The Dream Thief by Shana Abe Page B

said.
    He was silent. When she looked at
him again, he was gazing out the window, his expression serene, the cake
forgotten in the center of his plate. The light from the candles above them
slipped bright and dark along the contours of his face. He looked elegant and
severe and very distant, a phantom of a man fixed in a roomful of gay
strangers.
    It was
chance, and only that, that pinned his gaze precisely where the song of Draumr seemed to float from the hills.
    “The
rabbits and the birds,” she said, inching forward in her chair. “Did you really
feel them in that park?”
    His lips creased in smile.
    “When did you have time to wash
your hair?” He glanced back at her, his hand reaching for her shoulder. His
fingers cupped and released a falling, amber-lit lock. “It’s most becoming. But
I do wonder at your priorities. It would have been more practical to keep the
powder in.”
    They stared at each other without
moving.
    “Do you know,” said Lia at last,
in the most even tone she could manage, “I find that I’m far more fatigued from
the day than I first realized. I believe I’ll retire now.”
    “Excellent,” replied the thief,
in exactly the same tone. “Let’s.”

CHAPTER FIVE

    I n the realm of the drákon, as in the realm of human men, there are hunters, and there are prey.
    We, of
course, excel at hunting. It is who we are: that hard carving wind, that swift and
fatal talon through a hammering heart. We are the fog draped in circles around
the forest pines; we are the golden eye of the sun, shining terrible and bright
upon the earth and its lesser beings. We hunt because we breathe. Animal or
mineral, diamonds or blood, if we desire it deeply enough, it will be ours.
This is nature. These are our Gifts, and we are entitled to them as surely as a
lion is entitled to his roar, or a mouse to her hoard of autumn seed.
    But the Others forever come and
upset our balance and try to cheat nature. They lie and slink and steal from
us, because they know in their bones they can never truly touch our splendor.
They’re weak and jealous—but not helpless. It is the most jealous of creatures
who can blossom into the most dangerous.
    On the unfortunate occasion when
the drákon become prey, it is always the Others who cast us there.
    This is what happened to Amalia
and her consort as they drew closer to our homeland.

CHAPTER SIX

    “L ia.”
    “Yes, Zane.”
    “Where is your mother now?”
    “Behind the door to the blue
parlor. The fire’s gone out. It’s darkest there.”
    “Weapons?”
    “A pistol. A rapier. She’ll use
the pistol first. Before you can speak, she’ll fire through the door.”
    “Wait
here. Do not follow me. Do not leave this chamber, no matter what you may
hear.”
    “Yes,
Zane.”
    “I’ll
be back very soon.”
    “Yes.”
    But
he didn’t leave. A single, rough finger stroked fire along her cheek.
    “Tell
me you love me,” he whispered.
    “I
love you.”
    “Tell
me you’ll do what I say.”
    “You
know I will.”
    His
hand lifted away. “Good. Stay here.”
    “Yes.”

    He was up before she was, which
didn’t surprise him. Zane never needed a great deal of sleep; as a child he’d
taught himself to drowse with his eyes open, to sink into a slow, stuporous
awareness that passed well enough for respite when times were dire and he
couldn’t afford genuine rest. But although he was uncomfortable, and he was
worn, the fact that the most disturbingly beautiful being he’d ever seen was
warm in her bed just a room away didn’t truly qualify as dire. Not yet.
    So he allowed himself a few
hours’ slumber, letting the night take him. The steel of his dirk remained a
firm, familiar shape beneath his pillow.
    He did not sleep well. The hotel
room was musty. He’d cracked a window to freshen it, but all that did was add
to the chill. The wallpaper was peeling at its seams and the rug badly needed
to be beaten. The smell of dust and motes settled into a persistent itch in