Chapter Fifteen
Despite her stated contempt for women and magic, Caroline was clearly an accomplished mage. Darcy wondered absently who had taught her; perhaps Hurst understood more magic than he let on.
Guests surged away from Elizabeth with several shouts of “fire!” But she lifted her chin and calmly pulled water from the ether to douse the flames.
Although she was standing in a scorched and soggy gown, Darcy had never seen anything more beautiful.
“You ruined my best gown,” she growled at Caroline.
“I am beginning to find you quite vexing.”
Elizabeth pulled down strands of ether, chanting a spell Darcy recognized as one designed to immobilize someone, illegal to use except in self-defense.
Knowing she was outmatched, Caroline chanted frantically, forming the ether into a giant fist. Just as Elizabeth finished the last words of her spell, the fist punched into her. She flew backward, slamming into the wall behind her with a loud crack and falling to the floor like a broken doll.
Enraged, Darcy rounded on Caroline. But Elizabeth’s spell had done its job; the other woman was completely wrapped in coils of ether, absolutely immobilizing her. His uncle stepped out of the crowd and called for two paladins to take charge of Caroline.
Darcy raced across the room to Elizabeth’s immobile form. She cannot be dead. Please God. His own blindness about Caroline could not have cost Elizabeth her life. How could he survive without her?
He knelt beside her, relieved to note the gentle rise and fall of her chest. As he was fumbling to find the pulse at her wrist, her eyes fluttered open.
“Thank God!” he exclaimed. “How do you feel? Is anything broken?”
She blinked several times. “I do not believe so. I pray you help me stand.”
He shook his head. “You should rest. Your head—”
“Help. Me. Stand.”
Darcy dared not ignore a command in that tone of voice.
He kept an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders as she clambered to her feet.
She swayed a bit, leaning most of her weight on him, and craned her neck, searching for Caroline.
“My uncle has Caroline in hand,” he reassured her. “We should find you a healer.”
Dark curls fell around her cheeks where they had escaped from her coiffure, and her face was bruised. With the addition of the bedraggled gown, Elizabeth could have recently come from a battlefield. A corner of her mouth curved upward as she gazed into Darcy’s eyes. “You are no longer engaged.”
“No,” he agreed, thrilled that she was well enough to tease him.
No force in the world could have prevented him from kissing her.
The kiss was long and deep and thorough.
And possibly scandalous. Some of the surrounding guests were murmuring and exclaiming.
Darcy did not care. Elizabeth tasted of punch and victory.
Finally, when the need for air became unbearable, he reluctantly pulled away but kept her pressed against his chest.
Only when he observed the other guests’ shocked and disapproving countenances did the magnitude of Darcy’s impropriety occur to him.
He had kissed an unmarried woman quite thoroughly in front of hundreds of mages and their families.
Bingley, who had pushed to the front of the crowd, was grinning. Uncle Matlock’s mouth was hanging open.
Elizabeth turned bright red and buried her face against his chest. Well, there was only one remedy.
“Er…” Darcy stepped backward so he could see Elizabeth’s face, but he retained his hold on her hand. “I suppose this should have been my first step. But as I now find myself without a fiancée, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Although her eyes filled with tears, Elizabeth’s voice was steady. “I will.”
A ripple of laughter ran through the watchers.
Darcy wanted to kiss her again, but perhaps he had exhibited enough shocking behavior for one day.
He settled for pulling her against his chest. He wanted nothing other than to take her back to Darcy House and…
Well, perhaps not yet, he chastised himself while simultaneously calculating how long they would need to wait before being wed.
At the moment, he would settle for a nice walk with Elizabeth in the garden or a cup of tea with her in the parlor.
Unfortunately, they still needed to contend with Hurst, the far greater threat.
The voice of the master of ceremonies called, prevailing upon the crowd to seat themselves so voting could commence.
As the guests dispersed, taking seats at tables near the front of the room, Uncle Matlock approached them.
“Elizabeth has consented to be my wife!” Darcy told him unnecessarily, but he was drunk with happiness.
“Yes, congratulations.” His uncle added hastily, “I had two paladins remove Miss Bingley. They will hold her in the Convocation prison until her trial.”
This reminder of harsh reality sobered Darcy immediately. “Did she say anything to implicate Hurst?” he asked.
His uncle shook his head. “I questioned her, but she would not say one word against him.”
“Do you believe that enough people consumed the punch to counteract the spell?” Elizabeth asked.
“I hope so.” With his mouth set in a straight line, Uncle Matlock strode toward the front of the room, taking his place beside Hurst on the dais.
The master of ceremonies was explaining the rules for voting as servants moved through the crowd, handing out ballots to Convocation members.
Uncle Matlock glared at his rival. Hurst was smiling, doing his best to appear confident and comfortable, but a stiffness in his movements suggested tension.
He was aware that Caroline’s arrest put him in a more vulnerable position.
“The election is now open!” the master of ceremonies announced, using a spell that projected his voice throughout the room.
But just as the mages bent their heads to their ballots, Uncle Matlock interrupted.
“No.” Although he spoke in a normal tone, his voice carried over the crowd.
“Attend to my words.” At least half the heads in the crowd jerked upward at the phrase used to activate a suasion spell.
Darcy stifled an oath. He had been right; more than half the guests had been affected by the spell.
If his uncle could not unravel it, he would lose the ballot.
As Uncle Matlock chanted in Latin, most of the mages stared in amazement. The archmage flung his arms wide as he pulled on every thread of ether contained in the room, gathering them as easily as picking handfuls of flowers. It was a feat of magical power that Darcy had never seen before.
With an intricate movement of his hands, Uncle Matlock wove a glittering net of ether that hovered over the crowd.
It was a beautiful sight; many people gaped in awe.
The archmage turned his palms in a downward motion, bringing the shimmering net over the crowd—as if capturing an exotic animal.
A few mages bolted from the room in alarm, but most simply looked perplexed.
A stout, red-faced man shouted, “Matlock, what are you about?”
The glowing strands of ether were drawing magic—sickly green-hued spells— from the bodies of multiple mages.
An awed hush had fallen over the room as everyone watched the archmage work his magic.
Some stared in amazement as the spells were pulled from their bodies, others collapsed in relief.
Bingley’s eyes widened as the net drew the suasion spell from him.
For a moment he stared into space, dazed, and then a horrified expression stole over his countenance.
No doubt that is I how I appeared when I was freed from the spell.
“I have just uttered a counter spell to nullify suasion,” Uncle Matlock announced. A murmur of alarm went through the crowd. “A potion in the punch acted as a catalyst. The suasion spell was cast by John Hurst to encourage you to vote for him.”
The archmage uttered the words calmly, but they had an electric effect on the crowd.
Shouts of outrage and disbelief rang out.
“If your thoughts about Mage Hurst have changed from moments ago—if you are now less inclined to vote in his favor—you were probably influenced by his spell,” Uncle Matlock said.
The anxious undercurrent of muttering in the crowd instantly rose in volume.
“Do not listen to Matlock!” Hurst cried. “This is a transparent attempt to win the election! A suasion spell? What a ridiculous notion! Why, everyone knows how difficult it is to power one suasion spell, let alone dozens.”
Some of the mages nodded agreement, ready to believe Hurst’s claims. Darcy’s uncle pointed an accusing finger at his rival.
“You summoned goblins—goblin children— from their world and then killed them so you could absorb their etheric power.” Multiple gasps of horror sounded as the archmage turned back toward the crowd.
“That is the cause of the goblin attacks—first in Hertfordshire and now here. The goblins are trying to prevent Hurst from committing more murders.”
“No! No! He lies!” Hurst cried, red-faced and perspiring freely.
But the archmage’s evidence appeared to convince most people. Muttering angrily, mages surged toward the dais. Hurst scrambled toward the back of the platform as Uncle Matlock turned toward his erstwhile rival. “John Hurst, I arrest you for the mass use of an illegal spell—”
Hurst made a desperate slashing movement and a portal opened behind him, shimmering like a doorway carved from glowing gold. Darcy gasped. He had never seen a portal opened so easily and quickly—or inside a building. Hurst’s lineage did indeed give him superior abilities.