continued, “Your parents would not make you marry this native, or indeed anyone you didn’t wish to marry, any more than they’d sacrifice you to a local god.” He walked toward her, swiftly. “I rescued you from almost certain death, and therefore I am in some measure responsible for you. I do not wish for you to get lost in the wilds of India, with no other choice but to appeal to a mission for your barest sustenance. Come with me,” he said.
“Where?” she asked, confused, putting her hand on the arm he offered.
“Home,” he said. “I’ll walk you back and we’ll say I found you alone after you escaped from the dragon—or, if you require that I be a hero in this, that I chased the dragon away from you. Whichever you prefer. I’ll walk you home and then—”She pulled her hand from his arm and stepped away from him. “Never. I will never ever ever go back.”
She felt a body-long shudder run through her. “I couldn’t. Ever. They’ll make me marry the raj.”
“You’re being quite foolish, you know. Of course they won’t make you marry him. At most they’ll demand and thunder, but you look more than able to withstand such pressure.”
“No. Mama says that we are quite ruined and the prince is offering a bride price and they cannot refuse him.”
He looked exasperated. “Not after you proved you were desperate enough to run away from home to avoid it.”
He should have been right. Sofie wanted him to be right. He should, by all that was holy, have been speaking the truth. No mother—no parent —in her right mind would force her daughter to marry someone after she’d almost killed herself escaping from the match.
But against this rational thought, Sofie felt a certainty that rose from within her like a suffocating pressure brooking no dissent. They would make her marry the creature, no matter her protests. She was as sure as she was of standing here and being alive. If she went back home tonight she would never emerge from that house again as Miss Warington. She would only leave it as the creature’s bride.
Feeling as if the air were all quite choked out of her, she said, “Never. I could never . . .” Her breath seemed very loud. Her heart beat like a deafening drum.
The dragon-man stretched his hand to her. “Don’t be foolish,” he said. “Come. You’re being fantastical.”
She shook her head. Through her fear and her swirling panic, she said, blindly, “I . . . I will call for help. If you make me go back, I will denounce you. I will scream that you are a dragon and that you kidnapped me.”
IN THE HALLS OF THE MONKEY KING
Lalita ran, hurrying through the streets, her bare feet slapping now dirt, now cobbles, the jangle of thin silver bracelets around her ankles making a musical sound. She penetrated deep into the native quarter, where everything was bright with life and light, even after sunset.
She ran past women in saris, past houses whose open doors showed dancing and music. She ducked around the advancing bulk of two elephants—carrying the principals in a marriage procession—squeezing herself against the wall, as the elephants took up almost all of the alleyway between makeshift buildings and hovels and tents.
It had been a long time since she’d taken this path.
There had been no reason to take it since she returned from England with Sofie, but there were things one didn’t forget—paths and experiences engraved on the mind and soul that resounded across all the years. She remembered this as she remembered her position and the protocol ingrained in her from a very early age.
She turned unerringly down alleys and paths, never doubting—despite the many new buildings—that she knew the way to where she was going.
She had come this way many times before being sent to England. She’d come with her father. She’d come on important occasions, on hallowed days. It was not something she could forget easily, or indeed at all.
She stopped sharply
“Where?” she asked, confused, putting her hand on the arm he offered.
“Home,” he said. “I’ll walk you back and we’ll say I found you alone after you escaped from the dragon—or, if you require that I be a hero in this, that I chased the dragon away from you. Whichever you prefer. I’ll walk you home and then—”She pulled her hand from his arm and stepped away from him. “Never. I will never ever ever go back.”
She felt a body-long shudder run through her. “I couldn’t. Ever. They’ll make me marry the raj.”
“You’re being quite foolish, you know. Of course they won’t make you marry him. At most they’ll demand and thunder, but you look more than able to withstand such pressure.”
“No. Mama says that we are quite ruined and the prince is offering a bride price and they cannot refuse him.”
He looked exasperated. “Not after you proved you were desperate enough to run away from home to avoid it.”
He should have been right. Sofie wanted him to be right. He should, by all that was holy, have been speaking the truth. No mother—no parent —in her right mind would force her daughter to marry someone after she’d almost killed herself escaping from the match.
But against this rational thought, Sofie felt a certainty that rose from within her like a suffocating pressure brooking no dissent. They would make her marry the creature, no matter her protests. She was as sure as she was of standing here and being alive. If she went back home tonight she would never emerge from that house again as Miss Warington. She would only leave it as the creature’s bride.
Feeling as if the air were all quite choked out of her, she said, “Never. I could never . . .” Her breath seemed very loud. Her heart beat like a deafening drum.
The dragon-man stretched his hand to her. “Don’t be foolish,” he said. “Come. You’re being fantastical.”
She shook her head. Through her fear and her swirling panic, she said, blindly, “I . . . I will call for help. If you make me go back, I will denounce you. I will scream that you are a dragon and that you kidnapped me.”
IN THE HALLS OF THE MONKEY KING
Lalita ran, hurrying through the streets, her bare feet slapping now dirt, now cobbles, the jangle of thin silver bracelets around her ankles making a musical sound. She penetrated deep into the native quarter, where everything was bright with life and light, even after sunset.
She ran past women in saris, past houses whose open doors showed dancing and music. She ducked around the advancing bulk of two elephants—carrying the principals in a marriage procession—squeezing herself against the wall, as the elephants took up almost all of the alleyway between makeshift buildings and hovels and tents.
It had been a long time since she’d taken this path.
There had been no reason to take it since she returned from England with Sofie, but there were things one didn’t forget—paths and experiences engraved on the mind and soul that resounded across all the years. She remembered this as she remembered her position and the protocol ingrained in her from a very early age.
She turned unerringly down alleys and paths, never doubting—despite the many new buildings—that she knew the way to where she was going.
She had come this way many times before being sent to England. She’d come with her father. She’d come on important occasions, on hallowed days. It was not something she could forget easily, or indeed at all.
She stopped sharply
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