The Wizard's Treasure (The Dragon Nimbus) Read Online Free PDF

bobbins for an intricate stitch. The sensuous feel of carved bone and wood crawled through her. Deep satisfaction at the creation of delicate and airy fabric expanded in her lungs and gave her a sense of rightness.
    Lace! Her world revolved around lace.
    But not a scrap of it graced her night robe, shift, or the tops of her slippers. If she did not wear lace, she must be a worker rather than a noble designer or teacher. She reached up her hand to her silvery blonde hair. Her fingers drifted through the long tresses without resistance. She wore no cap, nor had she braided her hair properly.
    “I must find the workroom,” she resolved. “After I find something to eat and wash. Then I must plait my hair.” Two gathered braids from temple to nape that broke free until they reached the center of her back then joined into a single thick rope. That was the proper number for a worker.
    “Not two plaits. Three at least.” Three plaits belonged to the nobility, and four were reserved for the queen. So if she deserved three plaits, why did she not wear any of the precious lace fabric?
    “Three plaits,” she repeated. That did not settle in her brain as correct, but better than two plaits or . . . shudder . . . must she revert to the single plait of a peasant or lace factory worker until she knew the truth of her identity?
    “Three plaits,” she insisted. “But first I must wash and eat.”
    Her feet automatically headed down three flights of stairs to the long, long dining hall. The central table stretched out with places for fifty people. Remnants of food lay scattered about the table and floor where rodents and other scavengers had left it.
    Impatiently, she grabbed one of the discarded serviettes and brushed a place clear for herself. She sat down on the tapestried armchair at the head of the table. The large chair was too large. But she knew this to be her place. The view of the room was correct, but the chair did not fit her.
    Why? Why didn’t it fit? And why had she presided at the head of the table in this magnificent—but crumbling—palace.
    While she puzzled out the problem of where to sit, a series of small crashes brought her awareness back to the palace. Brickwork loosened by the kardiaquake fell throughout the building. Perhaps the impromptu remodeling would allow more light to penetrate the workrooms. She smiled again. An act of nature had defied the pompous king and given her the one thing she wanted most—light to work by.
    Well, almost the thing she wanted most. Knowing who she was and why she wandered the palace alone might be useful. But knowledge would come, once she returned to her lace.
    More richly colored tapestries hung on the high walls of the hall, from just below the narrow windows near the ceiling, to the top of the sideboards. The one depicting the signing of a long-ago wedding agreement sagged, along with the wall and ceiling. A long rent in the fabric separated the politicians from the bride and groom.
    A second tear pushed the couples representing the parents even farther away from the two centers of action.
    She almost giggled at the subtle irony created by the rips.
    Her stomach growled again. She needed to eat. But . . . but the servants had fled the kardiaquakes. No one would bring her soup and bread. No one remained in the palace but herself. Why had she been left behind in the exodus?
    Sitting here would not help. She had to find food. A niggle of pride followed her determination to do something for herself. She’d like to see the politicians in the tapestry fetching anything without help.
    Servants always entered through that door to her left and food had always been hot. Therefore the kitchen must be nearby.
    Cautiously, she traced the route. Footprints in the dust told her that someone else had passed this way, several times in recent days. She placed her right foot delicately into one of them. For a moment the frayed toes of her embroidered slipper fascinated her. She shook off