Shana Abe - Queen of Dragons

"Perhaps not. Not for us."

Then he was quiet, apparently examining the view. He smelled now of coriander and freshly baked bread; she willed her stomach not to growl. She wasn't going to ask again for food.

"You have a bird out there," she said, "due east. It's singing."

He frowned slightly at the woods. Now that she was more attuned to him she could sense his concentration shifting, beyond the forest of heavy trees, to space and distance and those pure, perfect notes that broke the air. Between this moment and the last time she'd seen him he'd removed his wig, tied back his hair; the light from the window revealed layers of tawny brown beneath the burnished gold.

"It's a thrush."

She repeated the English word, liking the feel of it on her tongue. "A thrush. It's very far away." "Yes." His tone grew drier. "They don't come near." "It's the same at my home."

Mountain or woods, valley or windswept canyon: Every animal that could stayed away from Zaharen Yce and all its surroundings. Until she'd reached her fourteenth year, she'd never even glimpsed a living deer. How much worse it would be here, with all these shining, human-faced dragons milling about.

"She sings a beautiful song," Mari said.

"Yes," the earl said again. And then: "This chamber was—is my sister's. Amalia."

"Oh."

"Clearly she's not using it. It's yours if you like. I don't think she'd mind." "Thank you, but no."

"There's room for your men, as well. It's a deuced big place."

"I see that. But we'll do better apart."

"Maricara—"

"No," she said, firmer than before. "I will not lodge here with you, Lord Chasen."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked away from her with an air of complete tranquility. She didn't imagine he was accustomed to refusal; he didn't seem a man who would take resistance lightly under any circumstance, Alpha or no. But he only subsided back into himself, as if he had nothing more pressing to do than appreciate the perfectly framed vista before them.

She felt the contradiction in him, though. She felt the raw power boiling beneath his elegant restraint.

"Dinner," announced a voice behind them, "is well served."

They turned together. The man leaning his shoulder casually against the doorjamb was not a footman or servant but clearly another nobleman. His cravat was bleached and fine; there was a large rounded emerald strung from a wire hoop in one ear, just a few hues darker than the color of his eyes.

"Your Grace," murmured Kimber. "My brother, Lord Rhys Langford."

She lifted a hand, and the brother pushed off the door. He bowed low over her fingers but did not kiss her; she felt the faintest prickling across her skin where his mouth would have brushed her knuckles.

She remembered him from the meeting of all those red-cheeked men. She remembered the particular touch of his stare.

The earl shifted a fraction on his feet. Lord Rhys dropped her hand at once.

"I hope you like trout," he said cheerfully, and looked at Kimber. "Mac and his boys went to the lake this morning and caught a cartful. We'll be lucky if we finish it tonight. I don't fancy fish for breakfast."

Mari loathed fish. She loathed it almost as much as she loathed cabbage.

"That will be lovely," she said, and accepted the earl's arm as escort from the room.

Kimber smelled of bread because he'd been near the kitchens, he must have been. Not only was there bread and herbed butter, there was potato custard, and baked apples with Cheddar, and a salad of tossed greens and oil. The dining hall was even more elaborate than any of the rooms she'd seen yet, entire walls composed of sheets of malachite and amber, a ceiling adorned in painted animals and sunset clouds, bleeding down into the stone yellow and green. It was cooler in here than the rest of the mansion. Great black iron braziers in the corners held dozens of candles, unlit, teardrops of honey-scented wax falling frozen in twists and turns.

White wine had been poured; the china was edged in a chorus of bright silver. Mari took the seat offered her, to the earl's left. The brother sat opposite her. There were footmen and livery boys lined along the far wall. None of the council were present.

The wine held the aroma of pears and crisp autumn. She missed her castle suddenly, the mountains and the vineyards cut like stair steps into the vertical hills; missed it all with a ferocity that clenched like a band around her chest.

"Pray forgive the informality," the earl was saying in his flawless French. His accent wasn't quite Parisian. Marseille, she thought, or Monaco-Ville. Somewhere south. "With such short notice for a meal, I thought you'd like it better if we kept the company small."

"There are more of us," agreed Rhys, flicking open his napkin. "Two more, our sisters. Well, there's three of them, actually. But there—you knew that."

Mari took her eyes off the platter of boned fish softly steaming atop the sideboard. "Yes. Lady Amalia spoke well of you all."

"Did she indeed?" Lord Rhys glanced at his brother. "That's a goddamned shock."

Kimber's mouth thinned, just slightly. "Rhys."

"Oh, sorry." Rhys picked up his wine. "How was she, the last you saw her?" "In good health. Pensive. Happy. At least with her husband, she was happy." "Oh, yes. Her husband Zane." "You don't approve of him," Mari said, unsurprised.

In the shadows of the room, Rhys gave a shrug. "What's to approve or not? He's a thief. He's human. She's made her choice clear, wherever she is."

"She's in Brussels," said Mari. Both men stared at her; she looked from one to the other. "At least, she was about a fortnight ago. Didn't you realize?"

"No," said the earl at last. "We've not heard from her, not for years. Not since that initial letter she sent with yours."

"Ah." Mari lowered her gaze to her hands on her lap.

"What's she doing in Brussels?" demanded Rhys.

"I don't know. I didn't see her. I only felt her as I went by."

"You felt her." The corners of Kimber's lips now took on a peculiar slant, the barest hint of doubt. "In a city that large?"

"I didn't actually go through the city. I went through Schaerbeek. It was more direct."

Rhys shook his head. "You weren't even in the same vicinity, and you felt her. Just.. .going by."

"Yes. Lady Amalia's Gifts are most distinct."

Rhys let out a laugh. "That's splendid. I expect she's using them well in Brussels, with Mother and Father gone searching high and low for her. God forbid she return home with that bastard in tow—"

"Rhys," said the earl once more, silky soft, and his brother gave another shrug, subsiding back.

"He's a fine man," said Maricara. "Human or not."

Kimber nodded to the footmen to begin serving. "I'm sure that's so."

"Attractive. Intelligent. Devoted."

"So's a good dog," said Rhys.

Maricara flattened her hands upon her skirts. "I'm not going to marry you, Lord Chasen."

Rhys choked a little; the head footman fumbled and recovered his serving spoon. Kimber only paused with his water goblet raised to his lips, then lowered the glass gently back to the table.

"Excuse me?"

"I will not marry you. I want that to be plain between us right now." "Your Grace, I assure you—"

"I know how we are, Kimber." Her use of his name startled him; she'd meant it to. "I know how we think. You're the Alpha, and you're not wearing a wedding band, and no one has come forward to me as your wife. You perceive that I'm also Alpha, and this is true. But I'm not one of your people. I rule a land, even though it's far away. I control my fate, not you. I won't wed you."

Kimber lowered his lashes. He kept his fingers loosely cupped around the stem of his goblet.

"You're not remarried?"

"No."

"I thought your brother ruled Zaharen Yce. " "Nominally. In my absence."

His eyes lifted to hers, bright piercing green. "Your people allow a female to lead them?"

It was a trap, she realized. If she said yes, he'd think the Zaharen weak, the castle open for the taking. If she said no, he'd think she was lying before.

She wasn't willing to be bartered. Not ever again.

Maricara motioned to the footman, who hurried over with the fish. She allowed herself to be served one thick, blanched fillet, the flesh oozing butter across her plate. Without waiting for the others, she lifted her fork and took a bite, chewed, and swallowed.

"We're not so very alike," she said at last, to the fish. "Whatever kinship we once shared has been stretched thin with time. No doubt there are many of our ways you would find foreign, as I do yours."

"No doubt," Kimber replied, unmoving. "But I look forward to celebrating our differences, Your Grace."

"As long as that's all you wish to celebrate." "It's a promising start."

"Or a natural conclusion," said Mari, and took another odious bite.

She used the lemon fork for the fish, and the fish fork for the salad. She ate in small, tentative mouthfuls, as if the flavors were all new to her, as if she had to explore each and every texture and spice before moving on to the next bite. Her expression remained aloof as she dined, her dark hair tied back with a simple ribbon like a girl's, like a drakon maiden off for schooling in the village.

She kept her gaze focused downward most of the meal, her eyelashes long and sooty. Kimber did the same, Rhys noticed, and so felt free to let his own gaze roam.

She drew him in. Brash and brittle on the outside, looking out with eyes of endless gray, an oddly wounded depth to her every glance.she seemed a princess trapped in a shell of ice; a strange magic indeed in this heat.

Rhys glanced at his brother and wished, for the first time in his life, to be more than what he was. To be eldest.

She desired to walk outside after the meal. His instinct was to refuse her—hell, his instinct was to lock her up, to keep her bound to Chasen, let the dragon in him take rein. It'd been done before. There were dire instances of drakon run feral, there were precautions already in place. For all her cool composure, Kimber had witnessed Maricara's other face, and he'd felt her other heart. She would Turn in a flash if she felt the need.

The council had convened a new, whispered meeting while she'd dressed. Within moments they'd abandoned the whispering—no one knew how well she could hear, and in light of what he knew now, Kim thought it a good thing they'd switched to scratching out messages with what quills and ink they could gather from the scattered corners of the mansion. That thrush had been miles away. She might not understand English, but she would damn sure know her own name.

It'd taken three sheets of paper and all his authority to convince them that entrapping her was not the solution, not now. If she went missing, who knew what her guardsmen would do. Far better now to adhere to diplomacy; there was too much at stake to risk losing her, or provoking an unnecessary fight. They needed her.

He needed her, it seemed, in more ways than a scribbled block of sentences on parchment could convey.

In the end—ten long minutes later—he'd achieved unanimous agreement. For all that she had their senses spinning, no one had forgotten her news, or the rings.