The Dream Thief

by Shana Abe

  In the candlelight his hair shone burnished bronze. It fell long and straight in a tail over one shoulder, the blue velvet ribbon that held it in place knotted only slightly too loose. He lifted a section of soft white cheese from its tray and, without looking at her, began to slice it into quarters.

  “You do that rather a lot, you know.”

  She blinked, coming out of her reverie. “Do what?”

  “Stare at me. Have I a cinder on my nose?”

  Lia took refuge in her tea. “Not at all.”

  “What a relief. No doubt, then, you’re merely lost in thought, considering our time and distance to this all-important diamond-what did you name it again?”

  His voice was light, and he still did not look up from his work, but she felt his attention fixed on her with all the familiarity of that dark, delicious hum.

  “Draumr.”

  “Draumr, of course. What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Lia said honestly.

  “Where did you hear it?”

  She did not reply. He slanted her a metallic-gold look.

  “You’re expecting me to take a great deal on faith, snapdragon. And for a man of my trade, faith is never free. If you wish me to believe you, if you wish me to trust you and let you haul us willy-nilly through all the mud holes of this bloody continent just on your say-so, then you’re going to offer me something in return.” He placed a cube of cheese upon her plate. “I don’t want all your secrets, Amalia. Just the ones that set my arse on the line.”

  Lia said slowly, “I heard it in a dream.”

  His expression did not alter. “Is that so?”

  She inclined her head.

  “And is that how you know where it is now? From…your dreams?”

  “You needn’t sound so skeptical. It is true.”

  “Forgive me.” He tipped back his head and smiled at the peach plaster ceiling. “I find myself astonished that I’ve actually thrown my fortune in with a girl who’s willing to risk her life-and mine-over the visions dancing in her head.”

  She was used to the seduction in his voice, she was used to the soft-stated command; she was not used to his contempt. Lia leaned across the table until the edge bit into the bones of her corset. “You know I’m not a girl. You know what I am. I’ve dreamed it, and it’s true. You may believe me or not, I don’t care. But you asked, so I’ve told you. In the future if you’d like to me lie to you to soothe your nerves, pray inform me now.”

  His gaze returned to hers. From across the chamber a woman’s laughter dissolved into giggles; the clatter of silver against china was very loud in her ears.

  “Do you think you could? Lie to me, I mean?”

  “Without the slightest of qualms,” she snapped.

  Zane picked up his knife again, examining the mother-of-pearl handle. “I confess the sight of you does appear to make my will a trifle weak. Perhaps a few lies, then. Small ones, I beg you, just to ease my missish nerves.”

  She stared at him, uncertain if he had complimented her or not. When he glanced up at her once more, his eyes were wolfish bright.

  “We’re to venture forth to the queen of the fairies,” Lia said. “She’ll welcome us with minstrels and tamed bears and all the caviar we can eat. The diamond’s waiting for us on a pillow of purple velvet. We’ll ride an enchanted carpet back home.”

  “And there we’ll dwell, happily forever after,” the thief finished, dry.

  “Exactly.”

  “Wonderful. I’m much relieved. Where might we find this fairy queen?”

  “In the mountains, I think. In the Carpathians.”

  “You think,” he said, and the blade began to tap against his plate.

  “I believe I’ve offered enough for one evening.” Lia sat back, pulling her shawl closer. “You’ve told me your faith isn’t free-well, I’ve decided neither is mine. It’s your turn to offer me something.”

  As soon as she said it she realized how it sounded; heat began to climb up her throat.

  “My protection?” Zane inquired, watching her with his mouth faintly curved. “My gallant company? No, no, I see you require something slightly more valuable. Fair enough.” He used the flat of his knife to serve her another portion of cheese; she hadn’t touched the first. “The gentlemen at the table square to our right-no, my lady, don’t look. Good heavens, you’re smarter than that. Drink your tea, move only your eyes…there. Do you see them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me what you think of them. Quietly, s’il vous plaît.”

  They seemed unremarkable: two young men in wigs and cravats, their coats cut too wide, watch chains dangling, their stockings not quite clean. They were sharing a jug of ale and a steaming pot of sausage stew, speaking in whispers and sending frequent glances to a pair of young ladies at another table not far across the chamber.

  The ladies, Lia noted, were even more simply dressed, and accompanied by an older, scowling woman in a mobcap. The three of them ignored the men.

  “Baronets, or squires,” she said after a moment. “Or whatever such a title might be out here. Well-born, but not wealthy. Young.” The two men burst into smothered laughter, ducking their heads. “Inebriated,” she added.

  “And credulous.”

  “Oh?”

  “Before the night is over, our love-struck squires will find their purses quite a bit lighter than yesterday.”

  “Why?” she asked, suddenly suspicious. “Are you planning to lighten them?”

  “I?” His brows raised in mock innocence. “I assure you, I have no such desire. For one thing, I doubt very much they’re carrying anything worth pricking my interest. For another, it’s a bit too unjust, even for me. It would be rather like plucking a rattle from an infant’s fist.”

  “Then-”

  “The women,” Zane said, easing back in his chair, still with his faint smile. “The two comely maidens and their prune-faced matron.”

  Lia turned her gaze back to them, just in time to see one of the girls flash a grin at the men.

  “They’re really very good.” Zane ran a finger up the stem of his wineglass, examining the deep red Tokay. “Just the right amount of coquetry applied over middle-class respectability. The old woman adds the perfect touch. Were we in London, I’d have a pleasant word with them all.”

  Amalia said nothing. She watched the two girls, their practiced smiles. And the squires glancing back, still flushed, lifting their glasses, sending a sly salute when they thought the matron was not looking. But Lia saw now-now that Zane had told her-that beneath the ruffled lace of her cap, she actually was.

  “Try the fish, why don’t you?” the thief suggested. “It’s better than you’d expect.”

  “Why did you show me this?”

  “You wanted something of value from me.”

  She had. She knotted her hands in her lap and watched the red-cheeked squires, their shiny, unguarded faces.

  “It’s the way of the world, love,” murmured Zane. “For better or worse, you’re out here in it. It’s my little gift to you: open your eyes.”

  The young men began to search for their money. They began to count out their bill upon the table, while the pair of girls pretended not to watch.

  “It isn’t fair,” Lia said.

  The thief turned his face fully to see her; she met his look.

  “They’re young and foolish. But they’re only besotted.”

  “Aye. It will be a useful lesson for them.”

  She set her cup upon its saucer.

  “Snapdragon,” warned Zane. “Think twice.”

  “Perhaps what they have with them is all they have. Perhaps those watches belonged to their fathers. Perhaps there are people depending upon them, upon those meager coins in their purses. Servants. Children.”

  “Yes. Perhaps.”

  Lia threw him a heated glance, placing her napkin upon the table. Before she could rise, his arm snaked out; his hand pressed hers hard to the wood. His voice c
ame very low.

  “Think, Amalia. What would you say to them? We don’t need that sort of attention. I only showed you because you asked. Have you forgotten why we’re here?”

  “I’ve forgotten nothing,” she said with a level stare.

  He returned it for a moment, his eyes glinting pale, his brows and lashes shadowed sharp against his skin. Then his fingers slid from hers; he shook his head. “What a pretty conscience you have. Knowing your parents, I can’t imagine how you came by it. No, wait,” he said, as she pushed at her chair. He came to his feet. “I’ll do it.”

  Before she could respond he was walking away, not toward the table of the drunken young men but to the other one, where the trio of women were nibbling at the last of their meal. He wound through the room, by all appearances heading for the double doors that led into the hotel’s main hall, tall and handsome and surprisingly unsteady on his feet: a man who had indulged in too much drink.

  As he passed the women’s table, something happened. She couldn’t see it clearly, there were too many other diners between them, but Zane dipped and turned and the women erupted into stifled shrieks. She caught the sound of glass striking wood-he had knocked over their carafe of wine. The matron leapt up, saving her skirts with both hands; the younger women followed more slowly.

  Conversation ceased. Everyone in the dining room turned to observe the commotion. In the echoing hush she heard Zane’s urgent apologies in French, and the waiters converging, and the matron chattering words too swift to understand. But Lia could see the woman’s profile now as she took two steps toward Zane, the anger etched around her mouth-erased the instant he lifted from his bow and she got a better look at his face.

  The matron paused, then summoned a small, sour smile. She clucked at the two girls, drawing them nearer while the liveried waiters swarmed like green-coated bees around the table. In the midst of them all, Zane bowed again, bringing the older woman’s hand to his lips.

  Lia saw something new enter her expression. She saw her quick, darting glance to the younger two, a silent message exchanged over his bent head.

  The dishes were cleared, the soiled cloth removed. Fresh bleached linen was whipped across the table, more wine was being poured-Zane very openly pressed a gold coin into the hand of the maître d’hôtel-and then he was bowing a third time, clearly preparing to back away. When he came up again, the older woman touched her hand to his arm and spoke. With his back to Lia, Zane leaned in close and turned his mouth to her ear.

  What Lia saw best then was the blue-veined hand upon his sleeve. How the matron’s fingers abruptly clenched, hard enough to pull the wool into puckers. How she let go of him very quickly as if repelled, her fingers spread.

  Zane straightened. He nodded to the other two and walked on to the exit without looking back.

  The woman turned her gaze slowly around the room. Lia dropped her chin and studied what was left of the fish, silently counting to ten before raising her eyes again.

  No one was looking at her. The matron had gathered up her charges and was hastening them out of the chamber, their shawls trailing, their wineglasses still brimming-much to the dismay of the country squires.

  Five minutes later, Zane returned. There was no hitch to his gait now; he moved as smoothly as a cat through the staggered tables.

  “Dessert?” he inquired, flicking the skirts of his coat as he resumed his seat.

  “What did you say to her?”

  “Only that she’d do better elsewhere.” He lifted a hand for a waiter. “With the dowagers, for example, at the table by the fire. Those appear to be real pearls at their throats.”

  Lia’s jaw dropped. “You sent them to rob someone else instead?”

  “Well, you could hardly expect me to warn her off without sweetening the deal. She looked frail enough, but she was a tough old mare, believe me. I think she bruised my arm.”

  Waiters appeared, silent and bowing, taking away the fish and cheese, bringing mints and hot coffee and a tray full of petite sugared cakes. Lia waited until they retreated out of range.

  “How could you do such a thing?”

  “Very easily. I can’t imagine why anyone would wear pearls in this rustic backwater of a town unless they craved the attention.”

  “Zane,” she hissed.

  “Dearest wife, didn’t you notice the foursome of men at the side door? Yes, go ahead and look. They’re guarding the dowagers, and their pearls. I noted them when we first arrived; we were all in the lobby together. There’s not a chance in Hades our little band of pickpockets will step anywhere near those women tonight, nor any other night. Trust me.”

  He picked up one of the pastel-sugared cakes, tapping it until the grains sifted down onto his plate. “So. Are they?”

  “Are they what?”

  “Real pearls,” he said. “I’d wager my soul you can tell.”

  She didn’t answer. His voice grew gentler, more insistent.

  “Are they, Amalia?”

  She closed her eyes. The scent of the coffee was a sudden heat in her head.

  “Yes,” she 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

  “Lia.”

  “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 his nose.

  Close to daybreak, when the door opened silently, he came instantly alert. It was only the chambermaid, creeping into the room with a broom and bucket of coals and his boots, which she placed carefully by the armoire.

  He watched through slitted eyes as she stoked the fire in the grate and then swept up whatever small mess she’d made. She crept out again as quietly as she’d come.

  To hell with it.

  He dressed as the room began to illume to a faded grandeur, the cool, foggy sunrise softening all the rough edges. The little fire didn’t come close to denting the chill; he was half tempted to linger in bed until breakfast…if it weren’t for the fleas. And for the fact that past the wall against his headboard, there slept a woman who snored.

  It wasn’t Amalia. He couldn’t hear anything at all from her room.