The Dream Thief (20 page)

The
rose-cream clarity of her skin, unnatural in its perfection.

The
pitch of her voice, low and magical, a blend of dusk and honey.

Her
steady grace. The shy glance of her eyes, dark velvet brown beneath heavy
lashes.

Her
laughter at one of Hunyadi’s ridiculous compliments, subtly infectious.

The
blade-thin smile of Hunyadi’s wife, watching them together.

The
wife’s jewels.

Gold.

Diamonds.

The smoke rising up from the
chimneys, evaporating in threads.

The morning had bloomed
brilliantly clear, everything visible strictly blue or white like the glaze on
a new Dutch tile. Beyond the windows of the great hall where they took their
breakfast, the sky loomed cobalt, frankly blinding against the blanket of
unmarked snow.

“But you cannot leave today! Do
not be so rash, I beg you!” Hunyadi seemed genuinely distressed at the news of
their departure. “The roads will be unmanageable, and I’ve yet to show Lady
Lalonde the tasting room!”

“Yes,”
said Lia, turning a cat smile to Zane. “And I was
so
looking forward to
it. You
do
know how I adore winemaking, my lord.”

“Indeed,”
said one of the other men, staring straight at her, “what a pity it would be to
depart so soon.”

“Lady Lalonde promised us the
harpsichord this afternoon,” announced the elderly man.

“And
whist this evening,” declared another. In the space of one half a day—less than
that—it seemed Amalia had lured every male of the villa into her luminous
orbit. She laughed and sparkled and made an ordinary event like breaking their
fast into something as heady as sipping ambrosia straight from the gods.

Zane gazed back at her, unamused.
He thought of the bed in the chamber that awaited them, and of the furs, and
the hard stone floor that had left bruises up and down his spine and a pinch in
his neck. And of Lia on the soft mattress, undressed and waiting.

“My dear sir, we are unforgivably
rude.” Zane gave a nod to Hunyadi. “I cannot excuse our poor manners, except to
say that we have trespassed upon your hospitality long enough. You were kind
enough to take in such ragged travelers; we cannot intrude another day upon your
festivities. We’ve appointments in Bucharest,” he continued, louder, to cover
the noises Hunyadi was beginning to make, “and I fear missing them, as several
important gentlemen await us.”

“But the roads!”

Zane lifted a hand to the
windows, to the icicles dripping prisms from the eaves. “I perceive the day is
warming.”

“Yes,” agreed Madame Hunyadi,
abrupt. “I think it will be a fine day.”

It was merely an adequate day,
which was enough. It was not so chilly that the horses couldn’t manage it,
which was his only real concern. But it seemed the storm that had tossed them
here had left them with a smooth, blank canvas of a map. The gypsy shook his
head and muttered to himself underneath his layers of scarves as Lia and Zane
made their good-byes and climbed into the carriage.

The villa drive had been
shoveled, all the way to the main gate and a few yards beyond. After that it
was an ocean of white.

A collection of noblemen and
-women had gathered to see them off, painted faces under hoods, powdered wigs
and elaborate outfits contrasting garish against the plain simplicity of the
cold outdoors.

“Farewell,” Lia called, with a
gay wave out the open window.

Hands were lifted in return. Zane
touched his hat to them, ready to rap on the ceiling for the driver to start,
when Hunyadi broke apart from the crowd.

He strode up to the window,
squinting against the light.

“Good sir,” Zane said, and took
his gloved fingers.

“I’ve been thinking upon it. If
you seek that diamond still—if you have the time, and the notion—you might
visit the castle of the Zaharen, in the far reaches of the Carpathians,
around…fifty leagues northeast of here.
Zaharen Yce,
it’s called. It’s
said to be the ancient stronghold of the
drákon.
There is a prince who
lives in it now. Perhaps he knows where your singing stone may be found.” The
man grinned, jolly once more. “Come back when you have it, why don’t you, and
show it around. I’d give a bottle of my best to see it in a necklace.”

Hunyadi stepped back with a bow,
still scintillating with his rubies. “God keep you both.
Viszlat.
”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“F
ifty leagues
northeast.” Lia drummed her fingers nervously against her knees.

“I cannot help but
notice,” Zane said politely, “we’re already headed that direction.”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes and
listened to the music of
Draumr,
trying to gauge how far away it still
was, how many roads, how many mountains. But it was like trying to follow the
wingbeats of a hummingbird; all she had was the perception of life, of soaring
distance, the urgency of its song like a grace note that beat over and over
through her skin.

“Does he have it? The prince in
the castle?”

She opened her eyes. “I don’t
know. I hope not.”

“As do I.” Zane crossed his
ankles and his arms, his body rocking lazily with the sway of the coach.

“It really does seem like rather
the last place on earth we should venture.”

“I agree.”

Minutes passed, and they did not
speak again. The air kept a brittle bite; she tied the curtains back on the
window beside her to let a patch of sun pick out the nap of the sheepskin and
the weave of her skirts. It was the first time Zane had spent any amount of
time confined in the carriage with her, but even though they had passed beyond
sight of the villa, he didn’t seem inclined to leave. His legs stretched all
the way to the baseboard of her seat, his boots a brown polished sheen that
gave off the faint, pleasant aroma of fine leather. His thighs were taut and
well muscled beneath the folds of his cloak and his doeskin breeches—the same
breeches, she realized, that he had worn last night.

On the bed with her.

Her
eyes drifted up to his. He was watching her, impassive.

“Amalia.” He held her gaze. “If
Draumr
is there in this castle, or anywhere near there, I’m going in alone. You will
wait for me in whatever village or town we find nearby.”

“No,”
she said, startled. “You can’t find it without me.”

“Your
parents thought otherwise.”

“You don’t know what it looks
like. You won’t even know if what you see is real, if whatever this prince
shows you will be real.”

“True.
It’s a risk I’ll take.”

“Zane—”

“Listen, love. In a convenient,
happy world,
monsieur le prince
fully and faithfully believes the legend
of the
drákon
is merely a quaint little fairy tale that was once
associated with his home. He’s kindhearted and feeble-witted and happens to
have our diamond all right and tight in a handy box upon his dresser. I’ ll
show him your father’s impressive bank account, he’ll sell me the stone, and
we’re off with no one attempting to
flambé
us ever again. However…”

They looked at each other as the
carriage made a creaking turn, and Lia’s patch of light slid slowly down to her
feet.

The thief sighed. “That’s not the
way it’s going to be.”

“How do
you know?”

“Because
it’s never that simple. Because the Marquess and Marchioness of Langford picked
me to fetch this stone for a bloody good reason, and it wasn’t because of my
charming personality. That’s when you will become too serious a burden,
snapdragon. I can’t…I can’t do what I said I would do and worry about you at
the same time. Not any longer.”

“You mean, you can’t nick it if
I’m there.”

“You are something of a
distraction,” he said.

“I’m also bloody useful,” she
retorted, leaning forward. “I can Turn now—to smoke, at least. I can go places
you can’t. I can see things you won’t. And I can tell you definitively if the
diamond you’re prepared to buy
or
steal is the one we actually want.”

“That’s splendid. I’ll be certain
to remember it as I’m being eviscerated by one of your kinsmen.”

“I don’t think—”

“Lia,” he interrupted, sterner
than before, “must I spell it out for you?
You distract me.
The last thing
we need is to plunge into the hornets’ nest when I can’t tear my eyes off you.
I need to be clear-minded if we’re going to get through this unscathed. I need
to keep sharp. But when you’re this damned close to me, all I think about is
you.
I think about your mouth, and I think about your breasts, and I think about
your pink tongue and your legs wrapped around me. I think about touching you
and you touching me— and then I look at you and you’re giving me that
look
—yes,
that one, just there, as if you want me to kiss you—please stop—” He exhaled on
a hiss, tipping his head back against the wood and pressing two fingers to the
bridge of his nose. “If you’d like the brutal truth of it, I think I must be
the biggest damned fool in creation to have spent last night on the floor. But
I did. And I’ll do it again if I must. Because we are not going to push this
any further than we have.”

“Is that right?” she said
quietly.

His hand lowered. “You’re not
going with me to the castle. Any castle. You’re not to draw attention to
yourself, you’re not to go tripping merrily into peril as you seem so inclined
to do, and you’re
not
going to distract me from my job. If I had an
ounce of sense I’d find new transport at the next village and have the coachman
turn ’round to take you home.”

The carriage hit a rut; Lia
grabbed the strap by her head to keep her balance. “But you won’t,” she said,
as the light shifted blue and clear over his face.

He turned to the window and gave
a smile to the glass, caustic.

“No,” he muttered. “I won’t.”

There were no actual towns in the
foothills nearby. Lia wouldn’t have called what they encountered even a
village: a collection of thatched-roof dwellings, two taverns, a church, a
smithy, and a store for general goods, all of it encircled by a worn stone wall
that ate into the hillside. They were directed to one of the larger of the
homes in the settlement; it belonged to the village elder. Or perhaps he was
the mayor. Lia’s grasp of the local tongue was not as certain as she’d hoped.

She’d had years to study her
future. Years to seek out the language, the culture of this place. Yet it had
happened that finding tutors for what she knew she’d need was not so easy, even
in the sophisticated climes of Edinburgh. She’d persuaded the headmistress of
Wallence to hire a Bohemian linguist for just three terms. Lia had been his
star pupil.

“He says we may rest the night
here,” she translated for Zane, who was standing benevolently at her side, a
husbandly hand at the small of her back. “He says we are most welcome.”

But interestingly, for all his
flowery compliments, the white-bearded man did not seem especially pleased to
have them in his home. He lingered back near the open hearth, standing in front
of the woman Lia assumed was his wife—nearly blocking her from their sight—as
he nodded and spoke and lifted a hand that made the sign of the cross
repeatedly as he bowed in their direction.