Drakon 4 - The Treasure Keeper by Abe Shana

Author:Abe, Shana
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bantam Dell

Drakon 4 - The Treasure Keeper

Chapter Fourteen

She refused to cook.

Zoe stared down at the spoon she’d dipped into the stew Hayden and the dragon-​boy had concocted, watching the greasy mess of it drip, one splash at a time, back into the boil of the pot. It smelled rancid; they must have had it simmering for days. There had been beef in there once. Some onions or leeks. What it had reduced to now, however, she could not say.

She dropped the spoon back to a counter. She turned around and took in once again the cellar kitchen, the dusty cupboard holding one solitary egg and a bottle of grayish oil, the half-​eaten loaf of bread. What appeared to be tarragon growing sickly green upon the shelf of the window.

There was a tin of very fine Ceylon by the water basin. Boiling water was not the same as cooking, she reasoned, and the fire was already going. Tea would be bracing.

Wine would be better, but there wasn’t any, not that she had found. So. Tea.

While the water heated she sat upon the bench by the servants’ table. The sole illumination in the kitchen came from the fire in the hearth; it maintained a constant, meager little glow, tarnished light all along the folds of her dress. She kept her gaze willfully upon her hands, her fingers bare of rings, and tried not to notice the rising darkness of a shadow leg, trim and muscled in brown breeches, appearing very near hers.

“Pray do not speak,” she said, very low.

He didn’t. After a few minutes he did shift on the bench; the water on the fire was bubbling into soft little pops.

She pushed back without glancing at him. She dumped a measure of Ceylon into the ceramic teapot that had been set next to the tin, poured in the water, and capped the pot. Then she sat again, taking the bench opposite his.

“I hope you’re not going to eat whatever’s in that kettle,” said the shadow. “It smells like glue.”

Zoe lifted her eyes to his. From across the table, Rhys sent her his most bland smile.

“I’m sorr—

“Stop talking.”

“I merely wished to express my—”

“Stop. Talking.”

He leaned back a little with his hands flat upon the table, looking wounded. “Zee.”

She stood again and left the kitchen.

The rear stairs led to a landing just by the backroom; she found herself opening the door, stepping out into the contained dusk of the backyard garden.

Hayden and the black-​haired boy remained in the house. She felt them there, still in the parlor, probably, trying to decide what to do with her.

She could leave. She could head back to Tuileries. They’d likely not track her there for days, if at all. Paris was enormous, far bigger than she’d ever even conceived. It could take them weeks to catch her scent.

Instead she plunked down upon the rear steps, common as a scullery maid, her skirts ruched between her knees, listening to the gemstones they’d buried in the dirt. Diamonds, little ones, larger ones, blue and pink and clear and yellow.

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