Shana Abe - The Treasure Keeper

Told him he was right. Offered him tea and gingerbread (only a very little scorched!) and watched his natural Mild Humor return. He unbent as far as to kiss me Good-Night. On the lips. Very nice.

I did not mention the incident in the garden. It seemed insignificant, in light of everything else that has occurred. Perhaps I'll bring it up later.

It was probably my imagination. June 5, 1775

This was to have been my wedding day. Feels like Every Other Day. Nothing special. Worked tonight with Cerise in their tavern; they do need the extra hands. It's a dirty, messy job, and my gowns end up reeking of tobacco and ale and gin. I don't enjoy it. But she's always so grateful for the help. And in truth, I appreciated the distraction, although Cerise could not know why. I never told her the exact date.

Hayden says perhaps soon, perhaps even next year. He's still so worried about our future. Says

until the threat of the other drakon is contained, it would be Irresponsible in the Extreme to Wed (he means, I know, to Breed). He's deeply involved in the Council's plans for these "Zaharen " drakon. I do wish he'd tell me something of it. But he won't. Or can't. One man has already left the shire, and no one has panicked about it, so he's not a runner. Luke Rowland, about our age, unwed. It isn't hard to conjecture he's been sent after the rogue dragons. But again, no one will discuss it.

Today by the rye fields we shared a picnic I had prepared—my private little No-Wedding Feast—and Hayden murmured something about how my hair shone like moonlight under the bright sun. Which didn't even make sense, if you consider it. Managed not to laugh or cry. I only tipped my head and asked him calmly, "Well. Are you free June next, Mr. James?"

He understood me. He's very wise when he wishes. He took my hand and kissed it and said, "My heart is yours today, June next and the next, and always. It is more my body which concerns me."

I replied, "And me," which was really rather bold of me, but he only smiled. "You are my love" is all he would say. That tells me practically nothing, does it?

March 28, 1776

He drops by every afternoon for tea. He is absent all the rest of the time. I have told him I need more, but he only averts his eyes and repeats the same word: "Soon." I know he is vital to the plots of the Alpha and the Council, to our future as a tribe. But he is vital to me as well.

I don't have "soon" any longer. I am not a wife. I am not an unmatched dragon maiden. I am affianced, and alone. Always alone. It's a bit too much like purgatory.

August 3, 1777

Today I was washing dishes in the tavern and the Most Peculiar Thing happened. I wasn't paying much mind to my work—really, who enjoys washing dishes?—I was looking out the window to Cerise's little garden, admiring the green, the cuttings she's planted, Mother's lavender growing still, despite the damp, in the far corner, when I felt a faint, faint tingling across the skin of my hands.

I looked down, and—

I don't know what happened. I don't dare even put it into these pages.

It was lunacy. It was not real.

November 15, 1777

It was Worse than I anticipated. I did not cry. I fancy Cerise cried for me quite enough when I discussed this with her yesterday. But my eyes were dry, as were his when I informed him of my decision this afternoon.

I simply could not go on like this. He is half a stranger, half my heart. I understand his hesitations. There are undercurrents at work of which most of the tribe remain remarkably unaware. I might be as well, but for him . and the blue-dark Feelings that cloak me from time to time. The sense of danger galloping closer; of rising, enclosing threat.

I never wanted this half-life with him, to exist strictly in his leisure time and Sunday shadows. I confess it: I want true love and diamonds and passionate declarations. I want a mate who breathes my breath and strokes my skin, who holds my hand without reservations, who returns home to me every evening with open arms and happy anticipation. I want to be able to look up at him with the same adoration I glimpse in Cerise's eyes whenever she glances at her husband. And I want to see that adoration reflected back at me.

As I look over the previous paragraph I realize how childish it sounds. I'm ashamed of my weakness, that I'm not good enough or kind enough or patient enough to wait for Hayden any longer. It's been over three years now without any promise of a wedding date. I cannot change what's in my heart.

But I was so nervous to speak to him, my hands shook. It was very hard to give him back his ring.

Naturally, Hayden was a gentleman about it all. He kissed meadieu, very gently, on the cheek.

August 24, 1779

Sunny. Scattered Clouds.

It's been so dry this year, so dry and warm. I remember how I used to watch the clouds. I was younger then. I dreamed more. I suppose I believed in more as well.

August 25, 1779

Gray day. Clouds thickening.

Cerise wants me to go up to the manor house for the Tribal Socials the marchioness hosts every month for the singles of the shire.

I told her exactly the truth. I'm twenty-six years of age. How foolish would I look surrounded by a flock of giddy adolescents?

She seemed about to grow teary again so I forced a smile and told her not to worry. I was well and happy alone. I didn't mind being an Old Maid (!!) and that matrimony and children were for the wildly beautiful and good, like her.

She gave me a very curious look. She said, "You are beautiful."

I laughed and replied, "You're my sister. I cannot rely upon your opinion."

She sat up straighter. "Zoe. You're beautiful. You're probably the most beautiful woman in the tribe, more beautiful even than the marchioness."

I laughed once more. What else could I do? But it only angered her further, so I lifted my hands in surrender.

"Cerise! You yourself once told me how odd I am. My eyes are too dark, my lips are too big. Even my hair is this peculiar colorless color. I have mirrors. I can see the truth. I'm far too strange-looking to attract that sort of notice from men."

She was quiet a moment. She was staring at me hard, the way she does when she's trying to understand one of my jokes, or a pun I thought particularly clever. We were in the tavern after closing, seated together beside the fire. A fine gentle glow danced along our skirts. Finally she said, "Are you blind? Really, truly? Are you blind?"

"No," I said.

"Then I must suppose you are merely stupid. No wonder Hayden walked away."

That made me blink! I stood. But she was Cerise, ever Cerise, and she did not give quarter.

"No one courts you because you frighten them. You have this severity about you. This ice-cold perfection. But there's no question of your looks, Zoe Cyprienne. You're a diamond. You're a pearl. Haven't you noticed how all the males who come to the tavern stare at you, how they quiet when you're near? I've spent my entire life longing for half your charms, insane with the knowledge that you knew how much more fair you always were. Now ... I can't believe you don 't know it. Are you jesting with me? Because it's not amusing in the least."

"No," I said slowly, gazing down at her. "I'm not jesting."

We locked eyes. Hers are such a lovely whiskey-gold. I always wished for eyes like that. "You're an idiot," she said.

"On that," I said, "we agree."

January 5, 1781

Cloudy. Light snow.

Went for a walk today. My legs were restless, and the blue-dark cloak of Nothingness seemed to hover uncomfortably close to the cottage. I needed to leave.

Blackstone Woods are perfumed and dense; one can nearly always find a path there to follow without running into company. The snow fell in tiny glimmers, sideways, embedding into the tree trunks, throwing sparkles across my shawl. It was silent and empty and starkly serene. Within an hour snow encrusted my skirts and began to fill my boots.