The Treasure Keeper

imagine you've thought this all the way through. You've become a runner. You're female. You're vulnerable. You've no special talents or Gifts—'

'You never told him?' Rhys arched a brow back at her.

'—only an inordinate sense of recklessness—'

'You never told him.' Rhys was facing her now, grinning a pirate's grin. 'Lovely sense of trust, that.'

'Kindly keep quiet,' said Zoe, and Hayden closed his mouth with an abrupt snap.

'I beg your pardon?'

'Darling. Did you think I came all this way for a lecture? Your letters stopped. It wasn't a far leap to assume you were in trouble. As you are my fiance,'she emphasized, still purposely not looking at Rhys, 'I could not think of a better person to ride to your rescue, so to speak.'

Once again, his blue eyes widened. 'You came to Paris to rescue me? '

'I am,' said Zoe darkly, 'full of surprises.'

He gawked at her a moment, then, almost reluctantly, began to chuckle. It turned into a laugh: a rich, deep, mellow sound, roundly melodious and almost soothing. She remembered his laughter so well; it was one of the reasons she thought she might be able to fall in love with him.

Hayden stepped forward—right through Rhys—still chuckling, and brought both her hands to his lips.

Just behind him, Rhys had lowered his gaze to the floor; as soon as she glanced at him his eyes lifted slightly, cool green veiled with black lashes.

'I amend my statement of before,' he said. 'Insufferable prig is more like it.'

She leaned forward, closing her eyes and lifting her chin. Hayden's kiss was short and hot and spiced very slightly with brandy; when they pulled apart, the timbre of his voice had warmed measurably.

'My brave girl. Why would you think I needed to be rescued?' 'Well, as I said.' She gave his fingers a squeeze. 'Your letters stopped.' The crinkle returned to his brow. 'My letters.' 'Yes! To me, to the council.'

He released her hands, taking a step back. The dragon-boy behind him blew a breath from between pinched lips.

'Oh,' she said. A surge of cold began a slow, slow sweep from her chest to her cheeks. She curled her fingers into her palms. 'Oh, I see. Not to the council. Only to me.'

'I'm sorry, beloved.' He lifted his hands, repentant. 'I realized in Dijon I had to mention it to them. It seemed the sanf inimicus had somehow discovered me, and I am the tribe's instrument, after all. I hold the council's complete trust. Their instructions came back exceedingly clear. They did not wish us to communicate. They did not wish for any stray letters to be intercepted.'

She swallowed. 'Not even a good-bye?'

'Not even that,' he said kindly. 'I apologize. I did not mean to worry you.'

'Worry me,' she repeated carefully, and was only barely able to check the rise in her tone. 'Worry me.' Rhys was a hovering dark shimmer at the edge of her vision; she dragged in air past the cold in her chest, spoke through stiffened lips. 'But the council still received your missives?'

'It is one of their requisites.'

'They never told me.'

'No? I'd hoped they'd might, but—well. They have their rules, don't they?' Hayden's expression lifted into a sudden smile. He gave her a pat upon her shoulder. 'Don't fret. We'll sort it all out. I'm sure when we explain to them why you left, you'll be pardoned. No doubt they're working themselves into a frenzy trying to figure out how you managed it; we can use that as a bargaining chip for your return. I'll post a note first thing tomorrow. I'll make it very clear that in exchange for your cooperation, they must not discipline you.'

The cold surrounded her entirely. It sealed her lips shut at last, preventing her from saying all the words trapped inside her, all the unwise words that pushed hard to come.

That she had risked so much. That she given up so much, her home and her family and her peace—the murder of that human coachman, his life fading beneath her hands—all because of them. Because of a council of ruling males, who'd cut her off from the one bright hope in her future simply because they could. On a whim. Because of what might be. And none of them had even bothered to let her know.

And him. Hayden, their willing lapdog, who only looked at her with those melting blue eyes and smiled and expected her to forgive all, his silence and his death.

No, she realized, examining that smile. She had it backward. Life was busy forgiving her.

'My,' murmured Rhys, sweeping closer to her side, his lips a fresh chill against her ear. 'He's quite the obedient little dragon, isn't he? What an agreeable life the two of you will share.'

She could not speak; the cold consumed her. She had to walk away.

He didn't follow. He wanted to; he wanted it badly enough that he drifted to the door after her to mark the colors she inflamed, the walls and furniture and ceiling brightening and fading as she passed. Only because of her did Rhys know that the curtains here were green, and the floor was beech, and the rug was Turkish red.

But her back was stiff and her knuckles were clenched; she'd flashed him a single look of black warning as she'd stalked away.

She was enraged, her fury so tangible he could practically taste it. He could scarcely blame her; James's smug pronouncements about the council, about her, were honest-to-God boorish. It was as if her fiance had no notion at all of who she was, the fire and passion and crazed selfless valor that burned beneath her perfect union of flesh and bones.

Perhaps he shouldn't have provoked her with that final taunt about James. Perhaps Rhys would let her be. For the moment.

Besides, he wanted to hear what holy-gilded Hayden James had to say next.

Without Zee, the parlor settled into its gray dull facade. The fire, blazing so brightly only moments before, paled and shrank, pallid flames. Even the smattering of pops and crackles from the logs grew indistinct, smothered with the newly rising strains of the symphony he could not escape.

The young drakon named Sandu straightened. 'She is very beautiful.'

The boy spoke in English, a minor surprise, but Rhys kept his gaze on James, who still stared at the empty frame of the doorway where Zoe had been, not bothering to chase after her, his hands poked deep into the pockets of his robe.

'Yes,' said Hayden James slowly. 'She is. A veritable icon.'

'An angry icon. I don't think you're going to convince her to go back to Darkfrith easily.'

James smiled again, that small and handsome smile that made Rhys wish strongly to strike him across the chin.

'Perhaps not easily. But she will go.'

'You should tell her,' said the boy, collapsing into the chair Zee had occupied. He stretched out his legs. 'She's come all this way for you. Tell her why we're here. Tell her what we've found.'

Hayden's smile wiped away. 'There's no need to do that.'

'Why not? Don't you trust her?'

'I trust her implicitly. I trust her intentions, at least. She's headstrong, spirited. Brutally intelligent. Were she a male, runner or no, I'd have no hesitation about including her, but .'

'Were she a male, you'd be in a fix! And our world would be sadly lacking that face—and that figure.'

'You are impertinent, Highness,' chided James, but his tone was placid. 'Zoe Lane is my wife, or soon will be, and I will not abide her in danger. Not any more than she's in already.'

'She doesn't seem afraid of danger,' said the boy consideringly. 'She must have hazarded a great deal to find you.'

'Precisely. She needn't hazard more.'

Sandu gave a laugh, his head dropping back against the chair, his rough hair coming undone. 'You should have seen her on the street, Hayden. You should have seen her expression as she came up to me. I thought she was going to Turn into a dragon and eat me then and there.'

'She cannot Turn.'

'A small miracle, I suppose. She frightened the devil out of the horse. And me,' he added bluntly, raising his head to pull the tie from his hair.