The Treasure Keeper

done it long before now.'

'You're English,' he said.

'I am.'

Zoe began to steal forward into the cave. Rhys was sipping at his tea, pattering on in his damaged, cordial voice.

'But I don't know you. I know everyone from the shire, but not you.

'Are you certain about that?' She smiled up at him, and her eyes crinkled. They were blue, Zoe saw. Not the faded, chalky blue one might expect of a human her age—but she's not human, whispered her mind,she's not human, is she?—but an intensely rich blue, like the heart of a midnoon sky.

Zoe weaved around the candelabra, stepping quietly upon the rug beneath it. She cast the cloak at the woman and had it bounce back to her at once, untouched.

Astonished, she tried again. And again, it rebounded, as if it'd struck a rubber wall.

'Mmm, no,' Rhys was saying, a brow lifted, shaking his head. He rested his weight upon one leg and held the teacup with his fingers splayed, a gentleman at his leisure with talons poking in every direction. 'Don't recall you. Sorry.'

The woman rocked back upon her bench, still smiling. Her gown was blue as well, an old-fashioned powder blue, with a stomacher and embroidery. 'Now, that is a disappointment. A girl never forgets her first kiss, but I suppose you males are more fickle than that. And you were always such a flirt.'

Zoe went motionless once again.

Rhys slowly lowered his cup. 'I beg your pardon?'

'I'd fallen. I'd scraped my chin. It hurt like the devil, and then you were there. Right there on the street in front of the silversmith's, the dark and dangerous second son of the Alpha. Oh, how my heart skipped! Even then you were quite the handsome rogue. You smiled at me and told me not to cry. But it hurt, you see. So you bent down, and you kissed it better. You wiped my tears away with your thumb. That's all.' She tasted her tea. 'That's why I kept you in the basement. That's why I haven't killed you, the way I'm going to kill the rest.

For a moment, he only stared at her. 'What are you talking about?'

'Oh.' The woman gave a cackle. 'I forgot to mention that I was only eight years old at the time. Old enough to know better than to cry, actually, but you were so tender. It was the first time you'd ever truly looked at me.^een me. Such eyes, and that smile! I was swept away. I'll tell you this, I adored you for years after.'

Rhys limped back to the stand by the bed, replaced his cup amid the little pots of sugar and cream. The woman watched his every move.

'My name was Honor then,' she said evenly. 'Honor Carlisle. And that was my first kiss, trifle though it was.'

He had turned to see her. He was scowling down at her, his black brows drawn into a slash, his jaw grim. Candlelight flickered over him, highlighted muscle and sinew and the gloss of his hair.

'I'm Rez now,' said the woman. 'I have reached ninety-one years of age, and my name is Rez.'

'I beg your pardon,' said Rhys again, still polite. 'One does hate to contradict a lady.' He gave a short bow without taking his gaze from hers. 'But I don't think that's possible.'

'What, to be this aged and still this fine-looking?' She laughed at her own wit, and it was a surprisingly youthful sound. 'Dear me! And I thought you were the brother with the sense of humor. I'm a time weaver, Lord Rhys. I discovered that right before my fifteenth birthday. Right after I was stolen from the tribe.'

'A time .'

'Weaver. Yes. Well, that's what I call it. As far as I know, I'm the only drakon with such a Gift, so that means I get to invent the name. Time weaver. Sounds impressive, doesn't it?'

'Extremely. You know, I believe I do recall the incident before the silversmith's. You were pushed, weren't you? Another girl pushed you.'

The woman's smile faded. Her gaze was vivid blue.

'And your hair was . not blond. Not red. In between, sort of coppery. The color of...'

'Sunset,' whispered Rez. 'My mother said it was sunset.'

'Little Honor Carlisle. I say, how you've changed. Why don't you dispel the last of my doubts right now? Go ahead ... weave me some time. Prove to me what you're saying, because frankly—and I'm sorry to be rude— frankly your story reeks like a load of ripe horseshit.'

Zoe had been circling about the cavern, making her way closer and closer to the woman. Her scent might indeed be subtle, but the animal in Rez was going to sense her sooner or later, and realize that there was not one drakon before her but two. Zoe needed to be close enough to strike when that moment came.

Rez seemed unoffended by Rhys's bluntness. 'I'd really rather not,' she murmured, sipping more tea. 'It happens that there are some unpleasant consequences when I do it. Little bits and pieces of me gone missing. I try to save the weaves until I absolutely need them.'

'Now isn't one of those times?' he asked, again with that lifted brow.

'Not yet.' She set the tea upon the bench beside her, put her hand into the pocket of her gown. Rhys Turned at once to smoke, and the woman glanced up at him, took her hand from her pocket with her fingers curled around something dark and glittery.

'Did you think I was going to shoot you?' she asked mildly. 'Please. Turn back to your human shape, my lord.'

That was when Zoe realized that Rez held one of the manacles. The manacles embedded with Draumr.

It was impossible. They'd separated them, given one to the prince and kept the other, and theirs was still back in the palace, Zoe was sure of it. She'd made sure, right before they'd left. And Sandu had to be halfway home by now—unless the cook had turned on him—had managed to hurt him, force him back to the city—

'Return here, Lord Rhys,' commanded the old woman, and after a barely discernible hesitation, he clouded back to the ground, resumed the shape of a man.

No. No! He was supposed to be immune. Was it a trick? Was he only pretending? He was gazing at Rez and she was gazing at him; he didn't glance in Zoe's direction at all.

'Thank you. Now I'd like to address your consort. The female. Come forward, my dear. I need to see you as well.'

Zoe looked wildly about the chamber—the distance yawned before her and she was still too far—if she ran at her, if she ran quickly—

'Right now,' barked Rez in a sharp new voice, 'or else I make your lover suffer. I'm most creative. You really don't want to test me.'

Zoe willed herself visible. She was by the harpsichord, one hand pressed to the wood.

'Ah.' Rez raised her white brows. 'There you are. I've heard about you. Read about you, rather. Zoe Lane. Invisibility. That's a useful Gift too, I must suppose. Except for right now, of course.'

'Why are you doing this?' Zoe asked. 'We're your kin. Whoever you are, we're your family.'

Rez came to her feet, clutching the manacle with both hands. Two spots of color burned high in her wasted cheeks. 'Family. Is that what you think? I had a family, Mistress Lane. I had a husband, and a child. And now they're dead—they will be dead, they will be born and they will be dead—' She cut herself off with a snap of her teeth. 'You are not my family.'

'Did you kill the prince?' she asked quietly, and took a step closer. Rhys was still unmoving, watching the woman without blinking. 'Is that how you got the manacle back?'

'Kill him?' The color began to fade from her face. 'How little you know, girl. Kill him, indeed—when all this has been for him. Ever him. No, Prince Alexandru of the Zaharen is quite well at the moment. I'm going to take this fascinating bit of iron from him three days from now in the luxury of his castle. He won't even know it's gone for a week. Time weaver,' she spat. 'I told you.' She cocked her head toward Rhys. 'Lord Rhys. I regret to inform you your presence is no longer required. I want you—'

'No,' said Zoe, with another step.

'—to Turn to smoke. Do not Turn back.'

'No,'screamed Zoe as Rhys went to vapor, a cloud of gray lifting and thinning against the stratums of radiant