Chapter 18
Wickham strode into the room followed by four retainers. “Up, Darcy. You have a special visitor, a dear old friend of mine. He refuses to come inside the house, so you must go to him. Each of you take one of the wards. Do not let them touch your skin, only your gloves. Darcy, you walk in the middle.”
“A visitor?” Darcy did not expect it to be a pleasant surprise since Wickham sounded so pleased by the news. Darcy would not give him the satisfaction of showing any fear, so he simply walked between the ward-bearing servants. Would they be able to stay close enough to the original positions of the wards for the boundary to be maintained? If a side was stretched too far, it might break, and he would need to seize his opportunity. The servants walked with military precision, though. A benefit of sorcerous control, no doubt.
Outside the bright sun made his eyes water. There was movement at the far end of the lawn, but he could not tell who it was. His guards led him past Debenham, Biggins, and their minions towards the visitor.
Darcy’s eyes widened. It was Oberon, his crown glinting in the sun, prowling across the lawn like a predatory panther. But Oberon was no longer king, was he? Eversleigh said he had gone into retirement because he had grown too irritable and impulsive. Yet here he was, looking every inch the king. An angry, impulsive Sidhe king.
Darcy stopped when the servants set the wards down. Only then did he notice Lord Matlock standing in the middle of the lawn, his shoulders sagging, his stocky form casting a long shadow in the morning sunlight. Wickham returned to stand beside the house with Debenham and Biggins.
Debenham called to Oberon, “You can see they are both unharmed. Now, what are your terms?”
Oberon’s upper lip curled. “My terms are thus: I will perform no magic on any mortal, nor cause physical harm. Should any mortal attempt to harm me, that same harm shall befall each of you, but twice trebled.” Oberon strode between Darcy and Lord Matlock to stand before a terrified looking servant. The Sidhe held out his arm. “Pinch me.”
The servant’s mouth worked, but no sound came out.
“Pinch me!” Oberon’s chiming voice echoed and rebounded.
The servant obeyed. Oberon did not flinch, but Debenham cried out in pain. Wickham and Biggins clutched at their arms.
Oberon turned back to the sorcerers. “Guard my safety as you would your own. An arrow or bullet from a mortal hand will have the same effect.”
“Do you guarantee not to kill us if you remain safe?” Debenham’s voice carried, but it was not as even as usual.
“I have said so.” Oberon might have been speaking to misbehaving children.
“For our terms –”
Oberon interrupted Debenham. “I do not wish to hear your terms yet.” Instead he stalked towards Darcy, all golden power, a world apart from the simple scribe Darcy had met in Faerie. His eyes seemed to pierce straight through him. “You will bear witness, and you will tell my sons.” It was unquestionably a command. Oberon turned on his heel without waiting for a response.
What was he supposed to witness? Had Oberon gone mad?
Now Oberon stood in front of Lord Matlock, but neither of them spoke. Lord Matlock fingered the gold ring on his hand. They must be speaking through the ring spell.
Oberon pointed at the ground. A large fiery circle sprung up in the grass around the two men. His voice oddly amplified, Oberon said, “Anyone who crosses that line will die.”
The sorcerers conferred agitatedly among themselves.
Lord Matlock’s blindfold vanished and a small snake appeared in Oberon’s hand. He dropped it in the grass and crushed with his heel, just as Aelfric had done for Georgiana. Had he removed the spell on Lord Matlock? It would make no difference. Debenham would merely cast the spell again.
Oberon spoke to Lord Matlock in a conversational tone just loud enough for Darcy to hear. “Bright magic’s circle has no beginning nor end.”
Lord Matlock replied, “Mortal blood and fay shall bind.”
“Dark magic blights the circle and all within.”
“Mortal blood and fay shall bind,” repeated Lord Matlock.
It sounded like a blood magic spell, but for what? To free Aelfric? Surely there must be a simpler way. Did Lord Matlock know Oberon was no longer in his right mind?
Oberon continued to speak, but his voice was low enough now that Darcy could only make out scattered words. Something about fay and mortal souls and withered hearts turned to stone. Lord Matlock’s responses grew longer each time, and he stood tall once again.
Magic began to gather around them. Darcy could feel the vortex of it tugging at him, a pull so strong he could practically see the power of it. The circle of fire grew wider and brighter.
Oberon raised a silver knife, his expression exultant. “To this I spill my heart’s blood.” With animal-like grace, he slit his throat. Blood fountained from the wound onto the ground. He wore a frightening, otherworldly smile as he slowly sank to his knees and fell into the pool of blood .
But blood continued to pour as Lord Matlock dragged a matching silver knife across his own throat. His effort was less graceful and more horrifying. His lips moved in a silent prayer as his blood mingled on the ground with Oberon’s, but he looked no less triumphant.
The sunlight suddenly became blinding. A crash louder than any thunder reverberated from every direction. The air seemed to shatter like glass as the earth shifted, knocking Darcy to his knees.
Lord Matlock crumpled to the ground beside Oberon, the flow of blood from his throat slowing to a trickle. The fiery circle flickered and faded to nothingness.
Stunned, Darcy could only stare at the bodies of his uncle and Oberon. A sapling no taller than his knee was already growing between them.
They had made a Great Spell together, the first since the time of Julius Caesar. It was beyond belief. The last Great Spell had sundered Faerie into two parts. What had this one done?
Nothing. Nothing had changed. His uncle and Oberon were dead, and Debenham, Wickham, and Baggins were still standing, seemingly unharmed.
Debenham strode forward, stopping just short of where the circle of fire had been. He snapped his fingers and pointed to a servant. “You there. Walk across the line.”
The man’s feet moved forward, but clearly against his will.
Debenham gave a sharp cry and pressed his fist against his chest. “What?” he gasped. He bent forward, his face screwed up in agony, and collapsed to the ground.
The wards surrounding Darcy sputtered and vanished. Debenham had been the one to set them. If the wards were dead, Debenham must be, too.
Biggins rushed forward. “Carry him inside! Fetch a doctor and –” His face turned ashen. His eyes huge, he reached out a hand and tumbled forward.
Darcy’s mouth fell open. The Great Spell had worked. It had changed the laws of magic. Employing a sorcerous command spell was now a death sentence. Oberon and his uncle could not destroy sorcery itself, but now the choice to use sorcery would be a fatal one.
Wickham backed away from the scene with an expression of horror. He turned and bolted for the stables.
Darcy almost ran after him but stopped himself. There was no reason to chase him. Wickham was no longer a threat. He could be dealt with later.
“Mr. Darcy, sir.” The butler’s voice was unusually timid. “What should we do?”
A Great Spell, two dead sorcerers, a dead Sidhe and a peer of the realm, and the butler thought Darcy would know what should be done? “Free Prince Aelfric and ask him to come here.” Aelfric might know something about how to handle the aftermath of a Great Spell. He could not possibly know less than Darcy did.
ELIZABETH JUMPED AS the earth seem to shiver. A bell tolled somewhere. No, it could not be a bell, because the sound came from all directions at once, echoing and re-echoing. The air took on that sharp tang that often followed lightning strikes. “What happened?”
“Magic of some sort. Powerful magic.” Eversleigh held up a hand as if to test the air. “More than that I cannot say. Not sorcery, though.”
Titania turned her face up to the sky with a plaintive, keening wail, an eerie fay version of a wolf’s howl. Her face was lined with grief. “Oberon!” She ran from the bower.
Eversleigh jumped to his feet and followed her.
Frederica gave an exasperated sound. “Could he not have taken one second to tell us where he was going?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and reached out her senses to Darcy. Something had changed for him. “Darcy is free. Something has astounded him, but he feels no danger now.”
“Are you certain it is safe? Could it be a trick?”
Shaking her head, Elizabeth said, “Darcy thinks it is safe, and he cannot lie to me through this bond.” At least she did not think he could.
“Let us go, then!” Frederica exclaimed.
Georgiana stood and shook out her skirt. “Where are we going?”
“Rosings,” said Elizabeth with sudden certainty. “The Great Lawn.” She should be more worried, but somehow she knew Darcy wanted her in that particular spot.
They emerged in the faerie ring in the grove. Colonel Fitzwilliam held his knife expectantly, as if it could guard them against sorcery. “Wait here,” he told Georgiana. “I will come to get you if it is safe.”
Georgiana nodded.
Elizabeth could feel Darcy’s call more clearly now. She picked up her skirts and set off at a run through the grove, clambering past downed branches, around the Italian Garden and the west wing of the house. She skidded to a halt at the sight on the Great Lawn. Frightened servants huddled together on the steps of the house. The bodies of two men lay ignored in front of them. Were they dead? At the far end of the lawn, figures knelt in a ring around a sapling standing in a cloud of mist. Titania and Aelfric sat back on their heels in the fay manner. Eversleigh knelt in the human way beside Darcy. Brownies, dryads, gnomes, and even a few redcaps began to appear, joining those who knelt. Only Lady Matlock stood, her posture rigid.
Darcy, apparently sensing Elizabeth’s presence, looked over his shoulder. He said something to Eversleigh before standing and striding towards Elizabeth.
“What in God’s name is that?” Colonel Fitzwilliam demanded as he caught up to her.
“Mama looks unhappy,” said Frederica warily.
Elizabeth had eyes only for Darcy. She ran to him, unable to control herself any longer. His arms closed around her, warming the frozen void within her.
Darcy pressed his cheek against the top of her head for all too brief a moment. Without releasing her, he said, “Richard, Freddie, wait. There is something I must tell you.” Tension coiled in his body.
Elizabeth stepped back. Only a little, and she kept her hand on his arm because she could not quite bear to let go.
“Your father and Oberon performed a Great Spell to put an end to sorcery.” Darcy’s voice was rough.
“A Great Spell?” Frederica said haltingly. “But that means...”
“Yes,” said Darcy. “They are both dead. They gave their lives to banish sorcery from our world. We are honoring their sacrifice.”
Frederica gave a gasping cry. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s face froze.
A Great Spell. Elizabeth dropped her hand from Darcy’s arm. His first duty now was to his bereaved cousins.
Slowly they walked down the lawn together, Frederica choking back tears. When they reached the circle, Colonel Fitzwilliam silently knelt beside Lady Matlock. Frederica hesitated before going to her mother’s other side and kneeling in the fay manner. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. If Lady Matlock noted the arrival of her children, it was not obvious.
Elizabeth looked back over her shoulder at the house and froze, a shiver running down her spine. Could she be seeing correctly? She whispered to Darcy, “Eversleigh told us your cousin Anne was dead.”
He gazed down at her with a sober expression. “It is true.”
“But look!” She pointed at the portico where Anne stood in the doorway.
Darcy’s eyes widened, and he took off at a run. Elizabeth followed him at a slightly more sedate pace, reaching them just as Anne pushed herself out of Darcy’s embrace. “Good Lord, Darcy, what is wrong with you?”
“I thought you were dead!”
“I thought so, too,” said Anne testily. “But then I woke up a little while ago. I hid until I realized the house was empty, and...what in heaven’s name is going on out here?”
Elizabeth left Darcy to make the explanations as she hurried down the hill to tell Frederica and Richard the news. And there, kneeling beside Richard, was Jasper, looking completely disreputable in his laborer’s clothes and reeking of ale, but alive.
“HE MUST HAVE brOUGHT me back somehow and used a spell to keep me unconscious,” Anne told Darcy. “The last thing I remember is getting dizzy as the whirlwind stole my breath.”
The image of Anne’s head falling into the bowl of water wrenched at Darcy’s chest. “Then you must have awakened when Debenham died, and his spell along with him.”
Anne frowned. “Debenham is dead, but what of Sir Lewis? Could he have survived the death of Debenham’s body?”
“Good God! I had not thought of that. Where would his body be?”
“How would I know?”
“Pardon me.” How could he have missed that possibility? Darcy strode down to the spell circle and grasped Richard’s shoulder. “I am sorry to disturb you. Did Eversleigh tell you Sir Lewis was in Debenham’s body? We need to find Sir Lewis’s body and make certain he is dead. Can you help me?”
Richard’s eyes widened, and he scrambled to his feet. “We had been trying to do that already. Jasper, did you find him?”
“In the old oast house, with half a dozen guards. They wanted me to bring them ale, so I did. They would not talk about what they were guarding, but it has to be him.”
Lady Matlock turned her head to them, her expression frozen. “Did you say Sir Lewis?”
“Freddie can explain,” Richard said distractedly. “We must go.”
The oast house was not far away. Darcy, Richard, and Jasper reached it in a few minutes. A cluster of guards stood in front of it, but they were arguing with each other, not guarding it.
One of the guards looked up as they approached. “Who are you?”
“I am Fitzwilliam Darcy. Debenham is dead and I am in charge now.”
The guard touched his forehead. “Glad someone is. We don’t rightly know how we got here. Sounds odd, I know, but that’s the way it is.”
“Explanations can wait.” Richard reached for the door latch.
Darcy pulled him back. “I will go in first. His spells do not work on me.” He strode into the oast house. It was dark inside, but he could easily make out the slumped figure in a chair. The upper half of his face was a ruin of craters and scars. The horrific sight made him gag.
Trying not to look at his face, Darcy put his hand on Sir Lewis’s chest. Nothing. No heartbeat, no breathing. “You can come in. He is dead. It is over.” Over. Thank God!
Richard was the first to enter, a pistol in each hand. He must have taken them from the guards. At Sir Lewis’s corpse, he raised one pistol and shot him point blank through the chest. Switching hands, he sent a bullet from the other pistol through the sorcerer’s head.
Darcy turned his head away from the sight. “He was already dead.”
“I know,” said Richard. “I wanted to make sure he stayed that way this time.”
“Good.” It was Anne’s quiet voice coming from behind him.
“Come out with me,” Darcy said. “You do not want to see this.”
“Yes, I do.” Anne stepped past him and stared down at Sir Lewis’s body, her lip curled in disdain.
Elizabeth was waiting for Darcy outside the oast house. “I know I should not be here, but I am not yet ready to let you out of my sight.”
Darcy took her hand. “I could not agree more.”
Richard emerged and handed the pistols back to the guards. He took a step towards them and stopped suddenly. “Oh, God. I forgot about Georgiana!”
Darcy’s skin prickled with fear. “What happened to Georgiana?”
“Nothing,” said Elizabeth quickly. “Your cousin told her to wait in the grove while he made sure it was safe here, but then we found out about the Great Spell and forgot everything else.”
Poor Georgiana must be frantic. “I will fetch her,” Darcy said. “You stay with the others.”
With a trace of her old archness, Elizabeth said, “Did you not hear me say I will not let you out of my sight? I am coming with you. Do not worry; I am certain that in ten or twenty years I might be willing to be separated for a matter of minutes.”
Even after these horrible days, she had the same power to enchant him as always. “If you are expecting a complaint for me, you will be waiting a long time.” He leaned down and brushed her lips with his.
MORE FAY ARRIVED THROUGHOUT the afternoon, including many of the Sidhe. King Cathael was one of the first to appear. For all their tendency to immediate action, the fay seemed to believe they should simply remain beside the Great Spell, so the mortals did the same. The tree continued to grow visibly.
As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, Titania stood and asked, “Are we all gathered now?”
It was hard to answer without knowing who she thought should be there in the first place, but there were enough murmurs of assent that Titania seemed satisfied. Her silver dagger appeared in her hand. “Now we will honor Matlock and Oberon by binding their spell.” Titania glided forward into the circle, stopping just short of the mist covering the bodies. She lifted her knife and slashed her palm, holding her hand out so drops of blood fell into the mist. “I give my blood to bind. Titania, eliarinn to Oberon.” She walked back to the others and handed the dagger to Lady Matlock.
Lady Matlock studied the dagger, as if uncertain what she was to do with it. At Titania’s gesture, she stepped up to the mist, hesitated, and cut her fingertip. “I give my blood to bind. Eleanor, wife to Matlock.”
As Lady Matlock exited the circle, Eversleigh claimed the dagger from her and followed suit. “I give my blood to bind. Evlan, son to Oberon and friend to Matlock.” He brought the dagger to a startled looking Colonel Fitzwilliam.
The Colonel might have been surprised, but his military bearing showed as he marched forward and cut his hand. “I give my blood to bind. Richard, son to Matlock.”
Aelfric awaited him. “I give my blood to bind. Aelfric, son to Oberon.”
Eversleigh whispered in Frederica’s ear.
She raised her eyebrows but stood and took the dagger from Aelfric. Her chin up, she walked forward and cut her finger without hesitation. “I give my blood to bind. Frederica, daughter to Matlock.”
Eversleigh was beside Elizabeth. “You are next.”
Elizabeth stared at him. “I? But I am not a relation.”
“You are shurinn to Oberon, and through Darcy, you are kin to Matlock. Go.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath and took the dagger from Frederica, trying not to think of the bodies beneath the mist. She opened her palm, but at the last minute switched to her forefinger. It would be embarrassing if the blood did not flow. The dagger was unexpectedly sharp and she cut deeper than she had meant to. “I give my blood to bind. Libbet, shurinn to Oberon and kin to Matlock.”
Her finger stung. She looked to Eversleigh who jerked his chin towards Jasper. Elizabeth took a few careful steps towards him, once again dizzy, much as she had been following their claiming of blood right. Darcy caught at her elbow as Jasper said, “I give my blood to bind. Jasper, son to Matlock.”
Eversleigh said quietly, “You are next, Darcy.”
“I give my blood to bind. Darcy, nephew to Matlock, and named by Oberon.”