Chapter Thirteen #3
The words cut like blades. Elizabeth wanted to cry out as they sliced into her.
Their remaining time together was surely limited; she wanted to savor it.
At the same time she retained enough presence of mind to recognize the signs of a drunkard who yearns for another sip from the bottle.
The yearning itself was a sign of potential trouble.
Elizabeth stood, nodding her head resolutely.
“No doubt you are correct. I must perform the necessary research and attend the Emerys’ ball to tell him what I have learned.
But then I will return to Longbourn. After all, this is a matter for the Convocation.
Mr. Darcy wants me out of harm’s way, and I should be out of Mr. Darcy’s way. ”
Her aunt was watching her with sad eyes. “I do believe that is best.”
***
Darcy crept along the servants’ corridor in Hurst’s townhouse.
Obtaining an immediate invitation to dinner had taken some finesse.
He had mentioned to Bingley that the cook at Darcy House was away visiting her sister—which she was since Darcy had given her a week off.
His friend had taken the hint and issued an immediate invitation.
Darcy loathed the feeling of being unable to trust his fellow paladin, but where Hurst was concerned he had to assume that Bingley’s judgment was questionable.
The knocker goblin attack, right on the Convocation grounds, had made Darcy’s mission even more urgent.
Certainly it could have been a coincidence, but he was more convinced than ever that Hurst was the object of the goblins’ wrath.
It was amazing that the goblins had not already killed the mage, but then Hurst spent most of his time indoors—where portals rarely appeared—and had always been surrounded by able fighters.
The irony was thick; by protecting the man, Darcy and Bingley had unwittingly enabled his evil schemes.
Time had passed sluggishly that day until Darcy had arrived at Hurst House.
He had passed the time doing fruitless research to avoid thoughts of Elizabeth.
Naturally he was eager to stop the goblin attacks, but that would mark the end of his acquaintance with her.
She would return to Hertfordshire, and he would never see her again.
If this is how I feel after an absence of less than a day, he wondered, how will I survive the rest of my life without her?
He had no satisfactory answer save the hope that his emotions would fade over time.
The best course would be to avoid her altogether.
His heart ached, but perhaps it was for the best. After the Emerys’ ball, he could avoid occasions where she might appear.
The dinner at Hurst House had been nothing out of the ordinary, and the conversation was rather dull.
Everyone had inquired politely about Darcy’s visit to his aunt.
Caroline had asked rather pointedly whether Elizabeth had accepted Collins’s proposal and was visibly disappointed at Darcy’s response.
He had spoken little to Hurst, concerned that the other man might attempt suasion, but their host had mostly confined his conversation to the food.
After dinner, the men had enjoyed some port while Bingley made an impassioned case in favor of supporting Hurst for archmage.
Darcy had listened without comment but had made no promises.
Hurst himself had not said much but smirked appreciatively at his brother-in-law.
It had been a relief to escape the room, with the excuse that he needed to visit the privy.
Darcy slipped inside Hurst’s study. The room was dark, but a small fire in the hearth threw off a little light.
Darcy’s witch light hovered near the ceiling, allowing him to examine the room for anything suspicious or out of place.
Faint chalk marks on the floor suggested the room had once contained a summoning circle.
That itself was noteworthy; Darcy knew of no mages who could construct portals indoors.
Had Hurst discovered a way to do it? Unfortunately, proof that Hurst had been summoning goblins would get the man nothing more than a reprimand from the Convocation.
Hurst’s desk was a mess of paper, account books, and correspondence.
Darcy sorted gingerly through the piles, careful not to disturb them too much.
He found nothing of interest until he lifted the blotter.
There he discovered a hastily hidden scrap of paper.
Brightening the witch light, Darcy quickly scanned a list of ingredients and an incantation for an unnamed spell.
As he mentally translated the first few lines of Latin, his hands shook.
This was it. Hurst was in possession of a suasion spell—the one spell no mage should have.
Darcy carefully folded the spell and stashed it in his coat pocket. He would need to take this proof to the archmage. His uncle would likely convene the Council and bring Hurst in for questioning. But Darcy had to act fast; if Hurst won the election, he could influence the investigation.
The archmage conferred regularly with the prime minister and other members of parliament.
What kind of damage could Hurst do if he could use suasion on the country’s leaders?
His power would be limitless. He could make himself rich.
Or become prime minister. He could lead the war against the French.
He could lose the war against the French.
The revelation of Hurst’s iniquity would bring crushing shame down on Bingley and Caroline, but there was no help for it.
He must be stopped. Darcy examined the desk, twitching a few papers back into place to conceal his search.
But when he turned toward the door, he found his way blocked by a dark figure.
“Hurst!” Darcy managed a smile. “I was hoping to find that volume of Roman history I lent to you last month.”
It was a feeble excuse; Hurst did not even deign to address it. I would make a terrible spy. I simply am not built for deception.
“I thought you might suspect me, Darcy. You were so uncharacteristically eager for a dinner invitation.” Hurst’s utter lack of fear was disconcerting; surely the mage should worry about what Darcy had found. What does Hurst know that I do not?
“You are endangering lives,” Darcy said. “The goblin attacks are a result of your actions.”
Hurst’s eyebrows shot upward. “Are they? Hmm…” He appeared genuinely surprised.
“The goblins want to stop you from killing more of their children. You must cease at once before more innocent people are hurt.”
Hurst smirked. “I will stop—as soon as I have become archmage.”
“If you live that long.”
“The goblins have not reached me so far. I am so ably defended by my loyal brother-in-law.” The idea of Bingley being used that way made Darcy’s stomach lurch.
He drew his bespelled sword from the sheath that rendered it invisible and pointed the blade at Hurst. “Such activities show that you are the last man in the Convocation to be made archmage.”
The other man did not even glance at the blade. “I beg to differ.”
“When I tell the Council what you have done, they will have you arrested.”
“I have nothing to fear from them.”
Sweat trickled down the back of Darcy’s neck. What was Hurst planning? “Stand back or I will run you through,” he warned the other man.
Hurst actually chuckled. “No, you will not.” Gazing into Darcy’s eyes, he spoke in a deep timbre that seemed to echo in Darcy’s ears. “Attend to my words. You cannot move.”
Darcy started to scoff. No spell worked in such a way.
But his mouth was frozen. His arm would not move.
Hurst has used suasion on me, and it is far more powerful than I expected. Darcy’s heart thrummed a panicked rhythm as he tried to fight the enchantment—to move his mouth or his arm. But Hurst was in complete control.
A soft scuff in the corridor warned of another person’s approach, but Darcy’s hopes for a rescue were dashed when Hurst smiled at the newcomer. “See what kind of fish I have caught.”
Caroline reached the doorway and peered into the study.
Darcy’s humiliation was complete; he had never suspected his fiancée was involved in Hurst’s schemes.
She frowned at Darcy. “I am disappointed, Fitzwilliam. I had hoped you might support John of your own accord.” With his mouth paralyzed, Darcy could not respond.
“He can still prove useful,” Hurst said silkily.
Caroline’s gaze was fixed on Darcy. “Indeed.” Her lips curved in a ghastly smile. “With Fitzwilliam in this position, we may be able to solve more than one problem.”
She seemed to have no doubts about betraying Darcy to Hurst. Did I ever know her at all? Darcy could only watch as Hurst gathered strands of ether and began to wind them around Darcy’s immobile body. Coils of ether so thick and tight, he no doubt resembled a mummy.
Hurst’s voice regained the deeper timbre it had earlier. “Attend to me. You will forget…” The threads of ether wound their way toward Darcy’s head, moving like a snake intent on a kill. He struggled to free himself but could not do so much as wiggle a finger.
Ether cannot penetrate the mind, he told himself. It was one of the basic principles of magic. And yet how else could a suasion spell operate?
“You know I have done nothing wrong,” Hurst continued.
The ether snake rushed toward Darcy and exploded in his face.
He was breathing in the ether. A foul taste invaded his mouth; an acrid smell filled his nose.
He tried to hold his breath, but his body did not obey his commands.
He imagined that he could feel the spell seeping into his blood, invading his mind.
His last thought was that he had underestimated Hurst rather spectacularly.
Then everything went dark, and he knew no more.