Chapter 13
Elizabeth took a deep breath of the cold air high above the ground. The sensation of flying on dragonback was exhilarating, though she could see nothing but the mist Cerridwen had conjured to hide their presence in the sky. It was a delightful distraction from her worries.
She had feared that Darcy's spirits might suffer over the War Office's plan to arrest him, especially since he had always been so loyal to the government.
There had been no sign of distress, though, in the week since Cattermole had fled the house as if monsters were chasing him.
Perhaps Darcy was simply more preoccupied by the threats from the Faerie King and from Napoleon.
Instead, she was the one who could not stop wondering when the War Office would take the next step. So she had jumped at the chance when Cerridwen suggested this special training.
Now the mist was finally clearing, just in time to spot a desolate moor not far beneath them, broken only by one huge shape. Even from thirty feet above, Elizabeth could recognize Rana Akshaya in her dragon form, looming over the heather and gorse.
Was this why Cerridwen had insisted today’s practice session should take place so far from Pemberley?
Until today, they had worked a short distance from the house.
There had been no need to go farther, since Elizabeth was only learning to sense the foundations, not to make changes in them. Perhaps that would be different now.
With a tilt of her wings, her dragon circled downwards and landed with a barely perceptible thump.
How could such a large creature be so graceful?
Elizabeth fumbled with the buckles of her harness until she could free herself from it and slide down Cerridwen’s side.
The warm, blue-highlighted bronze scales slipped past her hands.
It was hard to be graceful descending from a dragon. Or perhaps she just needed a lesson in how to do so.
The wind in flight had sucked every bit of warmth out of her. She stomped her feet to get her blood flowing again. Straightening her shoulders, she said, “Now that we are here, perhaps you can tell me why we had to come so far?”
Rana Akshaya answered. “A dangerous task like today’s should only be done far from anyone who might otherwise be harmed by it.”
That rocked Elizabeth back on her heels. “If it is that perilous, are we not risking our own lives?"
The dragon from India raised her crest, staring down at Elizabeth superciliously. “Sometimes it is a chance we must take.”
Cerridwen made an unhappy sound deep in her throat.
“It is our only hope. All our ideas for stopping Napoleon share the same fatal weakness – that only our youngest, least powerful dragons can travel, because they are the only ones who can take companions and leave the Nest. It would require so many of them to have even a hope of hindering him, and Napoleon would notice a gathering like that. If they fail – or, more accurately, when they fail - it could mean losing an entire generation of dragons. And we have no way to bring him to us, to a place where we could set a trap.”
Her stomach twisted. “Is it hopeless, then?” She held her breath, dreading the answer that would come.
“Those plans? Yes. None of them would work.” It was the certainty of her Foresight speaking. “But if we could bring him to a Nest, or to a place we had prepared, we have a chance.”
“Except that you just said that could not be done.”
Cerridwen turned her gold-ringed eyes on Elizabeth. “It cannot, unless we open a new Gate and force him through it.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard. Was this going where she thought it might be? “I thought Gate-opening was a lost art.”
“There was only one mortal who could ever do it, Iorweth the Bold, companion to Taliesin the Seer. No one has attempted it since his death.”
Elizabeth caught her breath. “Is that what my Forbidden Talent is? Opening Gates?” That would explain what had happened, the strange night when she had unwittingly used that Talent and suddenly saw Darcy sitting before her, even though he was hundreds of miles away.
“It is a possibility,” Cerridwen allowed, without even a trace of enthusiasm.
“Would that not be a good thing, to be able to create more Gates?” Not that she thought she had the ability; she had failed so often at her basic mage skills that it seemed impossible she could do this one grand thing.
“The last Gate that Iorweth tried to open failed, creating a ring of destruction more than a mile around. Hundreds of people and a whole Nest of dragons were killed – including Iorweth and his dragon.”
She gulped. “Is that why the Talent is forbidden?”
“Yes. We do not even know what went wrong, much less how to prevent it. Were this situation not so grave, we would not consider making the attempt. That is why the Dark Peak Eldest says we must not even test you to see if you possess the ability, because the risk is too high.”
Elizabeth glanced back and forth between stoic Rana Akshaya and Cerridwen. “Yet you are doing so anyway,” she said slowly.
“Because I have Seen what is to come, and it is far worse than what happened to Iorweth!” Cerridwen burst out. “I do not want to try this, but we must know if it is a possibility.”
Elizabeth turned to the Rana Akshaya, who had always kept her distance before this. “What is your role in this?”
Cerridwen jumped in. “I asked her to join us. I am not strong enough to stabilize the foundations by myself. We need her power.”
Elizabeth was of no mind to dance around. “Yes, naturally, but what do you get from this, Rana Akshaya, that you would risk your own safety? You care nothing for stopping Napoleon.”
Rana Akshaya pinned her with a gaze designed to intimidate, but Elizabeth held her ground. Finally she said, “I want a Gate in India, so the dragons there can claim their rightful place in the world. For that, I need an opener of Gates.”
Elizabeth could not imagine taking the risk of opening a second Gate, if she even survived the first. But Cerridwen seemed to think Rana Akshaya was crucial to this project, so there was no point in saying so right now. “Is that what we will be doing today, then? Opening a Gate?”
Rana Akshaya said, “You must walk before you can run. I am told you have done nothing more than to sense the foundations so far. Today you will touch them and think of ways to alter them. This is only an exploration; I will be there to prevent you from making any actual changes. When I have seen what you can do, we will discuss what happens next.”
“What do you know of the foundations? You recognized I had shaken them the last time, but none of the dragons here appear to know much about them, apart from that they should be left alone.”
Rana Akshaya lifted her head scornfully.
“Barbarians! The foundations are the source of our magic – and of life itself. The greatest, most powerful force deep in the earth, far stronger than the weak currents in the air your mages employ. In my country, all dragons learn to draw upon them. But never has there been one who sought to change the foundations. That it should fall to one as young and inexperienced as you is not ideal.”
“How fortunate for you that I am willing to learn,” Elizabeth said with a bite in her voice. And then she reached out for the foundations.
Grief. Horror and misery unbridled. The sudden sensations reverberated through Darcy, powerful enough to make him drop his pen, scattering ink across his letter and the blotter. As if he had lost everything he cared about, as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest.
As if the world had lost all hope and joy forever.
Except that nothing had occurred to cause it. He had only been attending to his much-overdue correspondence.
Then an inhuman, echoing howl made him clap his hands over his ears, and the walls of Pemberley trembled around him. What in God's name was happening?
It was coming from upstairs. Darcy set off at a run, going up the grand stairs two at a time, following his instincts to the ballroom. Because somehow he knew this wordless, ululating wail of agony came from Coquelicot.
He could taste her aura already, even several rooms away, the bitterness of heartache and loss. By the time he was at the ballroom doors, his very bones ached with it, a stew of misery that he had to force himself to approach. His eyes watered from fighting the power of it.
Inside, the French dragon was huddled on the parquet floor, her head down, covered by her forelegs. Anguish poured off her in waves.
Was it safe to approach her when she was so distraught?
She could incinerate him or tear him to bits with her sharp talons and teeth.
But she had never shown any tendency towards violence before - quite the opposite.
He could not leave her alone in such pain, nor could he risk Pemberley being shaken apart by it.
“Coquelicot, what is wrong? Can I help?” he asked gently, though he braced himself for a possible outburst.
Her keening paused, and then she said in a broken voice, “Disparu. Tout a disparu.” Gone. Everything is gone.
He switched over to French, since that must be more natural for her than English. “Qui a disparu?” Who is gone? A sinking feeling told him he already knew.
“Tout!” It was a wail. Then images battered his senses, some familiar from his visit to the French Nest in the Vosges Mountains, others no doubt parts he had never seen.
Dragons, from the giant Eldest to the smallest nestlings.
He could smell the hot metal and cinnamon, hear the elaborately decorated stone walls echo around him.
A figure brushed past him, and it took a moment to realize that sensation was real, not part of the visions in his mind. He shook off the sending just in time to see an apparently human, sari-clad Rana Akshaya transforming into her true form.