Dragon Nimbus Novels: Vol II, The

by Irene Radford

  “Diplomatic marriages among our own kind, among cultures that are similar to our own. Marriages that bring close alliances and the chance to visit home once in a while. You need to know that I will never again be able to contact my family or friends. I have sacrificed myself so that my people can have the Tambootie.”

  “Your plague must be decimating your people terribly.”

  “Worse.”

  “Do you have this mysterious plague?” Caution chilled his ardor. “Will your people bring it here, by design or chance?”

  “No. I have been one of the lucky ones. The plague is one of the reasons we have disguised our appearances. The veils have been specially made to act as a barrier for the plague. If I should carry the dormant virus and pass it to our children, I know how to distill the Tambootie for a cure. Your people are safe from us.”

  “Then your people will be saved by the Tambootie and my people will gain a defensible port as well as a queen. When the succession is secured, Coronnan will finally be able to put aside the fear of civil war, provided our marriage doesn’t start a new one. I have worked for this moment a long time. I didn’t expect to find a wife I could love and cherish, too.”

  “Will you kiss me to seal the bargain, then?” She reached up to pull his face down to hers.

  He brushed his lips tentatively over hers, tasting the butterfly softness of her mouth. He deepened the contact. Passion exploded in him. He pulled her close against him, cherishing the way she filled his arms so naturally.

  “Your Grace!” Lord Hanic exclaimed from the doorway. Shock colored his voice.

  “Have the lords assembled at my request?” Quinnault asked, reluctantly lifting his head. He wanted to go on kissing Katie forever.

  “Your order, more like,” Hanic grumbled. “The ambassador from SeLenicca has come as well. He has that secret smile that tells me he expects you to ratify the marriage treaty with his princess.” He eyed Katie suspiciously.

  “I have accepted a better offer, Lord Hanic. Come inside, I will introduce the Council to my betrothed,” Quinnault said. Nervousness assailed him. He’d hoped to break the news to the ambassador in private.

  He took a deep breath and felt Katie do the same beside him. Suddenly, he knew that he couldn’t tell the entire fantastic story to the foreigners. They’d take it as simply a wild tale made up to explain away an inappropriate passion.

  “Whatever I say, Katie, please play along with me.”

  She pressed his hand in agreement.

  They entered the crowded Council Chamber together, arms linked. Quinnault took the high-backed dragon throne, gesturing for Katie to sit next to him, in the chair usually reserved for Nimbulan, his chief adviser.

  Five magicians sat among the lords, along with three ambassadors. In the center of the table, surrounding the Coraurlia—the fabulous, magical glass crown provided by the dragons—lay five marriage treaties. SeLenicca, Rossemeyer, and three lords all had eligible daughters. Clearly, all thought tonight’s announcement would confirm one of them.

  “My Lords, Master Magicians, may I present to you Princess Maarie Kaathliin of . . .” He couldn’t claim she was from Varnicia, the usual trading point for the Varns. The king and his bevy of sons were well known to these men. Where could she be from? “Of Terrania.” He named a remote and little known country way to the north of Varnicia.

  Katie looked at him strangely. How did you know? she asked.

  Quinnault didn’t respond, sensing mental barriers crashing down between them. He’d have to ask her later about Terrania. Later. He plunged on with his speech, almost babbling in his nervousness. “My Lord Konnaught, I cannot accept your offer of your half-sister, the illegitimate daughter of Lord Kammeryl d’Astrismos, as my bride. Five years old is just too young to marry. Coronnan needs a queen now.” He handed the rolled parchment to his fosterling. The fragile sheepskin was tattered on the edge, signs of much scraping clean and reuse. The boy probably didn’t understand the insult this represented. His sister and the marriage weren’t worth a new piece of parchment.

  “My lords Hanic and Balthazaan, I must also decline the offers of your very beautiful and gracious daughters. Either one would make an admirable queen. But we are striving to set up a delicate balance of power here in Coronnan. The twelve lords representing the twelve provinces are equal in wealth and authority. I, as your king, must be a neutral binding force among you, a tie-breaking vote, dependent upon you for revenue and all but the most rudimentary warband. If I marry within Coronnan, the alliance will upset that delicate balance.”

  The ambassador from SeLenicca smiled smugly and crossed his arms in front of him. He sat back, satisfied. Only a frequent flicking of his gaze toward Katie betrayed any questions he might have.

  “My Lord of SeLenicca, please inform His Majesty that I cannot in good conscience marry his sister. She deserves a chance at happiness, to marry the man of her own choice rather than an arranged alliance in which she has no say.” He picked up the SeLenese treaty and handed it to the ambassador.

  The diplomat’s face turned purple with barely controlled rage. He grabbed the treaty out of Quinnault’s hands, almost tearing the new parchment. “My king will not be happy about this.”

  “I am sorry. But my decision is made.” Quinnault kept his gaze level, daring the ambassador to stalk out and declare war.

  The foreign emissary reclaimed his chair, tapping the rejected treaty against the council table angrily. “Moncriith warned us you would reject us. We are prepared to defend the honor of our princess,” he said. His eyes narrowed as he held the treaty out to Quinnault for reconsideration.

  “If Moncriith the Bloodmage guides your king and princess, then I have even greater reason to seek elsewhere for my bride.” Quinnault stared at the ambassador, challenging him to look away first.

  At last the man slid the rolled parchment of the treaty into the wide sleeve of his robe.

  Quinnault took a deep breath and continued. “My Lord of Rossemeyer, I must also reject the offer of your king’s daughter.” Quinnault directed his attention to the next issue. “The Three Kingdoms of Coronnan, Rossemeyer, and SeLenicca occupy this continent in an uneasy peace. If I marry a princess from either of my neighbors, I will again upset the balance of power.”

  “I understand, Your Grace.” Ambassador General Jhorge-Rosse nodded his head graciously. He shot a victorious glance at his counterpart from SeLenicca. For the moment, neither one had won over the other.

  “Your Grace!” Hanic protested. “You have just given King Lorriin of SeLenicca an excuse to invade us.”

  “He will seek war anyway. Making their princess my queen would not guarantee our safety. Read your history—or consult with the Lord Sambol about the number of times his border city has faced invasion.”

  “Reading is a waste of time for all but priests,” Hanic scoffed.

  “Reading skills may be reserved for priests and magicians, but it is not a waste of time!” Quinnault replied, holding his own anger in check. “I studied history when I trained to be a priest. I know that SeLenicca tries to take our resources by force every fifteen years or so. They refuse to nurture their own land and see ours as their rightful pantry when they can’t buy food elsewhere. Marrying the Princess of SeLenicca will give us a few seasons of peace, nothing more.”

  The ambassador narrowed his eyes as if he hadn’t expected Quinnault to be so well informed.

  “Your Grace, you must marry and get an heir,” Lord Balthazaan reminded them all. “Do you remember what happened the last time a king of Coronnan failed to do so? We endured three generations of civil war trying to find a successor!” He stood, leaning his knuckles on the table. His eyes blazed with fear. He had suffered large losses during the war. His lovely dark-eyed daughter was the only asset he had left beside a badly damaged keep and nearly ruined farmlands.

  “You have rejected all viable offers, Your Grace. Where do we look for a new candidate?” Hanic nearly screamed. He stared at Katie
. Questions and fear swept across his face in rapid succession.

  “Her Highness, Maarie Kaathliin of Terrania, will be my bride,” Quinnault said quietly.

  All eyes in the room turned to Katie. She blushed slightly and lowered her eyes in maidenly modesty.

  “The treaty I have negotiated with her father, King Kinnsell requires that I marry her tomorrow evening.”

  “Your Grace!” every lord in the room protested.

  “This haste is most unseemly,” Hanic said. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the princess, looking for flaws.

  “Forgive the interruption, Your Grace, my lords.” Old Lyman stood from his chair near the corner. “I realize that magicians are supposed to be neutral advisers in this new government, but I have some pertinent information.”

  The lords turned their malevolent glares to the aging magician.

  “Senior Magician Nimbulan has been in secret negotiation with King Kinnsell for nearly a year.” Lyman looked at Quinnault, his eyes twinkling and his mouth twitching at the obvious lie.

  Katie coughed delicately into her tiny hand. Quinnault recognized her failing attempt to keep a straight face. Were the two conspirators in this lie?

  “Even now, Nimbulan is working with King Kinnsell in completing the treaty. This marriage has been planned for a long time. But we feared news of it would jeopardize the rather delicate negotiations. A wedding tomorrow will not be in quite so much haste as you imagine.” The old man paused while he swallowed deeply. He cocked his head as if listening.

  Who gave him orders?

  Quinnault hoped desperately that the dragons spoke to him directly.

  “Look at our king, my lords!” Hanic turned his attention away from Lyman’s almost plausible explanation. After all, Nimbulan wasn’t present to confirm or deny the lie. “He’s head over heels in love with the chit. He can’t have met her more than once. In love after one meeting. She’s worked some form of enchantment on him. She’s a witch or a demon. Who is to say that the legendary country of Terrania even exists? She’s a demon, and we cannot allow this marriage!”

  “I will marry Princess Maarie Kaathliin tomorrow,” Quinnault said through gritted teeth. “The choice is mine and I have made it.”

  “We will not crown her queen until she proves she is not a demon!” Konnaught stood up so fast he knocked over his chair. “Moncriith predicted this would happen. He was my father’s Battlemage. He warned us all about demons—including the king’s exiled sister.”

  “Moncriith would have been exiled or executed, had he lived, because he refused to gather dragon magic. Moncriith drew his power from blood and pain. We don’t know how long he would have contented himself with his own blood and the death of small animals. His next victim would have been human, probably one of us,” Quinnault reminded them.

  “This unknown, possibly false princess, can’t gather dragon magic—no woman can. But she might be a magician working in secret to undermine our peace and stability.” Hanic sat down, seemingly calm. “She must prove that she is indeed a princess of Terrania and not a rogue witch.”

  “How?” Cold sweat broke out on Quinnault’s brow. The magicians couldn’t access the void with dragon magic to test her talent. All of the usual witchsniffers who sensed magic in others but had no other talent of their own had been exiled with the other rogues. Only magicians could survive the other tests for magical talent—fire and water. The only way Katie could prove herself innocent of Hanic’s accusation was to die.

  He wouldn’t abuse her trust or the wonderful gifts from her people by allowing these men to murder her in the name of protecting Coronnan from rogue magic.

  “The dragons will tell us if she is the right queen for the king they blessed,” Lyman said quietly from his corner.

  All eyes turned to the Coraurlia in the center of the table. The glass crown shaped like a dragon head and embedded with costly jewels had been a gift from the dragons as a symbol of their tie to the wearer of the crown.

  Quinnault relaxed. The dragons approved of Katie. He knew that in his heart.

  An evil smile crossed Hanic’s face. “Yes, the dragons. She must face a dragon at dawn. Shayla will eat her alive.”

  “Dragons don’t exist. How can they test me?” Katie whispered. Bewilderment erased the smile from her eyes.

  “A demon will become hysterical and flee in its true form when faced by a dragon.” Hanic’s smile spread with confidence. “If this so-called princess of Terrania can remain in human form in the presence of a dragon, we will accept her as your bride, Your Grace.”

  But no one had seen a dragon in almost a moon. Shayla had announced to one and all that the Covenant was broken. The amount of magic in the air had dwindled. Would she come in answer to this summons?

  If she didn’t, would Katie survive another test dreamed up by these superstitious lords?

  Chapter 21

  “Those, ‘wires,’ as you call them, barely fit through that conduit. How do you expect me to crawl in there and find the broken one?” Powwell asked Yaala. He eyed the narrow tunnel skeptically. He’d just begun to get used to the miles of Kardia above his head and breathe almost naturally within this extensive cave system. The bottom of the conduit rose man height above the cavern where he stood. It couldn’t contain enough air for both him and the bundle of wires.

  An eerie sensation crawled over his skin; it felt as if he were being watched. He looked hastily in all directions. A flicker of white moved beyond his peripheral vision as fast as he turned his head.

  More hallucinations. Or so Yaala said. But she said that Televarn’s portal was imaginary, too.

  “The conduit is wide enough. I’ve crawled through it a number of times,” Yaala said as she cupped her hands to boost Powwell up.

  “You’re thinner than I am. And some of the others are narrower in the shoulders than I. Why me?” Powwell kept both feet firmly on the ground, lungs laboring mightily at the thought of entering that tiny tunnel. He’d already discovered that, in the pit, Yaala gave orders and everyone obeyed her without question—except the new man, Piedro, and he’d learn soon enough. Yaala was the Kaalipha of the pit, just as Yaassima was Kaalipha of the city above them.

  “You haven’t lost your intelligence, so you will recognize the broken wire when you find it,” she said, motioning for him to place his foot into her hands.

  “You’ve been here longer than most everyone else. Why haven’t you lost your intelligence?”

  “Because I haven’t given in to my fears and panic. Because I love the machines. I’d rather live here with them than aboveground with Yaassima.”

  “Then why don’t you go into that conduit? You know these machines—you love these machines as if they were your familiars.”

  “You will go, Powwell, because I’m training you to know and love these machines as if they were more than your familiars. They are family. The day will come when you will need them. They will need you. I need another engineer to keep things going.”

  “Yaala!” a man’s voice echoed down the corridor from the upper levels of the pit. “Yaala, they need the engineer to fix something above.”

  Powwell jumped at the words. “Above!”

  “Coming,” Yaala called back. “You’d better come, too. You need to know how Yaassima’s toys work.” She strode toward the passage out of this small cavern. A very deep cavern. “Oh, and as soon as we get beyond the gate, I’m no longer Yaala. I’m the Engineer. Yaassima doesn’t bother with names as long as the job gets done. She thinks I’m dead. I want her to continue thinking that until . . . until I’m ready.”

  “We’re getting out of here? Yaala, if I get out of this place, I won’t come back.” Powwell could only think of clean sweet air and natural light.

  “Yes, you will come back. There isn’t anyplace else to go, and I’m not yet ready to kill Yaassima. I have to know everything about these machines before I’ll have the power to murder my mother and take her place as Kaalipha.”

 
“I see that the dragon bitch gave you one of the better pieces of jewelry,” Maia sneered as she sorted laundry in Myri’s bedroom. “Televarn won’t like it.”

  “I don’t care what Televarn likes and doesn’t like,” Myri replied. She sat rocking in the nursing chair. Amaranth suckled greedily. Her tug against Myri’s breast sent a deep wave of satisfaction through her entire being. The faint milky scent of the baby and the smell of fresh sunshine in the laundry almost made her content. Almost.

  The weight of the necklace and her own lack of freedom preyed on her mind. How was she to escape if the necklace killed her as she left the palace? Nastfa and Golin had already shown their sympathy with her by escorting her politely around the palace rather than molesting her as Yaassima promised. They hadn’t said anything the dragon pendant couldn’t relay to Yaassima. But Myri sensed their emotions. Nastfa in particular. He didn’t belong here and wanted out as badly as she.

  Every time she was with the proud member of the assassins guild, she had more questions about him than before. All she knew for sure was that he’d help her escape if she could break the necklace. If . . . how?

  She sent the chair rocking faster to absorb her emotions before the baby sensed her disquiet and became fretful. The old wood of the chair creaked in time to her movement.

  She and Maia moved around each other in cautious, un-touching circles, sharing the room, the rocker, the laundry—but never the baby. Maia didn’t push the issue of nursing Amaranth unless Yaassima was present. Since the Kaalipha had given the necklace to Myri, she left the two younger women alone a lot.

  Neither Myri nor Maia seemed to want to openly antagonize the other. Equally, they were unwilling to offer friendship.

  “Well, you’d better start thinking about what Televarn wants. He won’t leave you here for long. He never gives up something he claims as his own,” Maia said bitterly. She snapped the diaper she was folding so hard the air crackled around it.

  “Including you and Kestra?” Myri asked. He’d surrendered both women to Yaassima’s brothel as part of his “rent” here in Hanassa.