The Dream Thief

by Shana Abe

  “Let us negotiate.”

  “Negotiate?” She sat up, wary. None of the dreams had included this.

  “Aye. I assume you know the meaning of the word. You desire something. I desire something. Perhaps together we may come to an amiable…conclusion.”

  He began to unbutton his waistcoat. She slipped off the bed and walked to the hearth. It didn’t seem wise to remain there beside him.

  Yet from across the room she still smelled his skin, the wind-clean fragrance of his hair. Her skirts were still wrinkled from his weight.

  “I don’t suppose it would help to appeal to your sense of duty to my family, to ask that you stay with me out of respect for your agreement with them.”

  “No, it wouldn’t.”

  “Or out of honor. As a gentleman.”

  He gave a curt laugh. “An interesting notion.”

  “A gentleman thief.”

  “You’ve been reading too many penny novels, my heart. There is no such creature.”

  “Then what is it you want?”

  He was quiet for a very long while, so long her eyes began to smart from staring down into the flames.

  “One night,” he said at last, very soft. “One night with you. That’s all.”

  She would have given him every night. She would have given him the stars, and the milky moon, and all the diamonds of the earth. Even if it had meant they lived as outcasts; even if it meant her own doom. Lia closed her eyes.

  “Would you do that?” he asked.

  Yes, the dragon in her heart whispered. Yes, yes. Her lips felt bruised, her body felt bruised. There was an aching inside her, a burning demand for him and what she knew he could do for her.

  One night. It would never be enough.

  “Yes,” she said, and when he didn’t respond she angled slightly to see him from over her shoulder.

  His face held an odd look, an arrested expression, as if he’d just considered something deeply surprising. Then he scowled.

  “I almost think you mean it.”

  “I do mean it.” She turned to him fully. Her fingers worked at the ties to her stomacher.

  “Lia.”

  She ignored him, loosening the tight draw of the ribbons, allowing the stiff green bodice to ease open. He waited until she’d unlaced the final tie, pulling the piece apart and letting it slip with its short, narrow sleeves down her arms, exposing her corset and chemise, the fine, translucent silk. Then he stood, crossing to her.

  “Don’t.”

  “All right.” Her arms fell to her sides. She looked straight up at him, a clear, concentrated look, and felt something within her gather into storm.

  Yes, whispered the dragon again.

  Without even willing it she Turned, all of her, all at once, into smoke.

  It was shocking. The buoyancy of that day in Edinburgh, the light, floating happiness swept her entire being. She was nothing; she was a cloud, a mirage, no body or heavy dark thoughts. There was none of the pain she’d heard accompanied the first time; there was only the feral, ferocious bliss of giving up her body for air.

  She swept up and touched the ceiling, learned the pattern of the beams of wood, the cold stiffness of the white plaster and cream ornament. The air was heated and thick and held her aloft like a cushion. She stretched thin as paper through the lamp-colored light, then drew into a mass, churning, aware only dimly of the man below her standing immobile in his shirtsleeves, his face upturned and his hands at his sides.

  Zane.

  As soon as she thought his name, she felt the heaviness return. Again with no direct purpose, with no conscious resolution, Lia sifted down into shape and form and took breath as a woman standing before him, her hair long and free, her body completely unclothed.

  Her empty gown lay on the floor between them.

  She lifted her hands to him. He accepted them, his fingers closing over hers.

  “That was new,” he said.

  She smiled in spite of herself, joyful. “I know.” She blinked back tears. “I did it. I did.”

  “You did.” His voice sounded different, emotionless; his clasp was very light. “It was-breathtaking. Congratulations.”

  She inhaled deeply, feeling her body again, feeling her lungs. “Did I startle you?”

  “Don’t be absurd. I’m quite used to seeing half-naked young ladies melt into smoke.” He released her hands. “Think nothing of it.”

  “Then what’s amiss?”

  “Snapdragon.” He stooped to retrieve her gown, staring down at the mess of it, and then shook his head. “Perhaps you’d care to dress.”

  “Isn’t this what you wanted?” She did not take the gown. Elation still bubbled through her, the thrill of success. “Here I am, Zane. Here is your night.”

  “Yes…I’m afraid I’ve changed my mind.”

  “You said I was pretty, before.”

  “Did I?” A new laugh escaped him, mirthless. “How unoriginal. I must be the master of understatement. I think you’re goddamned radiant, and you know it. Sometimes I think if I look at you too long I’ll go blind, like a lunatic staring straight into the sun. No,” he said in a savage undertone, and let the gown fall back to the floor. “You’re not pretty.”

  She walked away from him, to the bed. She drew down the covers and ran her hands along the sheets.

  “Stop it,” he said.

  “One night.”

  “No.”

  “It was your proposition.”

  “An instant of insanity. No doubt soon it will pass.”

  She climbed into the bed. She pushed down between the sheets and stretched like a tigress, watching him.

  “You’re too young,” he said, blunt. “We’re too different. If anything, dear God, you’ve just proven that. You-I tend to lose my balance around you, and that’s a dangerous thing. It would be a disaster.” He shook his head once more, his mouth hardening. “We have enough to worry about as it is. I’ll stay with you, Lia. If there’s trouble ahead, I’ll do my best to protect you. But that’s all. We’ll retrieve the diamond and hand it over to your mother. And then our business together is done. You return to your life. I return to mine.”

  His gaze dropped. Without looking at her, he grabbed a handful of furs from the bed, spread them before the hearth.

  “You think I’m radiant?” she whispered.

  “Good night, Lady Amalia.”

  “Good night, thief.”

  She could not see his reaction. He’d turned his back to her, a darkened figure surrounded by firelight. Lia settled back into the bed; Zane eased flat upon the floor, an arm beneath his head. His breathing was rigidly even.

  Minutes passed, hours passed, before he spoke again, barely a sound above the hushed flames.

  “One night. I’ll take it later.”

  But perhaps she only dreamed it.

  “Lia.”

  “Yes, Zane.”

  “Who is left to come?”

  “Joan. Audrey. They’ll say they want only to talk, to parley a peace. They’ll bring arsenic for your sherry. Joan will distract you while Audrey slips it in.”

  “That would be your sherry as well,” he said, thoughtful.

  “I am now expendable.”

  “Oh, really?” He drew his palms up her bare arms, cupped his hands behind her neck. He kissed her cheek, lightly, gently, as Draumr warmed into a prickle against her skin.

  “Come outside with me, my heart. The moon tonight is fine and high, and I believe I fancy a ride on my favorite dragon. We’ll meet your sisters in midflight.”

  For the first time ever, she hesitated.

  “Amalia,” he said, darkly soft. “I’ve two pistols primed and the diamond around my neck. No harm will come to you or our child. I promise you that.”

  “Yes, Zane.”

  She was not his to take. He knew that. He’d always known that. He needed no reminders, but it seemed they were all around him anyway:

  The rose-cream clarity of her skin, unnatural
in its perfection.

  The pitch of her voice, low and magical, a blend of dusk and honey.

  Her steady grace. The shy glance of her eyes, dark velvet brown beneath heavy lashes.

  Her laughter at one of Hunyadi’s ridiculous compliments, subtly infectious.

  The blade-thin smile of Hunyadi’s wife, watching them together.

  The wife’s jewels.

  Gold.

  Diamonds.

  The smoke rising up from the chimneys, evaporating in threads.

  The morning had bloomed brilliantly clear, everything visible strictly blue or white like the glaze on a new Dutch tile. Beyond the windows of the great hall where they took their breakfast, the sky loomed cobalt, frankly blinding against the blanket of unmarked snow.

  “But you cannot leave today! Do not be so rash, I beg you!” Hunyadi seemed genuinely distressed at the news of their departure. “The roads will be unmanageable, and I’ve yet to show Lady Lalonde the tasting room!”

  “Yes,” said Lia, turning a cat smile to Zane. “And I was so looking forward to it. You do know how I adore winemaking, my lord.”

  “Indeed,” said one of the other men, staring straight at her, “what a pity it would be to depart so soon.”

  “Lady Lalonde promised us the harpsichord this afternoon,” announced the elderly man.

  “And whist this evening,” declared another.

  In the space of one half a day-less than that-it seemed Amalia had lured every male of the villa into her luminous orbit. She laughed and sparkled and made an ordinary event like breaking their fast into something as heady as sipping ambrosia straight from the gods.

  Zane gazed back at her, unamused. He thought of the bed in the chamber that awaited them, and of the furs, and the hard stone floor that had left bruises up and down his spine and a pinch in his neck. And of Lia on the soft mattress, undressed and waiting.

  “My dear sir, we are unforgivably rude.” Zane gave a nod to Hunyadi. “I cannot excuse our poor manners, except to say that we have trespassed upon your hospitality long enough. You were kind enough to take in such ragged travelers; we cannot intrude another day upon your festivities. We’ve appointments in Bucharest,” he continued, louder, to cover the noises Hunyadi was beginning to make, “and I fear missing them, as several important gentlemen await us.”

  “But the roads!”

  Zane lifted a hand to the windows, to the icicles dripping prisms from the eaves. “I perceive the day is warming.”

  “Yes,” agreed Madame Hunyadi, abrupt. “I think it will be a fine day.”

  It was merely an adequate day, which was enough. It was not so chilly that the horses couldn’t manage it, which was his only real concern. But it seemed the storm that had tossed them here had left them with a smooth, blank canvas of a map. The gypsy shook his head and muttered to himself underneath his layers of scarves as Lia and Zane made their good-byes and climbed into the carriage.

  The villa drive had been shoveled, all the way to the main gate and a few yards beyond. After that it was an ocean of white.

  A collection of noblemen and -women had gathered to see them off, painted faces under hoods, powdered wigs and elaborate outfits contrasting garish against the plain simplicity of the cold outdoors.

  “Farewell,” Lia called, with a gay wave out the open window.

  Hands were lifted in return. Zane touched his hat to them, ready to rap on the ceiling for the driver to start, when Hunyadi broke apart from the crowd.

  He strode up to the window, squinting against the light.

  “Good sir,” Zane said, and took his gloved fingers.

  “I’ve been thinking upon it. If you seek that diamond still-if you have the time, and the notion-you might visit the castle of the Zaharen, in the far reaches of the Carpathians, around…fifty leagues northeast of here. Zaharen Yce, it’s called. It’s said to be the ancient stronghold of the drákon. There is a prince who lives in it now. Perhaps he knows where your singing stone may be found.” The man grinned, jolly once more. “Come back when you have it, why don’t you, and show it around. I’d give a bottle of my best to see it in a necklace.”

  Hunyadi stepped back with a bow, still scintillating with his rubies. “God keep you both. Viszlat.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Fifty leagues northeast.” Lia drummed her fingers nervously against her knees.

  “I cannot help but notice,” Zane said politely, “we’re already headed that direction.”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes and listened to the music of Draumr, trying to gauge how far away it still was, how many roads, how many mountains. But it was like trying to follow the wingbeats of a hummingbird; all she had was the perception of life, of soaring distance, the urgency of its song like a grace note that beat over and over through her skin.

  “Does he have it? The prince in the castle?”

  She opened her eyes. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  “As do I.” Zane crossed his ankles and his arms, his body rocking lazily with the sway of the coach. “It really does seem like rather the last place on earth we should venture.”

  “I agree.”

  Minutes passed, and they did not speak again. The air kept a brittle bite; she tied the curtains back on the window beside her to let a patch of sun pick out the nap of the sheepskin and the weave of her skirts. It was the first time Zane had spent any amount of time confined in the carriage with her, but even though they had passed beyond sight of the villa, he didn’t seem inclined to leave. His legs stretched all the way to the baseboard of her seat, his boots a brown polished sheen that gave off the faint, pleasant aroma of fine leather. His thighs were taut and well muscled beneath the folds of his cloak and his doeskin breeches-the same breeches, she realized, that he had worn last night.

  On the bed with her.

  Her eyes drifted up to his. He was watching her, impassive.

  “Amalia.” He held her gaze. “If Draumr is there in this castle, or anywhere near there, I’m going in alone. You will wait for me in whatever village or town we find nearby.”

  “No,” she said, startled. “You can’t find it without me.”

  “Your parents thought otherwise.”

  “You don’t know what it looks like. You won’t even know if what you see is real, if whatever this prince shows you will be real.”

  “True. It’s a risk I’ll take.”

  “Zane-”

  “Listen, love. In a convenient, happy world, monsieur le prince fully and faithfully believes the legend of the drákon is merely a quaint little fairy tale that was once associated with his home. He’s kindhearted and feeble-witted and happens to have our diamond all right and tight in a handy box upon his dresser. I’ll show him your father’s impressive bank account, he’ll sell me the stone, and we’re off with no one attempting to flambé us ever again. However…”

  They looked at each other as the carriage made a creaking turn, and Lia’s patch of light slid slowly down to her feet.

  The thief sighed. “That’s not the way it’s going to be.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because it’s never that simple. Because the Marquess and Marchioness of Langford picked me to fetch this stone for a bloody good reason, and it wasn’t because of my charming personality. That’s when you will become too serious a burden, snapdragon. I can’t…I can’t do what I said I would do and worry about you at the same time. Not any longer.”

  “You mean, you can’t nick it if I’m there.”

  “You are something of a distraction,” he said.

  “I’m also bloody useful,” she retorted, leaning forward. “I can Turn now-to smoke, at least. I can go places you can’t. I can see things you won’t. And I can tell you definitively if the diamond you’re prepared to buy or steal is the one we actually want.”

  “That’s splendid. I’ll be certain to remember it as I’m being eviscerated by one of your kinsmen.”

  “I don’t think-”

>   “Lia,” he interrupted, sterner than before, “must I spell it out for you? You distract me. The last thing we need is to plunge into the hornets’ nest when I can’t tear my eyes off you. I need to be clear-minded if we’re going to get through this unscathed. I need to keep sharp. But when you’re this damned close to me, all I think about is you. I think about your mouth, and I think about your breasts, and I think about your pink tongue and your legs wrapped around me. I think about touching you and you touching me-and then I look at you and you’re giving me that look-yes, that one, just there, as if you want me to kiss you-please stop-” He exhaled on a hiss, tipping his head back against the wood and pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “If you’d like the brutal truth of it, I think I must be the biggest damned fool in creation to have spent last night on the floor. But I did. And I’ll do it again if I must. Because we are not going to push this any further than we have.”

  “Is that right?” she said quietly.

  His hand lowered. “You’re not going with me to the castle. Any castle. You’re not to draw attention to yourself, you’re not to go tripping merrily into peril as you seem so inclined to do, and you’re not going to distract me from my job. If I had an ounce of sense I’d find new transport at the next village and have the coachman turn ’round to take you home.”

  The carriage hit a rut; Lia grabbed the strap by her head to keep her balance. “But you won’t,” she said, as the light shifted blue and clear over his face.

  He turned to the window and gave a smile to the glass, caustic.

  “No,” he muttered. “I won’t.”

  There were no actual towns in the foothills nearby. Lia wouldn’t have called what they encountered even a village: a collection of thatched-roof dwellings, two taverns, a church, a smithy, and a store for general goods, all of it encircled by a worn stone wall that ate into the hillside. They were directed to one of the larger of the homes in the settlement; it belonged to the village elder. Or perhaps he was the mayor. Lia’s grasp of the local tongue was not as certain as she’d hoped.