The Treasure Keeper

'We could post letters,' she said, tipping her chin to see his. 'Today. Tell them everything.' 'Yes,' he said again.

She understood what he was not saying: that a letter would be slow. That far swifter than the post, than carriages or boats, was a dragon in flight. Even if it traveled only at night. Even with a wounded woman on its back.

It would mean her return home. No excuses, no recourse. She'd face censure from the council, Cerise's tears. Marriage and a title and stares, probably stares and sly whispers for the rest of her life. Once they knew all her tricks she'd not elude them again. She'd be watched. She'd be locked to the shire forever.

With him.

Far in the distance a flock of birds rose in a dark fluttery cloud, veered a circle and flew off toward the sun.

'Will you hate it?' he asked softly. 'Will you come to hate me?'

'No. I could never ...Hate is such a dreadful word.'

'What about love, then? Do you think you might ever love me?'

Horses and coaches and donkeys below, the low of cattle being driven down the Quai, the calls of the street vendors. Notes from a solo being stroked from a violin reaching them in fits and starts along the wind. The gardens of Tuileries, empty and frozen with silence.

'Yes,' Zoe said.

'When?' He'd stopped rocking.

'Just now.' She paused. 'Perhaps before.'

She heard his exhale, felt it, the tremble in his arms returning.

'Days ago,' she said, 'or perhaps before even that. When you told me I didn't like to cook.' 'You don't!'

'I know that, Lord Rhys of Chasen Manor, of Darkfrith. I was just surprised that you knew it too.'

'Oh.' The trembling turned into laughter. She slipped carefully from his arms, found her place upon the warmed metal roof between his legs, and gazed up at him, her hands upon his thighs.

He wiped at his eyes with the heels of his palms. A sudden gust sent tendrils of chestnut and gold flaring about him. Like a halo, like the smoke that used to define him. Aye, her own Lord Rhys, with lips still so sensual, and eyes that shone like summer leaves under ice, clear and bright.

'I know so many things about you.' For an instant his voice returned to normal, pure and deep and smooth. 'Zee Langford. I know all about you.'

'I believe you,' she said simply. 'You've been spying on me for a while.' And then she smiled at his look.

He lifted his face to the sun, his lips smiling too: a better smile than before, no mask now, no hidden anguish. Moisture wet his lashes, spiked them into stars. She traced a finger down his scar and felt his hushed attention, how his head turned ever so slightly into her touch.

'Have you ever made love on a rooftop?' she asked.

His smile puckered a little, as if holding back another laugh.

'No, don't answer that. Have you ever made love upon this rooftop?'

'I have not,' he said, sounding very solemn despite the pucker.

Zoe ran her good hand down the sheet, soft cotton rumpled against her palm. She decided that her leg hardly hurt at the moment. 'Well.'

He looked at her askance. 'It's very steep here.'

'Yes, but we could . You're right. It's very steep. And there are no doors to this section. Not even a window.' The wind picked up again; she held back her hair, squinting around them. 'How did we get here?'

His eyes dropped. 'I carried you.' He lifted a hand between them and spread his talons, and the silver snapping strands mingled with his gold. 'In my mouth.'

She felt her eyebrows climbing.

Rhys said, 'You're light. I managed not to bite you at all.'

'Oh, of course.'

'It's true.'

'In full daylight. A dragon crawling up the side of the Palais des Tuileries with a maiden clutched in his fangs.' She aimed her squint at him, waiting for the jest. 'I believe I've read this somewhere before.'

'Don't be absurd, it wasn't daylight. It was right before dawn. That's the best time not to be seen, you know.'

She only stared at him.

'Wife,' he said, sober, lifting his eyes, 'if it meant waking you again, having you with me again, I would have flown all about the city with you in my teeth. I would have landed at Versailles and danced a jig for the king and queen themselves if it meant you'd be well.'

'Really?' She pushed more hair from her lashes. 'Danced a jig?'

'Abourree at the least. Listen, beloved. I know I'm not him.' He shook his head when she opened her mouth, went on more quickly. 'Wait. I know I'll never be him. And I know that a part of you will always mourn that. But I swear to you . I swear I'll do my best by you. I swear I .'

He seemed to run out of words. She watched him struggle in silence, a shadow-darkened man with enamel blue all around him, endless but for the birds that flew, and the clouds that swept in pale crystalline tiers, blown about the horizon.

'I love you,' she said for them both. 'At your best and your worst, I love you. Paris or Darkfrith. Here, there, and everywhere, I love you.'

She leaned up on her knees and touched her lips to his, her undamaged hand upon his shoulder, his arms coming around her waist. The roof beneath them hummed and hummed.

She kissed him. She closed her eyes against the sun and sky and put her heart into it, and he made a hum that harmonized with the sheets of bronze, that resonated back into Zoe and spread through her veins in something very close to complete happiness.

He drew a breath against her lips. He laughed and suddenly spread his arms wide, his face tilted back to the sun: unruly hair and a vicious red scar, his twisted feet pushed hard against the roof, his hands shining and gleaming with their blades of whetted gold.

'Then I'm the luckiest dragon on earth,' Rhys said, and opened his eyes to look at her. He offered her that slow and dazzling sweet smile. 'My miracle Zee. You make me the luckiest one.'

It happened that the roof was not so very pitched after all. And that twilight was just as good as dawn for stealing back down the side of a palace. And that the heavy antique bed that waited inside fit two drdkon—two human-shaped drakon —very well.

If the spirits in the broken mirror tried to watch her still, Zoe didn't notice. She and the husband of her heart had shifted it about so that the glass faced the wall, and the falling night embraced them without interruption, and the flakes of gold from the gilt along the bed broke free with their joy, a small shower of muted color that sang and sang as it floated down to the floor.

Epilogue

 So now you begin to comprehend the dark wonders of the magic and earth that compose you. You flex your claws into the rich soil of our land and smell its loam. You taste raindrops on your tongue, all the dissolved minerals that become a part of you when swallowed, that expand through you and harden your scales and lend vibrant color to your body.

Beautiful child. Blessed by nature, you soar and coil and hunt the moon. You wink at the stars and they wink back at you. You dream of clouds and castles, of the diamonds that are your birthright. You Turn to smoke and let currents of air move you, as lissome as the dolphins that slice into the soundless core of the sea.

You cherish our home. Like the rest of us, you are its guardian and its savior. Darkfrith cannot exist without you.

Understand, then, the nature of the creature who seeks to hurt us. Understand her ruthlessness, her