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Steal the Dragon


Patricia Briggs



CHAPTER ONE


She stretched her arms wide, hands open, holding the pose for an instant before
bursting into furious motion. Each placement of foot and angle of wrist was
choreographed, thoughtless, perfect. Her body flowed from one movement to the
next, graceful, seductive, submissive in turn.

The beat of the drum was a familiar companion: its rhythm consumed her. Her
heart kept time with the deep bass tones; the lighter beats of the small instruments
were the quick movements of her hands and feet. The dance slowed, and her
movements became languid, erotic.

She reveled in the euphoria that accompanied her dance, the pain of straining her
muscles for the perfection of her art only adding to the exhilaration. Sweat blinded
her, but she didn't need her eyes to seeЧthe floor was sanded and flat and she
knew where the music would take her.

The beating drum accelerated again, built to a crescendo, then abruptly it ended.
The brief silence pounded at her ears as she collapsed facedown on the floor,
righting for breath. The clapping of a single pair of hands replaced the fading
memory of the drumbeat.

"Very nice, Little One," said the Master's hated voice.

RlALLA SAT BOLT UPRIGHT IN HER BED. HER BEDCLOTHES were
saturated with the sweat of a dance long past. Automatically her hands went to her
neck, but the slave collar had been gone for a long time, and the scar on her face still
replaced the hated tattoo.

Trembling, she bowed her head and ran her hands through her hair. She threw
the covers back and got out of bed, though the dawn was hours away.

In the maze that was the oldest building in Sianim, Ren, better known as the
Spymaster of Sianim, settled himself in his chair and looked out the open window at
nothing in particular.

The chair had been made for his predecessor, who had been a much larger man.
Ren's slight, balding and graying person looked a little absurd sitting in it, like a child
playing at grown-up, but no one in the mercenary city-state of Sianim would have
called the Spymaster absurd: he held more power in his hands than many kings.

Turning his chair away from the window, he propped his feet on top of his