Journey to India (Exiled Dragons Book 7)

by Sarah J. Stone

  “Neither can I,” she said, as she moved towards the sandwich. They were both on borrowed time it seemed, and she wasn't sure which of them would outlast the other – in patience, or in life.

  Chapter 4

  “I think I have a solution,” Enya said, when he burst into her house for the third day that week. “But we have to go out.”

  He leaned against the wall in the front hallway.

  “How long have you been thinking about that excuse?” he asked, although it was slightly good natured. “Why didn't you say it yesterday?”

  “Because yesterday, I wasn't quite so desperate,” she replied. “But today, I'm at the end of my rope.”

  “I thought you were good at this,” he said, and she rolled her eyes.

  “I am good at this. But in terms of education, I'm still only in my second year. And I spend half my time trying not to throw up. Can you have some compassion?”

  “The world showed no compassion to…” he was about to lament his own misfortune, but her eyes, large and pleading, told him otherwise. “Never mind. Fine. Yes. What's your idea?”

  “Why are you so testy today?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “What happens when you are away from me?”

  That was not an answer he wanted to give her. That was an answer that involved long hours of walking the streets, of lurking, and of finding a place where he wouldn't be noticed. He hadn't been back to Umora in weeks, and Earth didn't exactly have exciting possibilities. Conserving his magic except to convince people to give him food and shelter wasn't the most exciting story, but he wasn't about to admit that to her.

  “What is your idea, Enya?” he asked as she sighed.

  “The translator's ball,” she replied. “It's tonight, and there will be top-notch translators there. The theme is all about puzzles and games. We could easily sneak our puzzle in and see if anyone could help.”

  “Do you realize how compromising that could be?”

  “It could,” she said. “If I didn't know who could be trusted, who could be too drunk to say a word about yet another puzzle they had to solve.”

  “Hmm,” he contemplated. “And you realize if this goes wrong, it's on your head?”

  “Will you stop threatening to kill me?” she asked him. “Because that's my fate, no matter what you do. The only way this works in my favor is if it works out exactly the way you want it.”

  “You're right,” he sighed, giving up. “Fine. What do you need to go to this ball?”

  “You,” she replied, and his shoulders tensed.

  “Oh no,” he said. “You are not roping me into this.”

  “I can't go alone,” she protested. “Don't you think it will look odd, me standing alone, shuffling this puzzle around?”

  “As opposed to someone they've never seen, who is not a translator?”

  “But you can speak another language,” she pointed out. “It's just one they've never heard before.”

  He smirked at that.

  “You’ve thought this out, haven’t you?”

  “Possibly,” she admitted, blushing. “What harm could it do, really? I need a boost, and if this world is to be your new life until you are accomplished, then you might as well get out and about.”

  He said nothing to that, crossing his arms.

  “Fine,” he said. “What do you need?”

  “I have everything I need.” She eyed her closet, knowing there was one dress that could still fit her rapidly slimming figure. “The question is, what are you going to wear?”

  “What do I need to wear?” It was the first time she had seen him look confident.

  “Something formal, I imagine,” she said. “Do you have a suit? Can you get a suit? No, don’t just snap your fingers. You said you must conserve your magic. You can go shopping.”

  “You're intolerable,” he said. “If I had known that in the park when we met, I–”

  “You'd what?” She raised an eyebrow. “Would you really not work with me?”

  Something passed between them – a look, a glance – and he felt lost for words.

  “No,” he stuttered at last. “I'd probably do the same thing.”

  “Good.” She grinned.

  In the end, they managed to get him a suit. She pointed him around the corner to a mall, and he managed to not kill anyone on the way there or back. Sharing the space to get dressed was a little tricky, however. She seemed to take on new energy when she was preparing for a formal event. She moved between the bedroom and the living room, fixing her hair, using the better light for makeup, jostling around him. But when she stepped out of the room in a red dress with a billowing skirt and her hair piled on top of her head, Cole had to hold his breath.

  Before, she was quirky and pretty in an unassuming sort of way. Now, she was simply stunning.

  She wasn't anything like the dragon women or the witch women. She was her own person, her own type of beauty, and he had to look away.

  “One would think you were stitching the dress by hand with the amount of time you took,” he said, standing up.

  She couldn't stop staring at him. In a charcoal-grey suit and a black shirt, his eyes were piercing, his skin icy, and his cheekbones perfectly carved. He looked like a high fashion model that would stare back at her from the magazine pages, usually with an impossibly beautiful woman in his arms.

  “Did you buy that off the rack?” she asked, when she felt like she could speak properly. “The suit?”

  “There was a man who was eager for a commission,” Cole replied. “And I was eager for him to shut up. Now, how are we getting there?”

  “Do you have legs?” she asked. “It's not far.”

  “Walking?” He raised an eyebrow. “Commoner.”

  “And don't forget it,” she teased. “Although the people going tonight will not be commoners. The tickets are expensive, but experiences are included in my scholarship.”

  “You know you don't have to worry about money, right?” he held open the door for her, shockingly gentlemanly of him. “I don't know what you need, but one snap of the finger, and I could get it.”

  She raised an eyebrow as she headed out the door, both at his comment and his sudden display of manners. Now that she had seen him in dragon form, she could see the similarities in things like the way he moved and the way his eyes flashed. How she had ever seen him as anything but different was completely stunning, really, given how different he seemed.

  “Aren't you supposed to be conserving your magic?”

  “Uh,” he grunted. “Maybe anything you want after next week.”

  “Anything?” she teased him as they hit the pavement. It was early in the evening, but the night air was already chilly. Enya crossed her arms over her chest, trying to keep out the chill as she walked. “I want a unicorn.”

  “No you don't,” he replied. “They are nasty, evil creatures, who will stab you at any opportunity.”

  Her mouth fell open.

  “Don't say that. My childhood!”

  “Dragons are nicer than unicorns,” he said. “And dragons are not nice at all.”

  “What is nice then?” she asked, determined that her entire perception of the world was going to be ruined.

  He paused, thinking for a moment. She was leading the way, so he didn't have to concentrate on where they were going.

  “Werewolves, as you know them, or wolf shifters, aren't bad. Very sociable. Very touchy.”

  “Werewolves?” she asked in disbelief. “The whole world is going crazy.”

  “Don't believe everything you read,” he warned her. “The world isn't as you think it is.”

  “I know that,” she replied. “I knew that the moment I was diagnosed. They teach you in school that you can grow up and be anything that you want; that the world is at your fingertips, that it's easy if you just try. But…” she realized the conversation had suddenly taken a dark turn. “Sorry. Never mind. Where were we?”

  “Never mind where we were,” he said, grabbing
her wrist. “My world crashed under me when they told me I wasn't their Prince. It didn't make an ounce of difference what I wanted or what I will get, and it shouldn't make a difference to your life, either.”

  She searched his eyes, her heart hammering in her chest.

  “Thank you,” she said. “It's nice to hear.”

  “But you don't believe it.”

  She shrugged one bony shoulder.

  “It's just something I've come to accept. I don't need a speech,” she tried to smile. “I think we're lost, by the way.”

  He rolled his eyes, the moment broken.

  “How long have you lived here, exactly?”

  “My whole life,” she admitted. “But north and south have always baffled me.”

  She pulled up the GPS on her phone, indicating where they should go. After a quick glance, his long legs started in the opposite direction. She noticed that he hadn't let go of her arm.

  “Do you have them on your world? GPS?”

  “Navigation?” he asked. “We do, of course. But it's easier. The palace is north. Our rebellions are mostly south. It's hot in the east and cold in the west. One does figure it out rather quickly.”

  “Plus, when you can fly over all of it, it's probably effortless,” she answered, and he smirked.

  “It is. Seeing things from the air gives you a better idea of direction, I admit. But still, getting lost in your own city makes you special.”

  “I see your language is improving,” she tried to look on the bright side.

  In no time at all, they found the hotel where the ball was being held. All around them, beautifully dressed women and smartly dressed men entered in droves. Enya heard at least seven different languages being spoken, and she smiled as Cole turned his head in confusion at each one.

  “Greek,” she said. “French. Spanish. German. Russ…no, Ukrainian.”

  “You can recognize them?”

  “Mostly by their bases,” she replied. “It's the first thing they teach you in school, recognizing the roots.”

  “And yet our puzzle alludes you?”

  “Because it doesn't seem to have any logical roots,” she replied. “I can't find any language like it, no matter how far back I go. Every time I recognize something, it's one symbol that is sort of close to something else.”

  “So you say.” He took her arm and she gave him a strange look. “If we're going to be asking these people for help, Enya, we might as well play the part. Shall I be your long-distance fiancé? Did we meet on your inter webs?”

  “Internet,” she corrected him. “And that's creepy. It makes you sound like I mail-ordered you from Russia. Do you want to just be an old friend instead? No one asks questions about old friends who moved away.”

  “Where's the romance in that?” he teased, but accepted the story as they headed inside.

  The ballroom was decorated with photographs of beautifully drawn letters, and everywhere they looked, there were puzzles, games, silent auctions, and laughter. Everyone had a glass of champagne in their hands and a smile on their face. There was a live band playing music, and tables decorated with calligraphy script. The white on black was enchanting, and Enya breathed in the happy air. She rarely got to go to such events, although she longed for them.

  “Don't enjoy it too much,” Cole said. “Remember, there's work to be done.”

  “I thought you wanted to play a part?” she said, as the band took up a new song. “Do you dance?”

  He paused, and then smiled.

  “If it will help crack the code, I'll stand on my head,” he replied, taking her into his arms.

  Chapter 5

  “That's odd,” said the eighth person they asked. Enya had copied the scroll and unrolled it every time someone whom she knew was distinguished came along. People questioned what it was less and less as the night wore on. She pretended it was part of the ball, a puzzle that they had made to get into the spirit of things, and there would be a prize for the most number of letters deciphered. She didn't know what the prize would be, but so far, most people were tied at zero. They squinted at the letters, using their specialty to decipher a symbol that they thought looked similar to their expertise. “I think that's an L in hieroglyphs, but I'm not quite sure.”

  “Yeah,” Enya sighed, leaning against a table. “No one is quite sure.”

  “Clearly, you've made the puzzle too hard, my dear.” The old man's eyes twinkled. “You have to remember that some of us don't have as sharp a mind anymore.”

  “I didn't make it too hard.” Enya glanced to Cole. “I just thought we could all work together.”

  “By using symbols from different ancient languages?” the old man asked, startling both Cole and Enya.

  “What?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Did I figure it out?” he asked. “Each symbol is from a different language, isn't it? Now, I see it. That is an L, an ancient form, the first version. And there's an E in Aramaic. Yes, yes, that's it. Isn't it? What's my prize?”

  “Uh.” Enya couldn't believe it. Now that he said it, the answer was radically clear. She had suspected it before, but not like this. It was perfect. “A coffee day at your workplace.” Coffee satchels were cheap enough, she was sure she could figure it out. “Where do you work?”

  “Red Cross, as a translator, on Bank Street,” he answered. “Do I get to pick the day?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Give me your business card, and I'll be in touch.”

  “Excellent!” he said, handing it over. “I've never won anything before.”

  “Congratulations,” Enya replied, handing the card to Cole. As soon as the old man was gone, she whipped her head around to him. The sudden movement, though, made her feel dizzy, and she felt pins and needles rush through her body. “Whoa.”

  “Enya?” Cole had a glass of champagne in his hand – crisp, cold and reminding him of his own world. He had been surprisingly half enjoying himself, letting her do most of the talking while he watched the colors swirl around him. This world did have good aspects as well as bad, and soon they would all be his. He had been picturing himself ruling over them and perhaps throwing a ball as grand as this to celebrate. But the bigger picture left his mind as Enya became pale, and his vision tunneled to her eyes.

  “I'm alright,” she replied, putting a hand on the table. “I just...”

  And then she wavered again, shivering with such a passion that he was forced to grab both of her hands.

  “Your hands are like ice, love,” he said. Her collarbone was covered in sweat, and he realized how glassy her eyes looked. “What's going on?”

  “Nothing. It's nothing,” she closed her eyes. “It'll pass, I promise.”

  “What will pass?” he asked, and she winced.

  “Sometimes, it just…we should keep asking people.”

  “Forget people,” he said. “You're no use to me dead.”

  “I…” her sentences weren't coming out in full and she groaned, loud enough to be heard over the clink of champagne glasses. Her teeth were chattering, and he could hear that her heartbeat was out of control. “Oh, God.”

  To avoid drawing attention, he pulled her close as if he was simply showing her affection. In his arms, she felt so small, so fragile.

  “Tell me what's going to happen,” he said in her ear.

  “I need to lie down,” she managed. “Could you take me–”

  “You aren't going to make it home,” he replied, looking around for the entrance back to the hotel lobby. “Here, give me the scroll and hold onto my arm.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Her voice sounded far away and childish.

  “This is a hotel, isn't it?” he asked. “And you need to lie down? The solution seems logical enough to me.”

  “Cole, the rooms here are–”

  “Never mind that,” he answered, as her teeth chattered harder. Although her hands were like ice, her body burned, and he knew that she must have been feeling ill half the night
. “Come on.”

  He dragged her through the lobby, barely managing to convince her to sit in a chair while he went to the front desk. She was hunched over, eyes closed, and he couldn't take his gaze off her while he ordered a room.

  Humans were so mortal – so fragile. Was this how she was to perish, close to immortality, but not quite within reach? He opened and closed his palms as they registered for a room, fighting for magic, but knowing none would come. He had truly drained his supply to transform into a dragon, and he wouldn't have any for a few days yet. If he was on Umora, he could heal her in a moment. He hated this planet for that. Hated the pull of its gravity and the quality of its air.

  What startled him most of all, however, was how worried about her he was. He told himself it was because his chance of ruling slipped away with every gasping breath she took. She was the only person he could trust, and her mind was always half clouded with pain and fear. But he knew deep in his heart that the truth was about more than the scroll. It had been about more than the scroll from the moment he saw her.

  This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be heartless and cruel, an ice king ruling with an iron fist. That was how they described him on Umora. They bowed to his brothers and his father out of respect; but they bowed to him out of fear. How much would they fear him if they could see him now, helping this fragile girl under the covers?

  “It's so cold,” she said, the blankets drawn up. “This room is like ice.”

  “It's not,” he glanced at the thermostat, the primitive technology confusing him. “It's set as high as it will go, I think.”

  “I'm sure it is.” She wrapped the blanket tighter, drawing it up to her chin. “Jesus, I can't even think straight. Ow.” Her eyes clouded again, and she gritted her teeth.

  He was helpless, standing by the foot of the bed, his empty palms flexing for nothing. He felt his heart half shatter when she looked up at him. He was trying to remain calm, trying to remain impartial. But nobody could remain impartial when such eyes pleaded for help.

  “Can you–”