Page 4 of The Magic of Pemberley (Fitzwilliam Darcy, Mage #2)

Chapter 4

D arcy trudged up the seemingly endless steep slope behind Elizabeth, mist blocking any view which might distract him from this miserable errand or from his wife’s continuing cool distance. Yesterday had been bad enough after his revelation about Georgiana, but he had assumed they could talk about it and she would understand. Apparently he had underestimated her anger – or his sins.

Not that Elizabeth had given him any chance to apologize. After she had avoided him at dinner, he had not even seen her until late in the evening, when she had appeared in his study to inform him – not to ask him! – that she and Georgiana would be meeting with the Dark Peak dragons in the morning. When he had gently suggested that perhaps he should have been involved in such a decision, she had raised her chin and told him that since he had chosen to act in the manner which suited him best, without reference to her, she had resolved to do the same. And then she had swept out without another word.

He had not gone to her bedroom last night, telling himself she needed time to regain her spirits, but the truth was that he could not bear to see her anger or face the possibility that she would turn him away. His lonely bed was almost as unbearable, after all those nights of heavenly abandon, of making love to her and falling asleep in her arms, of waking there in the morning with a previously unknown joy .

He missed her, damn it!

Then, when he had come to breakfast at the same time they usually drifted downstairs together, she was already having a carriage readied and looked displeased when he announced his intention to accompany them. At least she had not refused, though perhaps that was only because Georgiana might not have stood for it.

So now they were here, together in body if not in spirit, speaking only when strictly necessary, and to maintain an appearance of cooperation in front of Georgiana. Not that she was likely to be convinced by it.

Finally the path leveled off, the mist falling away, revealing a long ridge with outcroppings to the side. Easy for a dragon to escape and hard for anyone else to see, especially in all the mist. Perhaps the fog was weather magic, designed to provide cover for the dragons. But there was no sign of the beasts.

“Where do we meet them?” he asked.

Elizabeth glanced up at a kestrel circling overhead. Cerridwen, no doubt. “They are on their way.”

A trio of hawks materialized out of the mist, winging their way along the ridge. They glided in and landed some twenty feet away, where the kestrel joined them. One by one, the hawk shapes blurred and swelled into the now too-familiar forms of dragons.

Huge dragons.

At least two of them dwarfed Cerridwen, making her look like a doll beside them. He had thought Sycamore was enormous, but these were even larger. The third was only twice Cerridwen’s size.

The small dragon – small! As if there were anything small about him, except by comparison! – approached them. “Companion Elizabeth, we meet again.”

She inclined her head. “Honored Rowan, I am grateful to you for coming today on such short notice.”

“We will always respond to the call of a dragon companion,” said the dragon, his scales shimmering with dark red highlights. “I have brought two of the Nest who bear the wisdom of age. May I present Juniper, who speaks for the Eldest today, and whose poetry sings in the wind? And this is Hawthorn, whose Talents come to life in our greatest sculptures.”

Darcy’s lips tightened. How easy it was to present themselves as artists when their distant cousins had massacred an army. And naming themselves for trees? Ridiculous!

“It is a great honor to have dragons of such abilities travel so far for my small needs,” said Elizabeth.

The red dragon said, with apparent amusement, “There is much interest in you at the Nest, Companion Elizabeth.”

The largest dragon, whose form dominated the hilltop, spoke in a resonant voice that echoed off the rocks. “Companion Elizabeth, pray acquaint us with these other mortals.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Elizabeth said. “May I present my husband, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, and his sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy? Miss Darcy has offered to answer any questions you may have about her, er, background.”

Darcy strove to keep his face impassive. This was a waste of time. The dragons had made it clear that he was persona non grata, and he returned the sentiment heartily. What could Georgiana say that would change anything?

“What would you like to know?” Georgiana asked, her voice a little higher than usual. She was clearly uncomfortable, too. Devil take it, why had Elizabeth not left well enough alone?

The dragon studied her. “You are fae, despite your present form?”

Georgiana lifted her chin. “The body you see me in is mortal, but my blood is fae.”

What? She was mortal ?

“Are you of fae descent, then?” asked the dragon.

She shook her head. “I was created, not born.”

Darcy caught his breath. Created? What did that mean, and why had she never told him any of this? Elizabeth’s voice echoed in his memory – You think you know everything, and you know so very little .

The dragons, though, seemed unperturbed by this news. “You have the scent of the Wicked King, whom mortals call the High King,” the dragon rumbled.

Georgiana’s lips pursed, as if she had eaten something distasteful. “He is the one who created me, using his own blood and essence and a lock of human hair.”

The dragon seemed unsurprised. “The first dragons were made in a similar manner. What is your present connection to the Wicked King?”

She glanced in Darcy’s direction. “Elizabeth said you could read my memories. I would rather not speak them aloud.”

The dragon lapsed into silence. Conferring mentally with the others, perhaps? Finally he said, “I regret we cannot honor your request. Without understanding your connection to the Wicked King, I cannot be certain he will not perceive me in your mind. It would be unwise for us to draw his attention.”

Georgiana paled. “He can hear my thoughts?” Her voice shook.

The dragon’s fluting voice softened. “That is unlikely, child, but my intrusion might catch his notice.”

Darcy stared. Why was the dragon speaking so gently when he had made it clear Georgiana was his enemy?

“I hate him!” she cried. “I detest and abhor him! I wish I could…I could spit him through and roast him alive over a fire!”

A wave of calm seemed to emerge from the dragon. “Child, do not wish death even upon your worst enemy. It is your own soul that pays the price.”

“I have no soul.” Tears shone in her eyes. “I am nothing but a tool he created, no different from a hammer or a plow.”

Darcy’s stomach twisted in a knot. Did she truly believe that?

Cerridwen clawed at the ground. “She does have a soul. I have heard it.”

The larger dragon turned to her. “Explain yourself, Nestling.”

Cerridwen spread her wings wide, her chest expanding, as if she were about to declaim or perhaps to sing. What came out was not the dragon’s voice, though, but the tinkling music of an invisible pianoforte, playing one of Georgiana’s compositions. The notes flooded through the air, an exact replica. Apparently dragons truly did have perfect recall, but how could she produce that sound?

The dragons listened attentively. When the music ended, the large one asked Georgiana, “That is your music?”

Georgiana stiffened. “I wrote it and played it, yes.”

“The nestling is correct. You do have a soul, child. Do not believe anyone who tells you otherwise.”

Georgiana pressed her hand over her eyes. “He says… He says he is my father and I must obey him. But I will not. I will not!”

“We dragons are living proof that the Wicked King’s creations can escape him,” the dragon said soothingly. “He built us to be machines of war and enslaved us when we refused to fight. But we escaped to this world, where he cannot touch us. As long as you stay out of Faerie, his only control over you is the power of persuasion, and you can close your ears to that.”

The dragon was slowly moving towards Georgiana, but there was no threat in its motion, only concern. When he reached her side, he held out his forelegs to her.

She threw her arms around the dragon, or at least the tiny amount she could reach, and burst into sobs.

Darcy froze. He had never seen Georgiana respond this way to anyone except him. How had this dragon whom she had just met earned her trust so quickly, when others could not do so even after years?

The other dragons drew close to Georgiana and began a low humming, lines of melody intertwining, the air around them seeming to vibrate.

They seemed to have lost any interest in Darcy. He sidled over to Elizabeth, who stood some feet away. “What are they doing?” he asked in a low voice.

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing magical, at least. I think they are trying to comfort her.”

“But she is a threat to them.”

“That does not mean they wish her to suffer,” she snapped. “Can you not feel their auras, their desire to help her?”

The damnable thing was that he could .

This was not how dragons were supposed to behave. They were supposed to destroy anyone who was a threat, not encourage them to sit together and share a flask, even if he could see exactly that happening before his eyes. This made no sense.

Unless Elizabeth had been right all along, and he had been wrong. These dragons were like Cerridwen, not the monstrous ones in Spain.

In which case, they might be the answer to preventing future massacres like Salamanca.

His mind whirled as he took in the possibilities. Was it too late to make allies of them? He had rejected them, just as he had destroyed Elizabeth’s trust in him. It had made sense to him when Sycamore turned on him, but now new evidence stood before him.

It was up to him to mend his own mistakes, to save his marriage, and perhaps his country as well.

“Elizabeth,” he began, but she did not even look at him. He tried again. “I was wrong to judge all dragons by Sycamore’s reaction. This shows me a different side of them.”

Her chest rose in a deep breath, but she paused before looking at him, and even then it was only a glance. “I am glad you can see the truth when it stands before you.” It was grudging, but at least it was an acknowledgment.

“I want to learn more about them. Will you teach me, you and Lady Amelia?” Would she be able to hear his apology in that?

She sighed, but there was no warmth in it, only resignation. “I will have to ask Cerridwen what I can tell you. They have secrets, too, and they know your loyalties lie elsewhere.”

He winced. “My duty is to my country, but my loyalty is to you. I deeply regret causing you to believe otherwise. You deserve trust and honesty from me, and I must learn to reassess my former beliefs.”

Now she turned to look at him, her dark eyes searching his. “Do you actually mean that?”

“I do. I wish I had told you about Georgiana. I should have trusted you not to reject her. ”

Her jaw dropped. “Reject her?” Her voice rose in disbelief. “Is that why you kept it a secret?”

He blinked. “Well, yes. Most people would want nothing to do with a changeling.”

“If you judge most people by your mother, perhaps so. But I am not like that.”

“I know,” he said humbly. “I ought to have realized that.”

Beyond them, Georgiana’s voice rose in a song, one in a minor key. The words were carried away on the wind, but he could hear a clicking as the red dragon kept time with his talons. The greenish dragon named Hawthorn produced a little pan pipe from nowhere and played a harmony. Wait – a dragon playing an instrument? In harmony to a tune the dragon could never have heard before?

His understanding of dragons clearly lacked a great deal.

Elizabeth said quietly, “It is good to see her with them. I think she needed this.”

God above, what a relief it was to hear her words, not so much for their meaning but for the sense that once more she saw him as being on the same side, that she might forgive him! Her distance since yesterday had felt like a nightmare, the kind where something precious was forever out of reach, no matter how much he chased after it.

Unable to stop himself, he reached out his hand and interlaced his fingers with hers. When she squeezed them in return, his heart swelled.

Tightening his grip, he said, “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

A small, tentative smile lit her face. “I do not understand, but I am grateful you feel that way.”

If only he could take her into his arms! But this was not the place, and he did not want to risk ruining the moment by saying the wrong thing, so he simply said, “I do.” And stood beside her in silence as Georgiana finished her song and resumed her conference with the dragons.

A few words drifted past, too soft to hear. Finally the large dragon rose, stretching its wings before folding them again, and then approached Elizabeth. Georgiana remained with the other dragons, leaning against the flank of the green one, watching Darcy.

The dragon spoke only to Elizabeth, not even looking at him. “Companion Elizabeth, we have heard this child’s answers to our questions. I will present them to the Nest so we may determine whether to permit you to take final vows.”

Elizabeth bit her lip. “It is not enough, what she had told you?”

The dragon brought his forelegs together. “She has a kind and generous soul, and I trust she would not voluntarily help the Wicked King. But he could still influence her, and your husband is an unknown quantity.”

She bowed her head. “I understand.” Her voice quavered.

Darcy could not bear it. Suddenly decisive, he took a step forward. “I would make a request, if I may, Honored Juniper.” Was that the right form of address, the one Elizabeth had used earlier?

The dragon blinked slowly, studying him. “What is your request?”

“I would like to prove my trustworthiness by being read.”

Another blink of the enormous eyes. What was he thinking, this creature many times his size, far older and more powerful than he? “Has anyone coerced you to do this?”

For some reason, that amused him. “My wife attempted to persuade me, but without success. Your kindness to my sister has changed my mind.”

Blink. “You understand this would be a deeper reading than merely the sharing of thoughts, and that I may see things you do not wish me to?”

Darcy swallowed hard, but he had come this far. “I do, and I ask only that you keep private those findings which do not relate to my wife’s fitness to be a dragon companion.”

“That which need not be revealed shall never be disclosed. Come, then. Place your hands on my talons and look into my eyes.”

His heart pounding, Darcy followed his instructions, moving so close that the faint aroma of burning metal tickled his nostrils. Juniper’s talons were large enough to fill his palms, smooth on top and ridged underneath, and thick with magic. The immense inhuman face loomed over him. Did flames ever come from between those sharp teeth? The dragon’s eyes were large, gold-rimmed amber, and hypnotic.

Was the mist rising again? The world was losing focus around him.

You are doing well , said a gentle voice in his head. It would be possible for me to move silently through your thoughts, but I will make myself known, so you will know what I have sensed and what is untouched.

And he could feel it, a presence drifting through his thoughts. Bringing the events of the last few weeks to the forefront. Then back to his first meetings with Elizabeth and his decision to marry her. The choice to undertake his mission.

The presence flinched away from his memory of interviewing the wounded soldiers and sailors, leaving those unexamined. Instead it went to his mother, her reappearance and Georgiana’s despair. Back to when his mother had been lost, and all the pain of the boy who believed his mother dead, an embarrassment to the Darcy of today.

The dragon comforted him. It speaks well of you. A child should feel such a loss.

Oddly enough, it helped. A small part of his bitterness toward his mother leached away.

Your mother has allowed herself to be enslaved to duty, putting it ahead of all else. There should be a balance in life. Laughter, hope, and love.

All he could think of was Elizabeth.

Yes, she can teach you to laugh more. There was a feeling of warm satisfaction.

Back to the idea of Cerridwen, then, and a sense of amusement as the dragon perceived his early hostility towards what he had believed to be a kestrel familiar. We all dislike what we do not understand. Do you not find it so?

Fortunately, while Darcy was still mentally blushing over how childish his behavior appeared in hindsight, the presence moved onto his knowledge of Faerie – sparse as it was. And his hearty dislike of it for the pain it had caused his mother and Georgiana. But the presence also understood a thought he always avoided like a poisonous snake – his deep fear of what might have happened to his true-born sister, the one he had never met, who had been traded as an infant for the Georgiana he knew.

There is nothing you can do, but the Faerie court does not mistreat their mortal children. They are like beloved pets to them. It is unlikely she is suffering.

But unlikely was not good enough.

No, it is not. Then the presence drew back, tugging at something in him, and suddenly he found himself in the dragon’s mind, surrounded by a cathedral of well-organized thoughts, tinted by a strange light like the last moments of a sunset.

Forgive me for startling you. There are things I would say to you in private, but not where I might influence you unduly. Will you listen?

Shaken by the absolute foreignness of it, Darcy sent, I will.

Your sister, the one who is here, is not wrong to fear the Wicked King. We cannot protect her from him, but we can teach her how to protect herself, and we can set wards against him at your home. Would you be willing to permit us to do so?

Georgiana, threatened by the High King of Faerie. It was like a cold knife in his ribs. He would take help from his worst enemy for her sake. And this dragon was not his enemy. Yes, I would be grateful.

We will make arrangements, then.

Then he was alone in his own body again, with Elizabeth beside him, tears of pride shining in her eyes.