Chapter 47 Wyfe of Healing
WYFE OF HEALING
EMMA
Harriet moaned, her head cradled in my lap.
When I had laid my fingers on the sides of her neck, the poisons in her body became vivid, a stench of corruption filling my nostrils—a filth that strangled her nerves and froze her heart. Then the golden radiance of the wyvern had poured through me to strengthen her. To fend off death.
But her blood was still flooded with vile toxin.
There were other injuries, too. Her back was bloodied, her ankle bruised.
I let the radiance flow, but cautiously, strengthening only her breath and heart.
I needed a reserve to cure Lizzy—how much was impossible to know, but if I spent it all, I would be trading one life for another.
My effort was like trickling water into a raging fire. Did I dare try to remove the poisons, instead of just fending them off…
Harriet’s eyes roved beneath her eyelids. The dagger tied in her bound hands twitched. “I will slay the devil…”
“It is a dream,” I whispered.
The American shoved me to the floor and hauled Harriet to sitting with a grunt, then slung her over his shoulder like a bag of grain.
“I must stay with her!” I cried.
“Then come,” Mr. Tinsdale said. He hauled my hand roughly, his face ruddy with excitement. “You have done it!”
He dragged me out of the cave, carelessly kicking through the gear on the floor. My elbow scraped the rock, tearing cloth as he pushed me out into the day. When he looked up, his face lit with triumph.
Higher than the hilltops, trailing a thick column of night-black smoke, a confused tangle of wings and limbs fell from the sky.
The wings were both scarlet and black—the dragons, grappling in midair.
They broke apart, Fènnù’s wings spreading smoothly as she banked away, but Yuánchi continued to tumble, staining the air with thinning coal-black coils.
At last, his wings opened, awkward and bent, and his fall angled into a curved, blind plunge toward Pemberley House.
He fell short, an unchecked crash into the forest that felled trees.
The sound reached us seconds later, a massive shattering of wood muted by distance.
Wind pummeled me, driving my dirty skirt out like a flag, and Fènnù landed in the lake shallows in front of us. Inky drops rained from the edges of her wings. Where they struck the lake water, black fog curled. Hissing ice congealed.
Her massive head swung toward Harriet, lying at the American’s feet. Mr. Tinsdale recoiled, shoving me in front of him like a shield. “Is she controlled?”
“The darkie has her locked tight,” the American said, staring boldly up at the dragon. “That lady of yours did some trick. She’s gonna last a while more.”
The shred of hope I had gained by helping Harriet turned sour. This was the purpose of his whispers—to bring down Yuánchi. I looked at the flattened stretch of trees. Unmoving scarlet was visible amongst the scattered trunks, but I sensed a living presence. Not dead.
“You have made me a king,” Mr. Tinsdale crooned, his breath hot on my ear. Then he shouted, “Destroy the house. Raze the forests. Kill everyone.”
The American bent and whispered.
LIZZY
Through the seething pain, I heard Mary’s voice, intent and focused. “Lizzy, come back. It was not you who fell. Your binding—” A broken bone grated as a wing twitched, and her voice drowned in torment, then returned “…follow the song.”
Music teased the threads of my mangled thoughts apart—a woman’s voice and the piping harmonies of a chorus of flutes. My tangle of senses separated. The violent tremors of my silver binding stilled. The shattering pain distanced.
I opened my eyes. Mary was leaning over me, her gaze intent behind her spectacles. Georgiana knelt beside her, singing softly, tears on her cheeks. All around us, small song draca were perched, singing a peculiar chorus. One even sat on Mary’s shoulder, peering down as intently as Mary.
“Songs,” I muttered, my voice raw in my throat. Had I screamed?
Mary brushed at the draca on her shoulder. He flicked his wings to land on the ground. “Stay still. You have had a shock.”
I pushed her aside, forcing my shaking body onto my feet.
Her arm caught me as I swayed. Nausea climbed my throat, then became a hot needle in my spine and skull.
Not now. I blinked hard, fighting the glares.
“Where is he?” but already I was following the silver line of our binding to where Mary pointed wordlessly.
Fifty yards below us, there were trees broken and scattered, upended earth, and scarlet.
I am coming, I thought, pulling free of Mary to run, ignoring the pain from each jarring step. I smashed through brush and ivy, sparse from the cold, then passed a snapped tree. The stump was stained with golden blood, and I slowed to a terrified stumble.
Yuánchi’s flank was heaving like an agonized bellows. I approached his shoulder, trying not to tread on his torn wing. His neck lifted, and his head reached for me, swaying and blind. His face was a ruin, his beautiful eyes gone. Edges of jet-black bone showed from the wet sockets.
I grabbed his jaw, pulling my forehead against his muzzle, feeling the heat of his scales. “You will heal! I will care for you.”
Elizabeth Darcy Bennet. I must go into the water. I must go deep and sleep the centuries to heal.
“No,” I whispered. “It is all my fault. I should have sent you away. Kept you safe.”
You are a great wyfe. It is I who leave. I who failed. His body shifted, a huge leg scrabbling at the ground. I felt the agony of broken bones, the weakness of lost blood. I must get to the water. Move back, so I can stand.
I backed away and met Mary struggling through the brush toward us. “Mary, we must give him room.”
“Lizzy, we need to go. It is not safe.”
“Leave him? Are you mad?”
In answer, Mary pointed across the lake. A black-winged shape stretched wide on the far shore.
I had forgotten. The battle was not done. “How long was I unconscious?”
Mary’s forehead furrowed. “Five minutes. Or six.”
“Darcy is almost at the cave. We still have a chance.”
“He will have turned back!” Mary protested.
“No. Seeing this will only make him drive harder.” Thick branches were snapping as Yuánchi forced himself upright, one foot half-raised like a lame horse, his wings unable to mesh properly. But he was moving. The heavy bones that drove the bulk of each wing were intact.
I thought, Can you fly to the water?
His head hunted one way, then another. Where is the water?
That answer tore me. His magnificent vision, lost. But I steeled my mind. Be strong as a draca. The lake is downhill from us. Once you rise, it is one long glide. You are almost as high as Pemberley House.
He fumbled his feet among the fallen branches, turning downhill. A hanging wingtip struck a tree, and fresh pain blazed in my mind. I cannot rise blind in these trees.
“Mary, I have a plan,” I said. “You will not like it.”
She watched me. “Suspense will not make me like it more.”
“I will ride Yuánchi down to the lake. He is too injured to heal. He must go into the water and sleep. If he shares my vision, he will see well enough to fly.”
“Fènnù will kill you both.”
“She will not attack him while I am riding.”
“You do not know that! She is commanded by the dagger.”
“I am her wyfe of war. And while Yuánchi flies, our enemies will ignore other targets. Darcy and those soldiers will have time to take the dagger.” I produced a smile, ignoring the blazing pain between my temples. “It is a perfect plan. But you must help me mount. It is too high to reach alone.”
Abruptly, she hugged me. “You are a most remarkable sister.”
“I am sure we are tied. But hurry.”
At Yuánchi’s shoulder, awkwardly, she made a step of her hands the way grooms sometimes help a gentleman.
That lifted me enough to grab hold of one of the knobby neck ridges, then I scrambled for purchase while she pushed at my feet and I pulled my skirts aside.
Finally, with a last shove from below, I threw a foot over his neck and slid into place.
It was different from a saddle. Closer; I felt the heat of his body, and the scales caught at my clothing if pulled the wrong way. But it was secure enough if there were no acrobatics.
Across the lake, Fènnù rose into the air. I thought, Share my vision. We must rise now.
I threw my mind open and felt his presence. Odd features drew my attention—the broken branches and downed trees around us, but also the clouds, then the bare treetops downslope as I judged winds.
What has happened to your eyes? he thought. They are worse.
Even in this clouded light, haloes were skittering. Shapeless, dark blurs pulsed around dark spots.
“I told you. I am ill. Go!”
Yuánchi picked through the fallen logs and broken stumps, then took two running steps off a small prominence and spread his wings. For a moment we were falling, then wobbling weight returned. Wind grew. I had no goggles this time. I squinted, not willing to loosen a hand to shield my eyes.
Despite all the horrors and my surging illness, being in the air again was a thrill. Our speed increased, and the ride smoothed. I barely managed three breaths before we swept over the last of the trees and glided over the lake.
Too soon.
Yuánchi, can you see… I stopped that thought, ashamed. I am sorry. Darcy hunts our enemies. Can you stay aloft longer? Any delay will help him.
In answer, Yuánchi’s wings began a halting stroke. The thick, leading bones of his inner wing segments were intact, but one wingtip hung like a broken tent, and he tucked the other for balance. We climbed in a feeble curve.
I craned and spotted Fènnù, much higher. I closed my eyes. Her mind was locked in the grip of the dagger. I stretched my senses toward her. Fènnù. I am here.
Open your eyes! Yuánchi’s voice shouted in my head. I snapped my eyes open as a colossal black mass flashed past. Her wake shook us.