Chapter 6
It was nearly noon the next day by the time Darcy made his way back to Elizabeth’s room.
How he had hated being separated from her even for a few hours!
Jasper’s close brush with death had been a reminder how very fragile life was.
And so the first thing he did was to take his beloved wife into his arms. If only he never had to let her go!
She seemed to share his sentiments, melting into his embrace. Until suddenly she stiffened.
“What is the matter?” Darcy asked, worried.
Elizabeth rubbed her left arm as if it hurt her. “Nothing, literally. Before Cerridwen managed to toss the High Fae over the wards, he stabbed her under her wing. Now and then her pain slips through to me.”
He frowned. “Then every time she is injured, you will feel it?” Not an idea he liked.
“No. Roderick says it is just because Cerridwen is so young and untrained. The other dragons are helping her learn to keep her pain to herself. But I do not mind. If sharing it gives her some relief, I am glad to do it.” She shivered.
“She took that injury in protecting Pemberley. All three of the dragons have received a scolding for risking themselves for us, since the High Fae was no threat to them or the Nest.”
It took a moment to digest that. Were not the three companion dragons part of his household?
But he could see the Nest's point of view, too, that their primary loyalty should be to their fellows.
“I just spoke to Jasper. He remembers the fight, but not being wounded. Nothing at all until he woke up with what feels like a nasty burn on his neck. He did not even believe Frederica about how badly he was hurt until he heard it from Mrs. Sanford, too.”
“That was terrifying,” Elizabeth said with a shudder. “I wish I had no memory of it.”
“And I wish I had an explanation for it. Georgiana says she has no idea what had happened, or why her lesser fae were so disturbed by it. Nor does she know what the High Fae wanted here.” Though somehow he suspected she knew more than she was telling him.
Just then Georgiana herself appeared in the doorway, an unusual air of determination in her set jaw. “May I speak to you for a few minutes?”
“Of course. Will you join us?” Darcy gestured to the armchair opposite the loveseat.
“No, I thank you. This will only take a minute.” She stopped just inside the room, her posture stiff.
“In the future, pray do not try to defend me from the fae. I appreciate the presence of the wards, but I do not want anyone risking themselves for me. Jasper almost died, and I understand Cerridwen was wounded. I do not want that. The High Fae may only have wished to speak to me. At worst, he might have attempted to carry me off, but I am not without my own defenses, and we have no reason to think the High King wishes to harm me. Keep the wards up, yes. Allow me to surround myself with iron if they go down, yes. But do not fight!” Her voice shook at the end of this clearly prepared speech.
It was so far from what he expected that for a moment he could not speak. Of course it was his duty to defend her!
But was it possible they should not have fought? Had his experience in France led him to see a danger when there was none?
The others had seen it as a threat, too. Roderick, the dragons, and Jasper had all responded the same way.
Slowly he said, “I am glad you told me this. It felt like an attack on all of us. Though only the one High Fae broke through, he came at the head of a battalion. Quickthorn chased them off with dragonfire until we could raise the wards again, or we would have been overrun.”
Georgiana blanched. “I do not know why they would do that, but even so, pray do not go into battle on my behalf. The risk is too high.”
Elizabeth said, “I have wondered if they might have another target. Do you know who the prophesied one is, Georgiana?”
The girl blinked. “No. What prophecy?”
Darcy caught Elizabeth's eye before she continued, and she nodded slightly. No, she had told no one about the prophecy Cerridwen had made over baby Jenny. They had agreed to keep it a secret.
“I do not know,” Elizabeth said. “The intruder asked Jasper if he was the prophesied one. Apparently he could not fight him if he was, but as soon as Jasper said his name, the High Fae said he could kill him, then. What I want to know is who is the prophesied one, and why is it so important?” She fixed her gaze on Georgiana.
Georgiana spread her hands. “Do you think he meant me?”
“You are the one who bears the closest resemblance to Jasper, at least in coloration.”
It was true; Georgiana shared Jasper's golden-haired good looks, whereas Darcy took after his dark father. “The fae seem to have no difficulty telling men from women, though. It seems more likely to me that he was looking for a man,” he said.
Clearly that was not what Elizabeth had hoped to hear. “Then you must be the prophesied one.”
“Or Roderick,” offered Georgiana. “He is a more powerful mage than Darcy, a dragon companion, and in his own lands they consider him a prince.”
Once again, Darcy caught Elizabeth's gaze in surprise. How did Georgiana know that? Roderick did everything in his power to keep it quiet. But Georgiana's invisible fae were everywhere, and who knew what they might be reporting to her?
He did not like this, and he definitely did not want to be the subject of some fae prophecy.
He would happily cede that honor to Roderick or any other man.
And he did not approve of giving Elizabeth one more thing to worry about.
“So far all we know about the prophesied one is that the High Fae was not permitted to kill him. Which is, I suppose, preferable to the alternative. Let us not borrow trouble.” But he fully intended to ask Roderick about this first thing tomorrow.
One prophecy about his family was more than enough.
In the morning, Roderick was nowhere to be found. The butler told Darcy he had ridden out that morning, with no indication of where he was going or when he would return. It was annoying, but it was not as if Darcy lacked other things he needed to do.
Like attending to the mountain of correspondence that had piled up while he was in France.
Or writing his overdue full report to the War Office.
He had sent the briefest of missives to Cattermole on his first day back, scribbled on a rickety table outside the cottage where Elizabeth had been laboring, saying only that he was home safely.
Instead, he asked for Hercules to be saddled and headed out to the moor. The pungent smell of smoke greeted him even before he arrived on the blackened plain.
Today it was peaceful, with only the sound of wind whistling through the open space.
A few sheep had made their way back to the green verges, although it would be months before the burnt expanse recovered enough to provide grazing for them.
A bird pecked at the ground in search of its next meal, while a hawk soared overhead.
Darcy watched it for a moment, wondering if it might be a dragon in disguise, but the odds were against it. There were far more hawks than dragons.
He rubbed his shoulder, still sore from the fae spell arrow.
Even if he had somehow repelled the magic it bore, it had left an uncomfortable bruise.
Minor, but a vivid reminder that someone had shot him, here on his own land.
If it had been an ordinary arrow, he would be dead. Elizabeth would be a widow today.
He dismounted and tossed Hercules' reins in a gorse bush that had survived the flames. Sending his Talent into the earth, he reached out to find the wards.
There they were, a golden glow circling around to both sides.
He walked up to the edge of the line, careful not to put even a foot over.
Roderick had been clear that the spelled arrow could only hit him because he had been outside the wards.
Of course, there was no reason to think the wards would stop a nonmagical bullet, if one of those French assassins decided to make their way to this desolate place.
Not likely, though; they were probably watching the gates.
The undulating moors reached out for miles, now painted black with broad swathes of charred foliage.
He poured some of his Talent down into the earth, giving it energy to help it regenerate.
It was received gratefully, but the land was remarkably untroubled by the damage.
There had been wildfires on the moors before, and they always recovered, the vegetation often stronger than ever.
Apparently the land did not care if a dragon had set it afire rather than a lightning strike.
Under the ground it was still alive with insects and roots ready to send up new plants.
Yet just yesterday, they had fought a battle here. The land might not be disturbed by it now, and yet everything had changed. His safe haven of Pemberley was now a target.
And so was he.
Elizabeth jumped at the sound of something scratching at her window. Not another fae intruder, please heaven! Then the noise resolved into a familiar pecking.
She hurried over to open the window, cold air pouring in. The familiar kestrel shape, today bedraggled by rain, tumbled into the room with far less than her usual grace.
Elizabeth instantly knelt beside her. “Cerridwen, dearest, what are you doing here? Are you not wounded? I thought you had to stay at the Nest!”
“Step back so I can transform,” the bird squawked irritably.
She hastened to obey. The kestrel seemed to blur before her eyes, and then the open space in her bedroom was filled to near bursting with Cerridwen's beloved bronze form and blue wings.
She was truly too big for this room now, yet she had come here anyway, instead of to the larger ballroom.
She slumped to the floor as if too tired to stand, or even to lift her head.
Elizabeth sank down by Cerridwen's head and stroked her scales. “Oh, dear heart, what is wrong? Are you in pain?”
“Of course,” the dragon snapped, which was unlike her. “Flying for miles with a knife wound does that.”
“Then why did you not stay at the Nest with the healers?”
“And be scolded all day and night? Never! At least they will leave me alone here.” She lifted her head just enough to place it in Elizabeth's lap, the way she used to when she was smaller. Now her jaw hung over Elizabeth’s legs, but she still closed her majestic gold-ringed eyes with a sigh of relief.
Elizabeth kissed the top of her head – her very heavy head. “But why on earth were they upset with you?”
An annoyed puff of smoke emerged from her nostrils, leaving an acrid smell hanging in the air over her dragon scent of cinnamon and hot metal.
“They say it was none of our business to fight the High Fae, that our first duty is to the Nest. Well, none of them have companions, and if they ever did when they were young, they have forgotten what it means! As if I should have left you alone to face an enemy you could not even see! Ridiculous. Pemberley is more my home than the Nest, where they are always annoyed at me.”
“What do you mean?” How could anyone disapprove of her wonderful, perfect dragon?
The dragon jutted out her not inconsiderable jaw. “They do not want to change, and my visions say they have no choice. They wish I had never come.”
“That is unfair! You did not ask to have these visions, or to have a mad French dragon emperor ready to attack the English Nests! That is what changed everything, not you.”
“What is that mortal saying? No one likes the bearer of bad news.” She shifted her body to one side.
Worried, Elizabeth asked, “Is there anything I can do to help? Clean your wound, or bring you some plum cake?”
Another sigh. “Plum cake would be lovely. And perhaps Chandrika could clean my scales? No one at the Nest does it nearly so well.” The idea seemed to cheer the dragon. “It is better for me to be here, anyway. We need to start your training.”
That was a surprise. “I thought we had already done that, before I went to France.” She had spent several days at the Nest, working with the dragons, learning what a companion needed to know.
And being taught how to avoid ever using her mysterious Forbidden Talent, the one that shook the foundations of the world.
The one that could destroy everything around her.
“Not that.” Cerridwen switched over to sending, clearly wanting privacy. We need to teach you to touch the foundations.
“What?” In her shock, the word escaped her aloud. But that is forbidden!
We must be willing to face danger in times of extreme need. Cerridwen sounded grim.
Now it made sense, at least of a sort. You have had a vision. Is that it?
The dragon raised her head just an inch or two, the tension palpable beneath her scales. Elizabeth, freed of the weight on her cramping legs, wiggled them to restore the blood flow.
They were lecturing me about that, too, saying they needed me to keep you from using your Forbidden Talent. I was about to promise them I would do so, and there it was. The foresight.
A flash of agony stabbed into Elizabeth's mind, just like when Cerridwen's foresight had come before. She did not know the details of the visions, only that they were horrific. I am sorry. She hugged her dragon’s neck.
Rana Akshaya wants you to do it, too. She asked me about it before, but I said no.
Had not the great dragon from India originally scolded Elizabeth for using that Talent?
And now she had actually taken it on herself to comment on a mortal's abilities.
Normally Rana Akshaya ignored all the humans at Pemberley, hiding away in her own rooms when she was not visiting the Nest. This training must be very important to her somehow.
. But still, the idea of using her Forbidden Talent frightened Elizabeth.
And it would mean more time away from Jenny.
But if Cerridwen's vision was true, it might be the only way to save Jenny and every other baby in England. I would like to know more about what you have in mind before I decide. Perhaps when you are more recovered?
I will be perfectly well by tomorrow. Dragons heal quickly. And you promised me plum cake, she sent querulously.
Elizabeth scooted her legs out from under the dragon's head. “I will ask for it to be sent up now. And for Chandrika to join us.”
Good. I will sleep a little while I wait. The dragon closed her eyes.