Page 35 of The Magic of Pemberley (Fitzwilliam Darcy, Mage #2)

Chapter 35

D arcy stood by the narrow window slit in his cell, waiting for the moment when the sun would be low enough to stream in directly. It was just a crack of an opening, and the light through it was only strong enough for him to work with for a few minutes late in the afternoon.

There it was, casting sudden shadows in the cellar room serving as his prison. Quickly he gathered the rays of sunlight to him, braiding them together to create the energy he needed. Then he focused it all on his broken rib, urging it to knit together.

He had never healed a broken bone before, only cuts and scrapes, but he had to try. Another sleepless night from pain might leave him confused enough that he would blurt out the truth. The only thing protecting him was the soldiers’ belief that he was a Prussian gentleman lacking in Talent, and he needed to keep his wits together to manage that masquerade.

He kept pouring in the power he collected, little as it was, until the first tell-tale signs of giddiness appeared. Reluctantly he released the threads and sank down to sit on the dirt floor, leaning his head back against the damp wall. He took an experimental breath, first a shallow one, and then deeper. His side still ached, but the stabbing pain was much less.

It had worked, at least to a degree, and that would have to be enough.

He tore off a chunk of the stale bread they had left for him and began to chew it. Even if it was a far cry from the sugared tea and cake he was accustomed to using for magical replenishment, it was nourishment of a sort, and he could not afford to go without it. And it would give him strength to keep resisting the questioning from the soldiers. He had to keep delaying them as long as he could, to make certain Elizabeth had enough time to reach the Nest and get safely back to England.

He yawned, despite his swollen jaw. Three days in captivity, and he had plenty of bruises to show for it. A blow to his head on the second night had left him dazed and confused, thinking that the walls of his cell were talking to him in Elizabeth’s voice. His thinking was still not completely clear, and he had moments when he saw two of everything.

But Elizabeth was free. He would accept those blows gladly, if that was the price.

It could have been worse. The soldiers had not been as rough with him as he would have expected. They wanted him in good enough shape to ransom if they could not get directions to the Nest from him.

Thanks to Cerridwen and her bindings, they never would. But once they learned there was no aristocratic Prussian family to pay his ransom, things would get much uglier.

But he would not let his mind go there. Instead, he remembered the sensation of his baby kicking against his hand through Elizabeth’s skin. He was a real child now, not just a concept, and he desperately wanted to meet him. Or her. Somehow Darcy would find a way to freedom. And failing that, he would die a death his son could be proud of.

Thinking of that was the road to madness, though, especially since the light was fading completely away. He wrapped himself in a ragged blanket and found the least foul spot on the floor for his bed. Closing his eyes, he let the world fade away, imagining himself in the silent cottage at the heart of Pemberley with Elizabeth in his arms, and for a moment he almost felt free.

He woke to a hand shaking his shoulder. His cell was full of smoke that blurred his vision – no, not smoke, but fog. But why would there be mist indoors? Perhaps his vision was blurred from the head blow. But he could see the man leaning over him had a cloth wrapped around his face and a lantern.

“Get up,” the man hissed softly in French. “Come quickly and be quiet about it.”

“Who are you?” Darcy croaked.

“Your rescuer, at least if you cooperate.” He sounded exasperated.

A chance to escape? Darcy pushed himself to his feet and limped after him, out of the walls that had enclosed him, into even more clouds of mist. The man paused to replace the bar on the door to his prison. Then he was off again, Darcy doing his best to keep up, out into a fog-filled corridor, up rickety steps, past a pair of slumped bodies wearing French uniforms. Dead or drugged? He did not care, as long as he was free. Out the door into a dark night, the unnatural mist continuing even here.

A chill went up his spine. His vision was not the problem. This was magic at play.

“This way,” whispered his rescuer. “Time is short.”

Fortunately he slowed down, or Darcy would have lost him as he pushed through the pain that came with every movement, up the cobbled street until they reached a hay wagon. Finally the haze was starting to thin, and the waxing moon cast long shadows.

Another man crawled out from underneath the wagon. “In there, and put this over you,” he said, pulling a ragged blanket off the bed of it. In French, but in a voice so familiar it resonated in Darcy’s very bones.

Darcy froze in place, peering at the man’s face. It could not be. It was impossible. Utterly, utterly impossible .

But it was. The cleft chin, the sculpted cheekbones, the scar on his brow from a childhood tree-climbing expedition gone wrong, and above all, the lithe body that moved like a hunting tiger. A few more lines on that face he knew as well as his own, but that was all.

Darcy took two clumsy steps forward, barely able to trust his feet. “Jack?” he asked hoarsely. That damned blow to the head! Now he was seeing things that were not there. But it was worth it to catch a glimpse of his brother, even if he was not real.

An incredulous expression Darcy would have recognized anywhere spread over Jack’s face. “Good God, Will, is that you under all those bruises? Damn, but they might have told me! What are you doing here?” He pulled Darcy into a hard embrace.

It was like a knife in Darcy’s half-healed rib, but he did not care. “I know you are dead, but I am glad to see you, anyway. Or am I dead now, too?” Perhaps this was just a dream, and he was actually still in the cell. If only it could be real!

Jack’s brow furrowed, and he reached up to snap his fingers in front of Darcy’s face. “What did they do to you, Will? Wake up! I am alive and so are you.”

He could feel Jack’s arm around him, steadying him. That arm was definitely not his imagination. It was one thing to hear voices or even to see phantoms, but to feel them? “Are you certain?”

Jack released him, shaking his head in disbelief. “They will pay for doing this to you, I swear it.”

“No time for this!” the other man snapped. “Get under that blanket if you value your life. And no English, you fools!”

“Right.” Jack was suddenly all business. “In there, Will. We can speak later.”

Darcy hesitated. “A hand, if you please. My right arm is weak.” He could not possibly swing himself into the high wagon bed without it.

“Damn bastards!” But Jack did not hesitate. He bent down and made his hands into a stirrup for Darcy to step into, and then lifted him in.

“Lie back,” said the other man urgently .

Jack tossed the blanket over him, and then something else landed on top of it – some hay, by the scent and the dust that made him want to sneeze. A moment later the cart creaked into motion.

Darcy lay there, half stunned. If this was a dream, why could he feel the bumps in the road shaking him, his half-healed rib throbbing with each jarring movement?

How could Jack possibly be alive? He had been in the midst of the battle at Salamanca, everyone agreed on that, and the few survivors had been on the very outskirts. And Jack’s ring, his half-melted signet, found on an unrecognizably burned body.

It made no sense. If Jack had indeed survived, why had he never been in touch? It was difficult to get word to England with the blockade, true, but he could have sent a letter to the British consul in Prussia. And what was he doing in the wilds of Alsace?

The coincidence was too great, too preposterous. It must be a trick. Napoleon had successfully impersonated a human all these years. Could a dragon have taken on Jack’s appearance?

No. He knew Jack’s voice, the way his brother threw back his shoulders. It was truly him.

The cart lurched, making him stifle a cry of pain. But Jack was alive, and the wildest, most impossible good fortune had brought them back together.

He had a brother again.

Or had this been just an astonishingly lucky chance? According to Elizabeth, Cerridwen had insisted on traveling to France, and later that they must come to this Nest instead of trying to sneak across the Channel. Cerridwen, with her gift of foresight. Could she have known Jack was here?

He racked his brain for everything he had been told about Cerridwen’s abilities. That she could foresee a disastrous outcome and she made decisions based on whether a particular action would lead toward or away from that end. Nothing about finding missing brothers.

Unless finding Jack was somehow important to preventing the disaster .

They turned onto a different, even bumpier surface. A track of some sort, perhaps? He was bursting with questions for his brother. If they both managed to live through this escape.

They finally rolled to a stop, but he remained motionless. Had they reached safety, or were the soldiers hunting for him? The blanket was yanked away, loose hay floating around him.

Jack’s face grinned down at him. “Come along; we ride from here. You can still ride, I hope?”

“I can manage.” He had never ridden with both reins in one hand, but he would make do. His rib would be a worse problem.

“Good. Let us go; no telling how long that Artifact will keep the soldiers asleep.”

Another Artifact. That explained it – and that the dragons were somehow involved.

“What about him?” Darcy gestured to the other man as Jack led him to two sturdy horses, already saddled.

“He lives here and wants to be out of sight as soon as possible. We can talk once we are safely away.”

He needed Jack’s help to mount. All the things he had never thought about needing two hands for! But nothing could lower his spirits now, not his weak arm nor the untrained farm horse, not even the pain in his side with each step or the ache in his bruised face. He was free, and Jack was alive!

He turned the horse to follow his brother to the edge of the field and off into the woods. Or, more accurately, his horse followed its stablemate, since breaking the two-handed rein habit was harder than Darcy had anticipated. Onto a narrow path, up the hill, climbing, climbing. Past switchbacks and streams, cutting across clearings and rock fields.

Questions bubbled up in Darcy’s head as he watched his brother’s familiar riding stance, but there was no chance to talk.

Finally Jack reined in at the top of a steep slope that left the horses breathing hard. “We had best let them rest a bit before we tackle the last part. ”

Darcy managed to dismount, although it was more a matter of sliding down the side of the stolid farm horse than anything his riding instructor would recognize. An involuntary grunt escaped him when his feet hit the ground, jarring his rib.

Jack courteously ignored it, instead uncapping a flask and holding it out. “Wine?”

Darcy took a gulp, and then a second. After days of nothing but dried bread and small beer, it tasted rich and luxurious. The warmth of it spread through him.

“Take it all,” Jack said. “You need it far more than I.”

He could not argue that. After he had drained it, he handed it back. “You are a sight for sore eyes, brother.”

Jack laughed. “The same to you, although your eyes look particularly sore! Do you remember when I blacked your eye, that time when you tried to stop me from running away from home?”

Darcy could not help smiling back. “It was unforgettable.”

“And your lynx pounced on me.” Jack snapped his fingers. “Your lynx! I should have known you must be the prisoner. Word is that the soldiers are afraid to leave the village after two of them were mauled by a lynx. Guess he did not like how they were treating you, eh?” He chuckled.

“They deserved it,” Darcy said. “But you – we thought you died at Salamanca. Why have you sent no word?”

Jack’s grin faded. “I wish I could have, but I am a prisoner here. They do not let me communicate with anyone.”

Darcy eyed him with frank disbelief. “A prisoner who rides free on rescue missions?”

Jack shrugged. “I gave them my parole. My word of honor that I would not escape or try to send a message. Would you have me stay locked in a cave always? I would lose my mind.” He sighed. “This is the first time they have allowed me to go so far. I begged for the opportunity.”

“Who? Who is holding you captive?” He had assumed Jack was somehow allied with the Nest, but surely dragons did not take prisoners .

“The dragons, of course. Oh, not in a terrible way; they are gentle captors who treat me as an honored guest. One who simply is not allowed to depart.”

“But why? What did you do?”

“That is the strange thing – they will not tell me. Only that they must keep me. They are very apologetic about it.”

It made no sense. “How did you escape from Salamanca?”

Jack uttered a short bark of laughter. “The last thing I remember was lining up for the battle, ready to fight, and then I awoke here.”

“Did you take an injury to your head, then?” That could explain his loss of memory.

“Not that I am aware of. The first thing I recall was being in the Nest here, with my heart pounding and naked as the day I was born. Not a scratch on me apart from a nick from shaving that morning. Halfway across Spain and most of France in an instant, though I did not know it at the time. And dragons everywhere.”

They must have sent him through a Gate. Why could he not remember? Dragons had the ability to take memories away, but was there any reason they would do it to Jack? His tired brain could make no sense of it. “Sounds terrifying. It is hard enough to discover dragons are real without all of that.”

“Oh, I already knew about them. I met a dragon once at Pemberley. He asked me if I wanted to be a dragon companion, something about having spilled my blood on the old Dragon Stones, but then he found out I wanted to be a soldier and said it could not work. The worst part was the binding, that I could tell no one.”

Darcy could sympathize with that. “I had no idea. Well, thank God you are alive.”

“What happened at Salamanca? I do not even know if we won or lost. I have heard no news.”

Darcy drew in a long breath. “We lost catastrophically. It was a massacre by dragonfire.”

Jack swallowed hard, his face suddenly ashen. “How many were killed? ”

“All but a handful of survivors. And one of the burned bodies was wearing your signet ring.” It came out almost as an accusation. “Which is why we thought you were dead.”

“My ring.” Jack looked stunned, and suddenly Darcy realized he just told him that everyone he once knew at Salamanca was dead. “I gave it to someone. You did lose a brother there, a half-brother. Did you know our father had a second family at Pemberley, one he hid from us? I met him in Spain and decided he deserved the ring more than I did.” Bitterness dripped from his words.

“I just learned of it recently.” When his half-sister had saved Elizabeth’s life.

Elizabeth. In his utter shock over Jack’s reappearance, he had not even asked about her. “My wife was on her way to your Nest when I was arrested. Did she make it?” He held his breath.

“A woman came a few days ago and went almost immediately through the Gate. I did not see her. Was that your wife? Good Lord, when did you marry?”

Elizabeth was safe! “Last autumn. You will be an uncle soon.”

“You, a father! Astonishing.” Then something changed in his face. “Why are the dragons helping you? After hiding for centuries, after keeping me prisoner, the Nest has suddenly shown their hand to rescue you. What makes you so important to them?”

He had to stop to think about that. “I have information they want, and my wife is a dragon companion.” Odd, that the binding had not stopped him from saying that. Perhaps it was because Jack already knew about dragons.

Jack whistled silently, an old habit. “Interesting. The dragons say I must be a close descendent of a dragon companion, since I am immune to dragonfire.” He raked his hand through his hair. “I never wondered how they could tell I would not be affected by dragonfire. I guess we know at least one thing that happened at Salamanca.” A line of perspiration appeared on his brow .

Darcy had spent so many months imagining Jack dying in flames that the thought had lost its ability to shock him, but it was new to his brother. “Whatever saved you, I am grateful for it.”

“And I.” Jack wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, making an obvious attempt to rally from his shock. “But what brings you here? I dare not hope the war has been won and Napoleon defeated.”

“Hardly. I was part of a last-ditch attempt to assassinate him. It failed, of course, and now I am trying to get home.” The reality of it suddenly hit him. “By God, it is good to see you, Jack! Beyond good. It was worth everything just for this.” Even worth losing the use of his arm. He would have happily given his arm in exchange for his brother.

“I cannot believe the dragons sent me to rescue you without a word!” Jack grumbled, but his color rose. “But tell me, what is the news of the war, and everyone at home?”