absolute secrecy to summon the Commune for tonight’s spell. One whisper of the king and queen involved with magic would bring the wrath of the Gnuls and the lords they controlled down on their heads. None of them would be safe for a moment if the Gnuls found out what Jack planned to do tonight.

  He shuddered every time he thought about this morning’s adventures in the market square. Fear of magic grew by the day. The dye merchant wasn’t the only innocent to be accused and judged upon the spot. Stoning had become a favorite form of execution. It required no preparation and could be carried out before palace guards could interfere. That the Gnuls had grown so bold as to accuse Jack while he wore a guard’s uniform told him how strong the Gnuls had grown.

  King Darville and Queen Mikka kept bodyguards close to them all the time now. Jack and Sergeant Fred pulled the duty more often than others. Fred was an accepted presence and trusted by king and council alike. Jack was new and unknown to the council, but the king and queen relied upon his magical talent for their safety as well as secret communication with Jaylor and the Commune of Magicians.

  “She must marry the boy. He’s responsible for this—this outrage!” Lord Laislac screamed within the king’s study.

  Any mention of marriage piqued Jack’s interest.

  “The boy is not responsible for his own actions,” Lord Andrall replied mildly. “My son was born with only half his wits and never found the rest. For him to marry anyone would be a mockery of the Stargods.”

  “Well, he certainly managed to become a man long enough to sire a child on my daughter. My daughter who was a virgin when she came to your household for fosterage after her mother died,” Laislac sneered this time. But his agitation showed through his wavering voice.

  Jack leaned a little closer to the door. He’d been very young and frightened when news hit the capital that Lord Andrall’s son, first cousin to then Prince Darville, had been born damaged. The court went into mourning for the beloved lord and his lady, sister to Darville’s father, King Darcine.

  Jack had rejoiced because at last there was someone more stupid than him. Upon the few occasions the childlike young man came to court, Jack had grown to love and honor him as the Stargods commanded. Few people realized how much love, patience, and truth they could learn from the special people marked by the Stargods.

  “But I don’t want to marry him, P’pa. He’s repulsive! He’s ugly. And he smells.” That must be Ariiell, she of the whining voice.

  Jack had seen her around court a couple of times, frail, pale, and uninteresting. No personality to go with the fair prettiness.

  “Well, you certainly found him attractive enough once to take him into your bed,” Andrall replied mildly.

  “You don’t understand! ’Twas but a game. A teasing game, and I . . . he lost control.” A long pause followed her slip of the tongue. “He’s strong. He overpowered me. I had no choice.” She babbled on, trying to make excuses for herself.

  Jack doubted that Andrall’s son had been much more than a passive participant. He knew the young man too well. But he also knew how often his own patience had been taxed by Katrina, and he had his full wits. Mardall didn’t have the reasoning power and emotional control of an adult.

  “Gentlemen, ladies. I do not believe a forced marriage is the answer to this dilemma,” Darville said in a soothing tone. “Surely a retreat into the country for a year or so, a discreet adoption by a childless couple of good family would serve all of us and no scandal need accompany either party.”

  “ ’Twould serve you, Your Grace. You would not have to acknowledge your cousin’s child as your heir,” Laislac replied, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Since you can’t manage to get the queen pregnant yourself.” The insult brought a painful silence.

  Jack suddenly turned his full attention to every breath within the room. Lady Ariiell sought to make her child legitimate with a hasty marriage to Darville’s only blo
od heir—discounting the exiled Rejiia and her equally exiled sisters. Should Darville die heirless, then Laislac was the logical choice as regent for his young grandson as monarch. Kings had been killed for less.

  This made Jack’s errand doubly important. He knew how to stabilize Queen Mikka’s body so she could carry a child to full term and give the country an unquestioned heir.

  “I would welcome the stability a legitimate heir would bring to Coronnan,” Darville replied. Jack could almost see him pacing back and forth behind his massive desk like a wolf stalking his territory. The king rarely sat still and then only when Queen Mikka held his hand.

  “We will discuss this further, when all of us have had time to reflect on all of the options.” More likely when Darville had a chance to discuss the alternatives with Mikka. “Remember, Laislac, the plight of Lord Andrall’s son is well known. This marriage and his impending paternity would generate more scandal than were Lady Ariiell to give birth to an illegitimate child. Do you really want this?”

  “I insist that Lord Andrall and his son honor their obligations to my daughter. They will marry!” Laislac screamed loud enough for the entire court to hear.

  A few moments later all of the combatants exited. Lady Lynnetta in tears, comforted by the supporting arm of her husband, Lord Andrall. Their son, Mardall, tripped along in their wake, drooling slightly, smiling happily at Jack’s familiar wave. He clutched a stuffed toy—perhaps a well-worn spotted saber cat—and seemed oblivious to the storm that had threatened his quiet, predictable world away from the court. He’d been so quiet, Jack had not realized he’d been in the room.

  Lord Laislac looked as if he’d spit thunder and lightning. His wife, Ariiell’s stepmother, held her chin up and pursed her mouth in a disgusted pout.

  But Lady Ariiell smiled and patted her slightly swollen tummy.

  She was up to something.

  Jack needed to follow her and find out what.

  He also needed to inform the king and queen that he had a possible answer to Mikka’s problem. After tonight, Queen Mikka might very well negate Lady Ariiell’s ambitions.

  Jack slipped into the study and locked the door behind him, both physically and magically.

  “Something else that requires my attention?” King Darville asked impatiently, lifting one golden eyebrow. He barely looked up from the documents that he read most intently. His leather queue restraint had slipped, and he looked in need of a shave. The last confrontation had taken its toll on him since Jack’s witch-sniffer report a few hours ago.

  Still the king maintained his gentle smile and politeness while his eyes narrowed in slight disapproval. Better to risk the king’s irritation than brave the wolflike smile and bared teeth that betrayed his anger. He glanced at his wife, clearly anxious for a moment alone with her to discuss that touchy situation Laislac had thrown at his feet.

  “Your Grace, I believe I have a solution to a recurring problem.”

  Darville half rose from his chair, his full gaze intent upon Jack’s face. “Do we have privacy?” he asked quietly.

  Mikka came to his side and clutched his arm. Darville tucked her neatly against his side in a loving and companionable gesture. Her eyes became huge in her too thin face; not daring to hope.

  Jack closed his eyes and breathed deeply, listening to all of the small sounds around the palace with extra as well as mundane senses. He heard the shuffle of many feet within the building and out in the courtyards. The murmur of many conversations drifted close to his ear. He sorted through them and dismissed all but one. Just above the subtle shift of stones and kardia settling into each other, he detected a whisper, two heartbeats, the sputter of a rushlight . . .

  He held up two fingers and pointed beneath the floor.

  Darville cocked his head and pursed his lips in consternation. “The tunnels,” he mouthed the words and pointed to his massive desk.

  Jack had heard about the numerous secret passages that riddled the residential wing of the palace. They dated to the earliest construction of the old keep, intended to give the original lord of the islands an escape in time of war. Only one tunnel remained open and well known. It provided a quick trip between the palace and the University complex on an adjacent island. Now that the University served as a barracks, the guards used the tunnel to move quickly between duties, protected from the weather.

  But the other tunnels. The older ones were supposed to remain secret from all but the king’s closest family and confidants.

  Jack drew his sword, actually his staff in mild disguise.

  “Fred?” Darville said quietly.

  “No time,” Jack replied equally quiet.

  “Ready?”

  Jack nodded.

  The king pressed a hidden lever. The desktop slid sideways. He withdrew from the opening quickly, taking Mikka with him.

  Unnatural yellow flame tinged with blue lighted the dark hole where the desktop had been. Witchlight!

  Mikka gasped and held her hand over her mouth to stifle any further sound. Darville pushed her behind him as he reached for his short sword atop the desk.

  A magician eavesdropped on the king. Only a member of the coven would have the audacity to do that.

  Chapter 16

  Jack reached down with his sword/staff, with his free hand, and with his magic to yank a startled scullery maid through the hole.

  She squeaked a protest, her eyes wide.

  Jack detected no magic in her aura. He’d heard a second heartbeat.

  The witchlight torch continued to gleam. The magician who had lighted it could not be far. The coven had grown as bold as the Gnuls if they eavesdropped within the palace.

  Jack thrust the maid toward Darville. The king stumbled with his unexpected burden. The two landed in a heap on the floor. Feminine giggles erupted from the froth of flying petticoats.

  Mikka grabbed the girl by the back of her bodice and hoisted her away from the grinning king with a ferocious yank. The queen did not return the smile.

  Jack reached again into the hole, only slightly distracted by the sight of feminine legs protruding enticingly from the tangle of lacy petticoats—too much expensive lace for a mere scullery maid.

  This time his hands came up empty. He peered deeper. The witchlight retreated rapidly.

  Should he follow?

  “Who was with you?” Jack demanded angrily.

  The maid continued to eye the king while patting and shifting her clothing. She giggled as Queen Mikka possessively brushed dust off her husband’s tunic. Darville did not look overly distressed at the attention of two attractive women.

  “Why, no one, my lord,” the maid replied. She preened and fussed with her mussed gown, making certain Jack saw how low her bodice dipped.

  The king kept his eyes discreetly on his wife’s face.

  “Don’t lie, girl. I saw the witchlight within the torch.” Jack advanced on the girl until his sword tip touched her throat just below the chin. He hated using violence to intimidate the truth out of her, yet he knew of no other safe way to interrogate her. She’d report magic coercion to the Gnuls and the Council of Provinces.

  “Witchlight!” she gasped, crossing herself, then making the older warding gesture of right wrist crossed over left and flapping her hands—a symbolic banning of Simurgh, the ancient winged demon who thrived upon blood. “I never . . . He never . . .” She drifted off into panicky choking noises as she looked pleadingly at Jack and then at the king. “He said we’d just listen . . . gather gossip . . . harmless, he said . . .” the maid stammered her explanation.

  “I’ll send Sergeant Fred to search the tunnels from both ends,” Darville said as he marched toward the door, pointedly keeping his back to the maid. He tried the door.

  It resisted.

  He turned the key.

  It still wouldn’t budge.

  He looked at Jack, lifting one eyebrow again in a maddening gesture.

  Jack blinked hastily, three times and recited the trigger wo
rds that would remove the locking spell, hoping the maid was too concerned with her own hysteria and Jack’s sword point to notice the delay.

  The door flew open at Darville’s touch. Three guards, led by Fred, almost fell into the room, swords and daggers drawn. Three steps, two turns, double over, and balance on one foot. The maid dove into their clumsy dance for balance, further upsetting them. More laughter and delay.

  She knew more than she admitted.

  “A little late, aren’t you, Sergeant?” Jack said, working his cheeks to keep from laughing at their antics.

  “Fred, take one man into the tunnels and search for anyone who might have carried a torch of witchlight within the past few moments. And you.” Darville thrust the maid into the all too willing arms of the third guard. “Take her to an interrogation room. No one talks to her until I get there. No one. Do you hear me?”

  The guard gulped and nodded. His fair skin turned blotchy red in embarrassment.

  “I didn’t mean no harm . . . only gossip about Lady Ariiell being in the family way. No harm in gossip,” the maid protested as the guard dragged her from the room.

  “And dispatch some men to search the tunnels from the barracks end and the cove three islands over where His Grace keeps his private boat,” Jack added. No doubt the listener had brought the maid along so that she would be caught while he escaped.

  The soldiers scrambled to obey Jack’s orders as if he were the lieutenant and not merely a new recruit.

  Jack smiled to himself. Authority came from within and not from a rank arbitrarily assigned. That had been one of the hardest lessons he’d had to learn.

  When the room cleared again and the desk closed, King Darville sat down heavily in the window seat. Mikka curled up against him, like a cat seeking a lap in the waning sunlight. “I am tired of all these plots,” Darville said upon a weary sigh. “Let’s put your plan into effect as soon as possible. I think we need to summon Jaylor,” he said while leaning his head back against the precious glass covering of the window.