The Hidden Truth (Shadow Claw Book 7)

by Sarah J. Stone

  “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 asked, 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 sh
ould 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–”

  “I can't,” he said, although it nearly broke him to admit it. “I told you that the dragon transformation would use up my stockpile. I have nothing left, even if I wanted to.”

  “Would you want to?” She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

  “Yes.” He was standing paralyzed at the foot of her bed, his own chest rising and falling harshly. “If I could.”

  She considered that answer, and then held her hand out.

  “Come,” she said. “Please. You're warm, at least.”

  “I…” He was about to protest about the indecency of it, the lack of proper form. But despite her pain, she looked so beautiful–so tempting–so angelic. He couldn't stop himself from moving forward.

  He gently climbed onto the bed beside her, easing her body until she was mostly in his arms. She buried her face in his chest, and he squeezed tightly, resting his chin on the top of her head.

  “The scroll–”

  “The scroll will still be there in the morning,” he said. “I'm not sure that you will be.”

  “This isn't death,” she said, although it felt like it. “When I feel like this, I always assume this is a worse fate than death. Like I'm being punished for something I did in a past life.”

  “What could you have possibly done in a past life to deserve this?” he wondered.

  “I didn't solve a scroll for another Dragon Lord?”

  He laughed at that, brushing her hair away from her face.

  “Probably,” he said. “Maybe we've done this all before.”

  “Is that a thing?” she managed. “Past lives?”

  “No,” he sighed. “There is only one life as far as we know. For some of us, it's longer than others, but there is only one.”

  “Is there a heaven?” she asked. “Up in the clouds, where you are from?”

  He was silent for quite a while on that front.

  “There may be,” he said. “I'm sure you'll find out one day. Although, it's unlikely that I'll meet you there.”

  She grasped his hand as a fresh wave of pain hit her. Their fingers intertwined, and he didn't want to let go.

  “How often does this happen?”

  “Not so often,” she said. “Although more often than not lately. The weeks when you first touched me were blessed.”

  “And they will be again,” he said.

  “When?”

  “Soon. A few days, at least. Unless,” he thought, carefully, “I could go back.”

  “Go back where?”

  “To Umora,” he replied. “It would replenish the supply faster.”

  “You haven't been going back?” That made her raise her head in surprise. “Why not?”

  He sighed, moving the stray hair again.

  “It's complicated, Enya,” he said. “And it takes far more energy than you have at the moment. Rest now. We'll take about it later.”

  She seemed to accept that answer, lying her head on his chest again. The spasms soon subsided, and she lay peacefully, their hands still intertwined.

  Making sure that she was okay, was the first time in a long time that he had not thought about the scroll. She tossed and turned half the night, and he made sure that she was comfortable, covered, and safe.

  When her hand squeezed his in her sleep, perhaps for comfort, he squeezed back, his eyes never closing.

  This was not part of the plan; this girl clung to him like he was her lifeline.

  He was her lifeline, he realized, as the dawn sun rose. Even without magic, he could feel her life force dwindling. She had to trust him. She had to work hard, because there was no other hope.

  But was that why she lay so peacefully upon him, looking more comfortable than she had since they had met?

  Did she feel for him what he felt for her? Confusion, riddled with fondness and warmth in the heart?

  Her phone which had been left on the bedside table went off, and he got to it before she did.

  Class said the alarm, but he didn't really care. She needed to sleep, that much was clear. And in his heart, he didn't want her to move.

  It was half past ten when her eyes finally started to flutter open. He relaxed his grip, so she could move as she needed to, stretching, but not reacting in shock when she found him there.

  “Have you been watching over me all night?” she asked.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, deflecting the question.

  “Better.” She sank onto the pillow beside him, taking her hand. “Did you use magic?”

  “No,” he replied. “I just was here.”

  “Apparently, that's enough,” she smiled at him, and his heart warmed.

  “Apparently, it is,” he said.

  Chapter 6

  “I
didn't know what to bring you,” he said, as she pulled open the door. “So, I brought you everything.”

  Enya's mouth fell open in a giggle as Cole made his way through the hotel room door. There was free breakfast that ended half an hour after she woke up, so she sent him down to get it while she showered. There were no fresh clothes, since their sleepover hadn’t been planned, but at least she felt more alive.

  “Did you bring me the entire buffet?” she said, as he set down three plates piled high. “How much do you think I eat?”

  “I wanted you to have choices,” he admitted, as the plates almost toppled over.

  “Do you eat?” she asked, and he smirked.

  “Yes, darling.”

  “Sorry, silly question,” she sat down at the desk. But Enya's interest in the food was second only to the scroll. She was typing frantically on her phone, and then scribbling on a spare napkin.

  “I've got it,” she said suddenly. Cole looked at her in shock.

  “What?”

  “I cracked it,” she said, squinting at her scribbles. “That old man was right. Are you ready?”

  He felt his stomach lurch as he sat at the end of the bed.

  “Yes?” he said.

  In a way, he’d gotten used to the fact that she would never solve it. Of course, he still had his mind on the goal. But the idea of spending all this time with her, in a constant limbo, did not sadden him.

  She cleared her throat.

  “In front of the pillars of Hercules, you will find the key. On this island, there exists a confederation of kings, of great and marvelous power. You will have sway of the world, if you climb the tower.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” he asked, in confusion. The words were too fast, and he felt like they were no closer to what they needed.

  “It's Plato,” she said. “Plato was...don't worry, it doesn't matter. And apparently, someone is either quoting him or Plato knew of magic, which explains so much. The fact is, I remember those verses. He's referring to Atlantis.”

  “Well, where's that?” he asked, and she sighed.

  “No one even thought Atlantis was real.” She typed a few more things on her phone. “I mean, it appears in hundreds of things as myths, but it looks like Plato thought it was Gibraltar….”