The Treasure Keeper

The monster made a slight, serious curve of his lips. His eyes locked to hers. 'I swear I am.'

She opened her mouth and spoke the words she'd practiced all the long walk back through the rain. 'You will never again fall prey to this spell. Should Draumr sing to you, any fraction of it sing to you, should anyone who holds it charge you, you will ignore it all. Never, never again will you hear its song or give yourself to its commands. From this moment on, I will it. Let it be.'

For a good while, nothing else happened. The ravaged, glinting creature upon the chaise longue still only stared at her.

'Did you think I meant to do you harm?' Zoe asked, lifting her chin.

'Not for an instant.'

She stood, crossed to him, and dropped both manacles into his lap. 'In that case, you're more naive than I ever imagined. Congratulations. You're free.'

No, beloved, Rhys thought, watching her walk away. Not nearly.

Chapter Twenty-One

'It's no longer secure here. I think you must both come with me.'

The dragon-boy clasped his hands to his elbows and leaned across the table with an ease Rhys envied: such a simple move, the fingers compressed, the stretched spine and the working jaw. He'd wager the boy never considered for an instant how he did it, what muscles needed to labor instead of atrophy. He studied the taut, unblemished face of the prince and remembered how it had felt to rub his own fingers over his chin. To feel unscarred flesh. To touch without severing anything within reach.

That was before the cellar, of course. B.C., he'd decided to call it, in another one of those spurts of inappropriate black humor.

B.C. Before he'd spent months lying motionless against ice-cold stone, every fiber of his body tensed, withering into slow starvation.

Before he'd been struck down and scarred and stuck in this weird, in-between state of dragon and man.

Before. Everything was beautiful, everything was better before.

Except for one. One thing had improved: He wasn't going to spend the rest of his life alone. He was going to spend it with a creature whose grace and bravery surely canceled out all his own fresh new flaws.

Whether she liked it or not.

Morning sunlight warmed the narrow dining room of the maison. It lit through the lace curtains in fanciful pieces, fell along the table to highlight the white ceramic serving dish of buttered eggs and burnt toast they all shared. The manacles were here as well, one resting on the chair between Rhys's legs, the other in the coat pocket of the prince. It seemed an equitable compromise, at least in the eyes of Prince Sandu— who'd been right displeased to discover them both missing this morning.

Zoe had only ignored him, dismissing his complaints with an impressively Gallic shrug. Neither she nor Rhys mentioned her spell of the night before. He didn't know the reasons for her silence but he knew his own. By not sharing what she had done, it became a precious secret that bound them. A gift from her to him—the first she'd ever handed him—and Rhys was going to treasure it.

And it seemed to have worked. He no longer heard the symphony. Even when his skin brushed the iron, the sharp little stones, he heard nothing. He'd never, ever been so pitifully grateful in his life to have silence ringing in his ears.

Zee had made the breakfast. None of them trusted the Zaharen woman to concoct their meal, and blackened toast was a small price to pay, he reckoned, for safety. Rhys had devised an awkward yet effective manner of getting the food from his plate to his mouth: After several messy tries, he'd eschewed the fork and knife for the end of one bladed talon. Since then, he'd cut himself only twice. Handling his cup of coffee, however, was more hazardous. He'd had very little coffee.

But the eggs and toast were like manna. He savored every bite.

His future bride and the cook ate in silence, seated across from each other at the table. Neither made eye contact with the other.

'The lease here is done in a few days anyway,' continued Prince Sandu. 'With the sanf all about, we never wanted to lurk in one place very long. You will be welcomed in my castle. And there we may together invent a new scheme against our enemies.' His crystal eyes lit upon Rhys. 'You're the brother of Lady Amalia, who was our guest so many years past. She was the daughter of the Alpha of your tribe. As his son, do you have the authority to speak for him?'

'Yes,' Rhys said.

'No,' said Zoe. She placed her fork beside her plate. 'I mean, no, Highness, I won't be traveling with you.'

The boy flicked his hair back from his cheek with a pale finger. 'Are you certain? It's far by human means, of course, but if we fly, we'll be there in days. It's a strong sanctuary. A fine place to regroup.'

Zoe addressed Rhys. 'Can you Turn?'

'I don't know.' He stirred a swirl into the leftover butter on his plate. 'I have not tried.'

He was afraid to. Stupid, cowardly, mortifying. He was afraid. He didn't know how he would be able to bear losing one more slice of himself.

The iron cuff against his leg still felt cold through his borrowed breeches. Rhys wore the clothing of Hayden James now, only slightly ripped; the dragon prince was too slight, but James had been about the right size. If Zoe had noticed or minded the garments, or his hands' effect upon them, she'd had no comment about that either.

'Even if he managed smoke,' she was saying now to the prince, 'his dragon will be as wounded as he is. I doubt you'd fit that female and me both safely on your back, Highness. Much less a third person.'

'Then, very well, we may hire a carriage.'

'No,' she said again. 'Thank you. I'm staying here.'

The prince leaned back in his chair—ah yes, so easy, another mechanical contraction of muscles, no spasming, no pain—and then lifted his voice to the cook, saying something to her in his native tongue.

'Da,'she whispered, her eyes glued to her plate.

Sandu lifted his coffee to his lips, blew at the steam, and spoke in English. 'I told her to forget what I'm about to say.' He took a taste, set down the cup with his lips puckered; it was bitter black, and there was no cream or sugar or even honey left in the house. 'Here is the problem: I cannot control the female forever. My Gift is good, but perhaps not as strong as some. I spoke with her last night, enough to realize she was taken from my hills just for her blood—and that due to a traveling father, she speaks a rudimentary French. She swears only three men ever came to the house—one was killed days earlier; I assume your fellow from the dance hall—but she cooked for many. I need to get her out of Paris, back to my castle. She's a weakness for us. No doubt she has information that she isn't even aware she possesses. Any small memory may help. In time, I can access it, or someone in my clan can.'

'So your strategy is to leave Darkfrith to their mercies?' Zoe asked. The sun beamed behind her, spreading fire through her unbound hair, scintillating gold over silver. She had that same slight, chilly smile as last night, lovely and fearsome together.

'No, my lady. The sanf are shrewd enough to remain fragmented as a group. Hayden and I learned that much from the first ones we encountered. There is a leader, he is here in this city. There is a plan. Yet no one man—or woman—seems to have been given enough information to stitch all the fragments together. I will not abandon your family, Zoe. I pledge it now. But my initial hunt was meant to last only a week. I'm the Alpha of the Zaharen. I must go home to them. I must rally them. And I must get this female away from Paris.' He reached for his coffee, reconsidered, and returned his hand to his lap. 'And you two should come with me.'

Zoe's eyes went to Rhys. 'You may. If you wish.'

Rhys managed, with great effort, not to grimace as he shifted in his chair. 'Surely. And what do you imagine