by Shana Abe
She glanced down at his spats, instantly curious. Also spotless.
Beyond his sleekness, beyond the excellent cut of his trousers and coat—for he was surely the source of all that wealth—and the peculiar but oddly fascinating way he wore his hair—long like a girl's, tied back into a tail—was simply the overwhelming fact of his beauty. He was every bit the equal toher .
A true gentleman's pale skin, shining dark hair, his firm jaw and his wintry gaze that had caught Paola's once, had held her suspended and breathless and had seemed to cut through her more sharply than even the needles at work—
At her side, Lucy did release a smoky sigh. Paola waved her hand before them both to clear the view.
The man didn't see her today. He had eyes for one figure only. They came together at the joining of the two paths and touched hands, and then the man leaned down to her and kissed her right on the mouth, right in public. Not a peck, either. A long, full kiss, their bodies pressed close.
For the entire duration of it, neither girl on the bench either moved or breathed.
When they pulled apart again, both the man and the woman were smiling. She said something and he said something back; he offered his arm and led her to the next-nearest bench, where they sat together.
He unbuttoned the top half of his coat, reached inside, and withdrew a folded paper. A newspaper, she thought. They bent their heads together and began to discuss whatever they were reading.
"That," said Lucy suddenly.
Paola angled her gaze a fraction to regard her.
Her friend jerked her chin again at the couple, her gray eyes taking on a flinty cast. "I want to be that loved."
Paola smothered her grin and returned to her cigarette, allowing her lids to sink not quite closed as she observed le due bellezze pericolose, the two dangerous beauties, inhaling the last sweet dregs of tobacco down into her lungs. When it was finished, she tossed the butt to the gravel at her feet and flicked the ashes from her skirt.
"Cara. We all want that."
The man and woman were rising. They were leaving together, just as they did each afternoon, walking leisurely now, because the woman was so very rounded.
They met a bend in the path and faded off behind the line of trees.
Lucy jumped from the bench. "C'mon"
Paola didn't have to ask where; they'd left their newspaper on the bench.
It was a morning edition, the usual blocks of tiny print telling tales of politicians and land barons gobbling up the world. But the page had been folded to hide most of the print. It showed instead all of an advertisement, a lavishly illustrated one.
"What, a ship?" said Lucy, studying it hard. "Are they taking a journey? What does it say?" Lucy's mother had died of cholera when she was still an infant and her father had never bothered to send her to school; Lucy could not read. Paola's luck had run slightly better. She'd had lessons all the way until the age of nine, and even long words could be sounded out. She ran a finger down the scripted lettering.
"It is an announcement for an ocean liner going to Europe. The Nikita Regina, departing New York for ... Liverpool, all cabins outfitted in the finest comfort guaranteed, turbine engines of the most ... so-phis-ticated design. It leaves next week." She dropped the hand holding the paper to her side, staring out at the clouds.
"Oh," Lucy said, sounding deflated. "Well, it was a lovely fancy. While it lasted." "Yes."
The sun was already starting to tilt against the tip-top crowns of the trees; in the long spring light the countless green buds of summer leaves to come flamed into perfect gold. Just beyond them a rainbow began to form, the colors growing truer and firmer as she watched.
A pair of birds soared through it, free as the wind, and for a very brief instant Paola allowed herself the luxury of imagining what it might be like, to fly like that, to sail through clear, enchanted colors and sky.
A lovely fancy, indeed.
Did they live or did they perish?
Which ripple of time stretched through the dark sparkling universe with the most profound force?
In some, the drakon thrived, grew vibrant in their secret worlds, bred stronger and stronger and lived to dance with their particular mesmerizing elegance in and out of the human race, changing histories, changing destinies, all unseen by the lesser beings.
In some, war lived, and nothing else.
Rez and her prince leapt ahead into a future that had not been written. Their bonded hearts forged their way, and through war or peace, they loved. Rez was right: That never changed.
In the center of it all, the Dragon of Time opens his eyes and cranes his monstrous head, searching for his meal, never sated.
But in our deep spreading ripple, the drakon dance among us still.
About the Author
SHANA ABE is the award-winning author of twelve novels, including The Smoke Thief, The Dream Thief, Queen of Dragons, and The Treasure Keeper. She lives in the Denver area with five surly pet house rabbits, all rescued, and a big goofy dog.
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