The Treasure Keeper

'No.' He moistened his lips. 'Got to ... find the other dragon. He's here. Somewhere.'

'His Grace and I will do it. You Turn.'

'Not yet.'

'You should listen to me now, my friend.'

Sandu squatted before them, regarded Hayden gravely, his face streaked with sweat and flour. 'I'll find thedrakon; I smell him too. I'll take care of the female and the men. But if you don't Turn now, you'll bleed to death, and what good will you be to any of us then?'

Hayden rolled his eyes back to Zoe's. 'Turn,' she urged. 'Please.'

He went to smoke, a sudden silky lightness. He twirled up before them both and hovered, not leaving.

He wouldn't go, she knew that. Not until she and the prince did too.

Sandu rose to tuck his hair behind one ear, regarded the woman shivering on the floor. She was dressed as a servant, in a plain tan gown and stained apron, her cap with short starched ruffles. A cook, Zoe would guess. There was something more about her, though. Something odd. Perfumey, even through the choking odor of gunpowder and fear.

'She's one of mine,' said the prince, matter-of-fact. His hands were at his hips; he spoke to Zoe and Hayden without looking at either. 'Feel it? She's of dragon blood. Extremely thin, hardly a thimbleful. That means she's Zaharen.'

Zoe stood with blood dripping down her knees as the boy went to the woman, drew her up with both hands.

The cook gasped something in a patois Zoe didn't understand. She clutched at the prince's forearms with frantic fingers and finally spewed words of pure Parisian French. 'Monster. Beast. Devil!'

'Tell me where the other one is,' said Sandu, Persuasion again drenching his words. 'The one like us. Tell me now.'

The woman pressed her lips together and shook her head, then let out a howling sob as the prince pried her hands from his arms.

'You know who I am. You must obey. Tell me now.'

'I won't. I can't. They'll kill me, they'll kill my son, just like they did with that driver—'

'Wait,' said Zoe, and sent out the cloak in a slow, easy puff around the panicked woman.

She saw darkness. She saw rough wooden steps steeply descending. She saw a place with limestone all around, and a wine rack. No windows. An empty bottle rolled against mortar, a glint of olive green against a stone wall. The harsh, disagreeable aroma of mushrooms and mold.

'It's a cellar,' Zoe said. 'She's trying to hide something in a cellar.'

The cook let out a moan. Once again, Sandu didn't ask useless questions. He only did a quick survey of the kitchen, the walls, the scarlet-and-white-dotted floor. He flipped back the sole circle of rug in the center of the chamber. There was only stone beneath it.

'There's no access here to a cellar.'

'There must be somewhere.'

Hayden writhed down before them, twisted into corners, around the open doors of the larder, out again to the fireplace, the pantry. And then his voice came from inside it.

'Here,' he called.

'Turn back to smoke,' ordered the prince, but he was already wrenching open the pantry doors. Flour shook in a small powdery storm from his hair.

The pantry seemed to contain neither a means to a cellar nor Hayden. Zoe saw shelves of bundled herbs, rounded cheeses sealed in wax. That was all.

'Back here,' Hayden said, still unseen. He sounded muffled. 'There's a keyhole behind the dill. It's a false back.'

She remembered the key from the wallet, the key that would open only a certain warded lock.

'Turn back,'complained the prince. 'I've got to smash it. You're in the way.'

Perhaps the wood here was thinner than the front door. Sandu shattered it with one kick, and this time the cook tore at her hair beneath her cap before collapsing into sobs again.

'Who else will come here?' Sandu asked her, brushing a sliver of wood from his shoulder. 'How many other sanf inimicus dwell in this house?'

'None. None, I swear. These two are the only—' She broke into that patois again, shaking her head, then switched back to French. 'No more.'

The prince sent the Zaharen woman a crystal-hard look. 'You will remain here. You will not move until I give you leave.'

'Nu,'she cried. 'Noble One,nu, nu... '

'But you will.'

Zoe Turned invisible—it seemed somewhat more modest than not, even with the flour still covering her— and followed the prince into the cave behind the pantry, stepping gingerly around the sharp particles of wood.

There was no light but what filtered from behind them. Halfway down the stairs Sandu paused, shook his head. Mumbled something in Romanian.

'What is it?' Her voice came out a whisper; she was trying not to inhale too deeply. The mold stink grew stronger and stronger.

'That buzzing. It's maddening, like bees in my head.'

'What?'

But he was descending once more, quick as a cat; she followed the line of his bare back, paler than the darkness swallowing them.

Hayden was a cloud at her side, brushing cool against her shoulder.

The prince made an inarticulate sound of discovery. She hurried, missed the last step of the stairs but recovered. Hayden flowed ahead, reaching Sandu before her, becoming man by the prince and the darker thing he knelt by on the floor.

'I need a light,' said Sandu, lifting his head. 'Never mind. Let's just get him out of here.'

The thing was long, covered with a blanket. Hayden pulled it off, and therewas a monster beneath.

It seemed immobilized. Hands raised to its chest, fingers clawing at the air—but instead of fingers they were talons of long, twisting gold. Clothing rent, legs askew. There were manacles around the wrists, manacles that gave off an oddly pale blue shimmer, even down here. The face was frozen into rictus; a wide, blistering red scar cut along one cheek, all the way down into its neck. More gold threaded the filthy dark hair matted to the floor. The monster had clearly died in great pain; it was dreadful to look upon, anguished and petrified and very nearly unrecognizable.

'Rhys,' she said, but this time her voice completely failed her. She wet her lips and tried again, an explosion of sound.

'Rhys.'

And bent down to grasp those whetted claws.

Hayden swayed a little beside her; his hand gripped her shoulder. 'My God, she's right. It's Rhys Langford.'

'Lady Amalia's brother?' asked the Zaharen. He was holding both hands to his head. 'Yes.'

'He's not dead,' Zoe muttered. She had moved her palms to his chest, felt the faint electric thrill of drakon still pooled in him, no heartbeat. 'He's not dead, yet he's not breathing. I don't understand.'

Sandu had begun to stagger back. 'The manacles. Don't you hear it?'

'No.' She glanced up, from Sandu's face to Hayden's, and they were both looking sick. 'What's wrong?'

'Break them,' said the boy, right before he listed sideways. He hit the floor with that particular, youthful elasticity, in bends, only barely managing to catch himself with one arm before collapsing all the way. His voice went hoarse. 'Quickly, please.'

Hayden simply fell over. Just like that, fell over, a great relaxed shape flat on the floor in the dark, still bleeding, and she looked back at the pale blue-studded metal cuffs—were those diamonds? why didn't they sing? —took the nearest one in her hands and pulled it apart.