The Dream Thief (39 page)

By then Lia had the window open.
She stood listening, and watching, and knew that with the candlelight behind
her she could readily be seen.

Perhaps it was the notion of two
dragons in their midst. Perhaps it was only that they were used to complying.
But Lia thought that mostly it was the cold living flame that was Mari, pushing
the restless back into their quarters, using will and daring and some God-given
audacity to face a horde of Others who had lost their Alpha—to a girl-child not
yet in her teens.

The serfs had gradually
dispersed. The body of the prince, Lia knew, had been taken to the chapel.

She wondered if Imre would find
peace in his heaven. She remembered the flames eating her skin and hoped not.

Maricara had glanced up at the
window where Lia stood and Turned to smoke in front of the stragglers, probably
just for extra measure. Lia had stepped back and let the girl Turn back beside
the bed.

Mari touched a hand to Zane’s
forehead.

“No fever,” she noted, as if she
had not just prevented what promised to be a revolution.

“No.”
Lia remained where she was. A pair of ladies in the courtyard scooped up Mari’s
shoes and the empty orange gown, hastening back inside the castle. “The
physician said the bullet wound was clean. What will happen to you, Mari?”

The girl shrugged without looking
up. “Nothing. I suppose I’ll make my brother the new prince.”

“You can do that?”

Now the crystal eyes met hers. “I
can do nearly anything. This is my haven and my world. Imre truly was the last
of his kind, but the people will still want a male to lead. Papers can be
easily forged to name him Imre’s heir. Better my brother than some new master.
It will help placate them, at any rate.”

“How old is your brother?”

“Seven years.”

“You’ll have a while to reign.”

“Yes,” said the girl, and flicked
her hair from her shoulder with a thin, graceful wrist.

“We’ll stay as long as we can,”
Lia said. “He can’t travel yet, and you might need…extra persuasion on your
behalf.”

“Yes, do.”

They gazed together at the
sleeping figure in the bed, his arms lax above the sheets, his face drawn in
angles and shadows, still far too pale.

“So you’re not married, after
all,” mused Maricara.

“No. And neither are you.”

Silence descended. The candles
flickered, very faintly, with the draft from the window. Behind walls, behind
doors, the Others stirred and muttered.

“Is there a cleric for the
castle?” Lia asked.

“Imre disliked having God so
close. The cleric lives two villages down the mountains. It’s about a three-day
ride.” The girl’s lips curved in a smile. “Less, of course, for smoke.”

Around two in the afternoon, Lia
fell asleep in the wing chair. She hadn’t meant to sleep, and in fact had
chosen the chair specifically for its hard horsehair base. But sleep had come
anyway. She had no dreams.

When she opened her eyes again,
the sunlight had shifted from the rug to the bed. The fire had smoldered out
and remained dead cold. The candles had burned down to stubs. She twitched the
blanket she’d found a little higher over her shoulders and shifted in her seat
to check on Zane.

He was watching her. He lay very
still; the light slashed hard and clear past the canopy curtains, brightening
the sheets, catching in his hair, fringing color along his dark lashes. A
corner of his mouth quirked.

“Hullo,” he said, husky.

“Hullo.”

“You
snore.”

“I
don’t!” She pushed the blanket from her lap and sat forward.

“Only a
little. Very ladylike snores. I found them charming.”

She
shook her head, her fingers at his wrist. His pulse felt stronger today, and a
measure of warmth had returned to his cheeks.

He blinked slowly, gazing around
the room. “Did we win?”

“For now. I’m afraid we might
have a slight uprising on our hands, but not to fear. There’s an
eleven-year-old girl on our side, so I’m sure we’ll do fine. The physician left
you this.” She picked up a glass of clouded water, a layer of white powder settled
thick at the bottom. “I’ve tried it, and apparently it’s not poison. Would you
like it now?”

“Dear me.” He regarded the glass.
“Are things that bad?”

“For a despot, Prince Imre was
apparently far more popular than he deserved.”

“Let them come,” Zane said, again
with that slight dry smile. “I can do amazing things with—” He cut short and
jerked his hand free. “My picks. My tools.” He began to struggle to sit up.
“Where the devil did you put them?”

She pushed him back firmly. “Yes,
I’m quite well too, thank you for asking. Look there.” Lia opened her hand to
the top of the rosewood nightstand. “This was everything we found on you. You
are
an arsenal, aren’t you?”

His eyes scanned the weapons laid
out—slight things, deadly things, metal and bone and wire—and finally relaxed
back.

“I like to be prepared.”

“So you’ve said. I do wonder what
this might be.” She dangled a heavy brass key from her index finger.

His smile grew drier. “The key to
my heart? No? Very well. I sometimes find that it’s more, ah, expedient to deal
with shortcuts.”

“A skeleton key. That
does
seem like cheating.”

“I hardly ever use it,” he said,
defensive.

“That’s all right.” She replaced
the key on the nightstand. “I’m not above a few shortcuts myself. I’ve sent for
a cleric.”

Zane took a breath. “Oh.”

“I thought that I should, since
you’re already helpless here in bed. You’re quite at my mercy.”

“I know that,” he said in a
strangely flat voice.

“And there’s something else.” She
reached into her pocket for her handkerchief, balancing it on her knees, very
carefully untying the knot. Inside the wrinkled linen sparkled the remains of a
legendary diamond. She placed it on the bed beside him and stirred her finger
through the splinters and dust.

Like
moonshadows, like fairy song, eerie notes lifted and faded. “There’s nothing
much left for a ring,” she said quietly.

“Did I
say that out loud?”

“You
did. And I won’t let you steal it back.” Her eyes lifted. “Zane. What you did—”
She lost the words. She felt the tears from before threaten again and had to
look away so he would not see.

“Lia-heart.” His hand moved, his
fingers lacing through hers. Through the haze in her eyes he was prisms and
color, but his hand felt firm and strong. “I would have forsaken a thousand
diamonds to save you. Ten thousand—well, perhaps not
ten
thousand.” He
squeezed her hand, and his voice roughened. “I would have done anything. Don’t
you know that?”

“No.” She wiped at her cheeks
with her other hand.

“Then you haven’t been paying
close attention. I love you. Even more than gold and dreams, I love you. It
seems insane you haven’t realized it. You
were
the one who first
informed me of it.”

“I broke your leg,” she said, and
dropped her head to the covers.

She remembered that moment from
another life; her hunger, her excitement. She’d been glad to hurt him, glad to
be stronger, and larger, and faster. It shamed her more deeply than anything
she’d ever known. It frightened her.

“There
is another heart in you,” Zane said, after a time. “Not evil. Not bad. Just
another heart. I understand that very well. You weren’t under your own control.
You cannot blame yourself. I don’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t
apologize for being true to your nature. Not to me. I’m hardly a model of
upstanding virtue. I respect the dragon. I respect the woman. Amalia, my sweet,
thief that I am, I love both your hearts.”

The fabric beneath her cheek was
growing damp. Zane gave her fingers another squeeze and let go; she felt his
palm begin to stroke her hair.

“However…you
did
singe a
perfectly fine coat of mine, if you’ll recall. You’re going to need a new stone
for a wedding ring, and no doubt I’ll feel compelled to shower you with gifts
over the years just to remain in your good graces. I fear you’re going to be a
very expensive wife.” He gave a sigh. “And to think I could have had sixty
thousand pounds to begin it with.”

Lia turned her face and spoke to
his hand. “My dowry is thirty-five.” She waited, then looked up at him. “A
year.”

His brows climbed. “You’re
joking.”

“I would never joke about money
with a notorious thief. Just imagine, in a mere two years you’re at a profit.”

“How I adore a woman who does
mathematics in her head.”

“I can forge signatures as well.”

“Splendid. Exactly the bride I’ve
been hoping for.”

She
stood. She leaned over the bed and pressed her lips to his. He let her,
reclining back luxuriously, his eyes drifting closed and his hand sliding up
her arm. She drew away only when both of them were short of breath.

“I
think you should come over here,” he said. “It’s a very large bed. Very
lonely.”

“I
think you’re mad.” But she did it anyway, crossing to the other side of the
mattress, climbing up to him with her skirts hitched to her knees. He followed
her progress with bright yellow eyes.

“Aren’t
you warm in all that mess? Wouldn’t you prefer to shed a few layers?”

“It’s
cold in here, Zane.”

“Not
beneath the covers.”

“I
admire your ambition. But I believe I’ll stay as I am.”

She settled down by his wounded
side, finding his plait, curling the tip of it back and forth inside her palm.
He turned his head to see her better. “They won’t accept me,” he said,
matter-of-fact. “You know that. And they’re right. I’m not good enough for
you.”

“We’ll
talk them ’round.”

“Silver-tongued
as I am, love, I find your family a bit formidable. Perhaps it’s all those
teeth.”

She stroked the plait against her
cheek, closing her eyes. “Then we’ll go to Tuscany. We’ll live in caves in the
South Seas. We’ll swim the warm tropical waters—you’ll have to teach me how.
Zane, they
will
accept you. They will love you because
I
love
you. And that’s all we need to make clear to them.”

She was granted his profile,
masculine and sharp except for those long, sunlit lashes. “Do you?” he asked,
in that flat voice again. “Love me?”

“Of course.” She bunched the
pillow beneath her cheek.

“You haven’t said it before.”

“Oh. Pardon me.” She paused. “I
thought I had.”

“Well, just that once. Under
extraordinary circumstances.”

“I love you.” She sat up and
tugged at his braid until he glanced back at her. “I love you. I’ve loved you
since I was little. Asleep or awake, I love you. Do you believe me yet?”

“Not quite.” He caught her wrist
in his hand and hauled her closer, ignoring her protests. He cupped his palm
against her nape and lifted his mouth to hers, another kiss, ruthless and hard
and delicious. She balanced over him, finally sinking to brace her elbow
against his pillow, as he nipped and sucked and drew at her lips.

She did what she could for him.
She kissed him in return. She lost her breath and both her hearts, and finally
Turned to smoke and back, so she could lay atop her gown and the blankets and
feel his hand upon her bare skin.