Chapter 27 The King’s Bench #2
“Do not fight a man,” my father—but not my father—announced in the commanding tones he used to address his army.
“A man is too heavy and too strong. But his size breeds arrogance. He will grasp you like a child.” He seized my scrawny forearms, so hard that it hurt.
“Do not fight a man. Defeat him! Strike once. Strike hard.”
The motions of our drill returned, rehearsed as a dance.
I reversed my futile tugging and stepped forward, aided by the pull on my arms, and planted my heel behind the gentleman’s shoe.
Overbalanced, he began tipping backward.
His arms lifted, and I twisted my palms hard toward my face, wrenching his wrists and breaking his grip.
His desperate, balancing backstep smacked my planted heel, and he began to fall. He had sparse, gray eyebrows and a lumpy, red-veined nose. Too much brandy, too much snuff—an old man who heaved himself into a coach to travel a hundred yards. A weak man. A harmless man.
Barely in time, I checked my blow. He teetered, arms windmilling, then crashed clumsily to the floor.
My skirt was stretched taut between my firmly placed forward foot and my half-turned rear foot. My right fist trembled by my shoulder where I had frozen my strike. Already, soft, little-used muscles in my arm were protesting.
I had never struck anyone. I had never made a fist. Not even as a child. It was unthinkable. And Papa did not have gold-hued skin, and he certainly did not teach me to fight. What had I remembered?
The gentleman was grumbling and groaning at my feet. Shock and shame roiled my mind. The room stayed silent until Lord Wellington spoke warily behind me. “Mrs. Darcy?”
Move.
I hurried to the door, banged it open, and emerged onto a stone balcony. No steps down. No other exit. Wonderful.
Yuánchi was close. West. I squinted at the sky and thought, Did you see the memory I had? That was not my father. That was not me.
A past life, he replied. Each life is a part of the self. Their layers build the next mind.
“That is how draca minds grow,” I said aloud. “Not human minds.”
The lives of wyves are shared with their bound draca. Their draca remember.
“That memory was from you?”
Stillness stretched. No. From her.
From Fènnù.
Men’s voices whispered behind me. I looked back and saw faces peering out the door. Blustering, frightened faces. Pathetic. These men led England in war?
Wind rose. Yuánchi swept low into the garden, a hunter’s stealthy approach that was hidden by the building. He settled with fast, short flaps that rippled the grass, tucking his wingtips to avoid walls and trees.
There were shouts and scuffling behind me, then Lord Wellington strolled up to lean on the balcony. He took a long look at Yuánchi, then a longer look at me. “May I ask what you intend?”
“I intend to retrieve Mr. Darcy,” I said. “Our binding passes through me to him. Yuánchi can follow that to find him.” I looked at Yuánchi and asked belatedly, Can you?
Yuánchi’s head swiveled. He is not far. But I will not leave you with enemies. Come down. He took two thumping steps and crouched to lean his shoulder against the balcony.
That was unexpected. I licked my lips in the chill air. I had not intended to attempt my first mount of a dragon in front of members of Parliament. Not to mention the armed guards running into the garden, pointing at Yuánchi, then at Lord Wellington.
Lord Wellington acknowledged the guards with a relaxed wave that commanded calm, but when he spoke to me, he was soft and serious. “In the coach, you said you feared an attraction to violence. You must not commit violence to free Darcy.”
“I intend to ask nicely,” I said, then wondered how true that was. I had almost punched a man. But Yuánchi’s awareness flowed with me, ancient and dispassionate. “Would you help me, please?” I nodded to where Yuánchi’s shoulder pressed against the balcony.
Lord Wellington smiled an unreadable smile, then offered his hand. I hoisted myself to sit on the rail, held his hand while swinging my legs over, then very inexpertly slid onto Yuánchi’s scales. I grabbed a knobby neck ridge for balance.
My feet now dangled fifteen feet above the courtyard. Nervously, I thought, Could you let me down, please? but Yuánchi sank to the ground so smoothly that I hopped off as easily as dismounting a carriage.
That worked out quite well. I waved up at Lord Wellington as a gaggle of gentlemen’s faces popped over the rail on both sides.
Yuánchi strode off. I hurried to catch up, nodding to the open-mouthed guards.
We rounded the building’s corner, and Yuánchi set off toward an older, two-story wing.
Somewhere, a bell was clanging desperately.
Another dozen soldiers charged up, muskets ready and bayonets fixed, but they only stared, disbelieving, as we passed.
Without Lord Wellington to reassure them, I resorted to waving and smiling as if this were a summer promenade.
Yuánchi stopped outside the building. He curled his neck to peer through a barred window on the bottom floor, and I distinctly heard Darcy’s voice say, “Blazes!” I had never heard him swear before, which made me smile. He must not realize I was in earshot.
“I am here, too,” I called. “I will ask for the jail manager—”
Yuánchi lifted a foot, hooked his claws through the window, and pulled. Iron bars and foot-thick stones tumbled across the ground with a cloud of mortar dust.
“—or not,” I finished.
Darcy stepped through the gaping hole. He flicked dust off his coat. “I was expecting a lawyer, not a dragon. Are you aware that the Secretary and I argued?”
“He has charged you with treason.”
“A petty bluff,” Darcy said dismissively. He toed a chunk of mortar on the ground. “I gather the charge is not yet dropped.”
“Not officially,” I admitted.
“I think we should not depart until that is resolved. Wellington!” Darcy waved to Lord Wellington, who was striding across the grass with a half-dozen ministers. And the War Secretary.
Another heated argument began, indistinguishable from the last one. I was learning that a group of arguing gentlemen has a specific sound, their voices starting low for weightiness, then popping to stridency as they become frustrated.
In a rush, exhaustion swamped me, followed by a surge of sweaty heat despite the chill morning. I leaned my shoulder on Darcy’s arm. He squeezed my forearm, reassuring me, but my weakness was not nerves or relief. What was happening to me?
When Yuánchi arrived, my intense immersion in his senses had ended. I tested now to see if my awareness was restored. His presence blazed beside me, but if I focused, I could sense something beyond. I was no longer locked in.
Abruptly, the argument silenced. Darcy bowed deeply, and in reflex, I curtsied with him even before I recognized the prince a half-dozen yards away, fists on his hips, staring up at Yuánchi.
“So this is England’s scarlet dragon,” he said.
“He is certainly tremendous.” The prince spotted me in the group and gave a worn but sincere smile.
“Wellington rushed me away from your ball. Wisely, it seems. But I did wish to speak more. Wellington praises all you Darcys, but his tales of Mrs. Darcy are especially intriguing.”
Unsure how to answer that, I curtsied again. “Your Royal Highness.”
The prince’s smile became grim. “Entertaining stories must wait. The news is dire. I was entering the King’s Bench when I heard this ruckus. But before we return to the court, I must ask…” He eyed the broken stones at our feet. “Why are you tearing apart my jail?”
I looked at Darcy, who looked at Lord Wellington, who cast a stony stare at the War Secretary. The weather seemed to chill as well. A thunderstorm was rolling in the distance.
“A misunderstanding,” the War Secretary answered smoothly.
The thunder had not faded. It shook and grew. Through my freed senses, the distant presence became huge, but it was captive, trapped in cruel, oily power. Fènnù, controlled by the dagger.
And despite the rushing threat, I recognized another victim of my failure at the museum. I feared being forced into dark and violence, but I had condemned this creature, a prisoner, to that exact fate. My redemption and hers must be won together.
The sky darkened, and a twenty-foot-thick torrent of stormy black slammed down like a dark thunderbolt, smashing the High Court of the King’s Bench like a crystal sculpture beneath a falling column of iron. The balcony where I had stood with Lord Wellington shattered. The walls and roof collapsed.
Yuánchi spread his wings with an unearthly howl and launched into the sky, then black covered us.