Chapter 32 #2
Elizabeth's stomach churned into a knot of nausea.
The Wicked King had her hair, and God alone knew what he could do with it.
It must have been no more than a moment's work for the little fae to steal it, since she did not have a dragon watching over her as she slept.
“What else have you done for him? And what did he ask you to do?”
“Just to get your hair, especially those in the bloodline from the prophecy. Mr. Jasper, Lady Frederica, and the infant.”
She narrowed her eyes. If Jenny was on that list, why did it exclude her husband? “What of Mr. Darcy?”
“The High King said it was unnecessary, as he already has it,” the fae whimpered.
Georgiana straightened and caught Elizabeth's eye deliberately. “Yes. I gave it to him some time ago, and that is all we will say about it.”
Because Elizabeth already knew that Georgiana had substituted a lock of the late Mr. Darcy's hair for William's. And, apparently, she did not want this spy to know that. Could she be innocent in this?
“Great lady, I deserve nothing from you, less than nothing, but I beg this of your mercy. Pray slay me and return my body to the High King. Perhaps then he will release my little girls.”
Georgiana stood over him, looking down at him with a haughty expression that Elizabeth had never seen on her before.
As if she were in truth a great lady, if not royalty.
Even in a dressing gown and with her fair hair in a simple braid.
Finally, after a long pause, she said, “I could do that, but it would not undo the terrible damage you have done, nor would it ensure the safety of those I love.”
The fae gulped, a portrait in despair. “I understand, great lady,” he said hopelessly. “I deserve no better.”
“I will, however, offer you a different choice.” Georgiana spoke almost idly.
“If you will take a blood oath of loyalty to me, and to all those whom I call my family, and swear on your blood and your daughters never to serve anyone but me, then I will grant you this - that I will inform the High King that my lesser fae murdered you on discovering your treachery, and they burned your corpse as befits a traitor.”
He crept towards her, reaching out his hands but not daring to touch her. “Great lady, you are most gracious and merciful, even to the most unworthy. I will be honored to be your blood servant. I will swear it this minute, if you wish.”
“Not yet. You will be imprisoned until I am ready, but will not be treated unkindly.”
Elizabeth said, “Wait. I have more questions for him.” Her bare feet were freezing, but she was not going to miss this opportunity.
Georgiana said, “Obey her as you would me.”
“Yes, great lady! I will tell her anything she wishes, even my darkest secrets.”
Elizabeth most definitely did not want to know a fae's darkest secrets. “What is this bloodline you mentioned?”
“All the descendants of Ysmeina the Fair, madam. Those you call the Fitzwilliams.”
Goosebumps rose on her arms. Was that why the Wicked King was so interested in Pemberley? “You did not mention me on your list of the bloodline.”
“Forgive me, lady, but you only married one of the bloodline. You are not of Ysmeina’s blood.”
What did he mean? Granny was a Fitzwilliam, and Elizabeth had inherited her magery.
But everyone here had thought Granny died when she ran away from home, at least until her Bennet descendants were discovered.
Darcy and the Fitzwilliams knew the truth now, but it was not something they spoke of often.
Could the fae have remained in ignorance?
If so, it was better to keep it that way. She did not want to draw the Wicked King’s attention to her sisters or their cousins in Wales. “Why does the High King care about Ysmeina’s bloodline?”
“Because of the prophecy. He has watched her descendants all these centuries, never once letting any of them out of his observation.”
Here it was, at last. “What is the prophecy?”
“Forgive me, lady, I do not know the exact words. He has kept it hidden. But everyone says it predicts his death because of the actions of one of her blood.”
The Wicked King thought one of them could kill him? Impossible! Though if any mortal could, Jasper seemed like the best candidate. “He has been doing this to every Fitzwilliam descendant for hundreds of years?”
“Watching, yes. Interfering, no. Not until this generation.”
“Why this generation?”
“It is the thrice third,” he said solemnly, as if that should mean something.
Thrice third? “But Ysmeina lived more than seven hundred years ago! That is far more than nine generations.”
“Thrice third, not twice third,” he said primly.
Cerridwen said, “The twenty-seventh generation. Thrice third is a sacred number among the fae.”
“Then why did you want to take Jenny's hair? She is not in that generation.” What was he leaving out?
“I cannot explain why the High King wants what he wants.”
Or he might have guessed that Jenny was remarkable for more than that. She pushed that thought aside. There was still one very important question. “Who is the prophesied one?”
The fae stilled, eyes wide with confusion. “He is the one who will fulfill the prophecy.”
“It is a man, then? Not a woman?”
The fae hesitated. “He spoke of a man. I do not know if that is according to the prophecy, or simply his belief.”
Or perhaps, like so many males, the Wicked King could not conceive of his downfall coming at the hands of a woman. “Does he think Mr. Darcy is the prophesied one?”
“He believed it was one of the Darcy brothers. That is why he wanted to place a changeling here, to keep a closer eye. Once his spell did not work on Mr. Darcy, he thought he had to be the one.”
Elizabeth’s chest tightened. Her William was the target of the Wicked King’s plots. “What spell?”
Mistletoe’s bushy brows drew together in a point. “It was a spell arrow, designed from Mr. Darcy’s hair, but it failed to take.”
The spell arrow Darcy had told her about, the one that hit him the minute he stepped outside the broken wards during the fae attack. Of course it had not worked on him, if it was designed from old Mr. Darcy’s hair. Thank heavens Georgiana had thought to make that substitution!
So one of them, William or Jack, was the prophesied one.
William might be one of the best land Talents of their generation, but could that possibly help him destroy the Wicked King?
And Jack never developed his Talent until he had bound himself to a dragon.
How could they protect themselves from the most powerful High Fae of all?
She shivered. The others looked no better than she felt. Georgiana had gone pale, while Jasper bounced on his toes with a murderous expression.
“That is all for now, but I will have more questions for you later,” she said, and left the nursery before she could lose her composure completely. Georgiana, Jasper, and Cerridwen needed no help from her in managing their prisoner.
Elizabeth sipped a cup of tea in the breakfast room.
It was still full dark out, and the clock in the front hall had just chimed three times.
Her dressing gown and slippers were cozy, and Jenny was sound asleep in Granny's room, to the old lady's delight.
But sleep could not be further from her own mind, not when fear and rage alternated in her.
They were safe now, but for how long? If Agate had not awakened when he did, she would still have no idea that a fae spy was creeping through her house, endangering her daughter.
Or that the Wicked King had a lock of her hair.
She set down the teacup with a sigh. She had no appetite for the rolls and butter they had set out for her.
Nelly had roused half the household when she left the nursery.
Elizabeth had dismissed the yawning maid who brought her the tea, but the under-butler insisted on standing by the front door as if preparing to defend it against incoming enemies.
Candles and lamps were lit, and the sounds of servants in the kitchen came distantly through the walls.
At least the staff did not seem to be upset over yet another fae problem. That was something. If only she could slow her own racing thoughts!
An unexpected noise came from the front hall, the sound of the door opening. She jumped to her feet, her nerves aflame and her heart pounding. No one should be opening that door, not in the middle of the night!
Frantic, she was about to call for Cerridwen when she heard a familiar, beloved voice.
“What is happening here?” Darcy's voice echoed in the marble hallway. “I thought to arrive to a dark house, and instead it is lit up like the harvest ball!”
William was back! She raced out through the anteroom and into the hall, where her husband was stripping off his gloves.
She threw herself into his arms and let the joyous relief of his presence race through her.
The breakfast the servants had hastily put together sat waiting, but Darcy was not yet ready to let go of Elizabeth, no matter how much his stomach rumbled.
His night flight on dragonback had been exhausting, not least because Coquelicot had also been carrying a bound Lady Catherine back to the Dark Peak Nest. Even though his aunt had been unable to speak to him, her presence had kept him ill at ease.
Now, to be home at Pemberley, with Elizabeth, was a profound relief. He had been aching for her touch for weeks. Sitting here side by side, his arm around her and their fingers entwined, was a great comfort.
Even if there had been a fae spy at Pemberley. And even if it was true he was the prophesied one, which he doubted. As long as he had Elizabeth by his side, he could manage anything. Including the High King of Faerie.
“There is so much I still do not understand,” she said, her head resting on his shoulder. “Even if Ysmeina had only one child, and we have no reason to think that, she must still have hundreds of descendants. Why is the Wicked King so focused on you and Jack?”
“Not as many as you would think, at least judging by the Fitzwilliams. The family is known for producing few children, with many dying young or childless. It is not uncommon among mage families, despite all the encouragement to marry and reproduce. Some have even called the Fitzwilliams cursed for the number of early deaths.”
She stiffened. “Do you suppose the Wicked King might be responsible?”
Unease filtered into him. “It is possible, I suppose. Though my mother thinks Lady Catherine was the cause of many of the recent deaths of young mages.”
“Are you sure she cannot touch Jenny?” Worry tinged Elizabeth's voice.
“Lady Catherine is at the Dark Peak Nest now, and the dragons say she will never again leave it. Her Talents have been permanently bound. It is as safe as we can hope to be.” Though as far as he was concerned, it was better than she deserved.
“I am more concerned about the Wicked King.” Especially this news that he was interested in Jenny.
“You seem surprisingly untroubled by the idea of being the prophesied one,” she said.
He bent down to kiss her lingeringly. “That is because I think it is Jack, not me.” Not that he would wish it on his brother, after all he had already been through, but it only made sense that holding the King's Bond made Jack by far the better candidate to destroy the Wicked King.
And then they would all sleep easier. If this old prophecy was even true in the first place.
“Why would it be Jack?”
Darcy looked down at his hands. “That is the other thing I need to tell you about. There have been some unexpected developments with him.”