Page 9 of The Magic of Pemberley (Fitzwilliam Darcy, Mage #2)

Chapter 9

T o Elizabeth’s relief, the Eldest had pronounced that Darcy should not travel until the following day and turned them over to Rowan’s care. Elizabeth and Darcy followed the young dragon through a long corridor and out a different exit from the Nest, this one leading to a lonely moor, broken only by a few grazing sheep and a crumbling shepherd’s hut.

The dragon gestured to the shepherd’s hut. “We have prepared the Companions’ House for you.”

Oh, dear. It did not bode well if the dragons felt that this tiny shelter was suitable accommodation for their companions. Would the roof even be intact? Perhaps she should insist on something better. Even a rustic cottage would be an improvement.

Darcy’s pace was still slower than usual, so Elizabeth arrived at the door first. She reached for the clearly visible latch string, but her hand grasped at empty air. She glanced back at Rowan, who was conversing animatedly with Darcy, so she gave the rough planks a testing push.

At her touch, the hut dissolved into an expansive gabled stone house, rising to a height of three stories. The tiny door was now a massive arch of wood and iron, one that would not have looked out of place in a castle, and large enough to drive a small carriage through.

Or a modest sized dragon .

Illusion, of course. The dragons would not want wanderers stumbling across a medieval manor house where one had no right to be.

The vast door opened at her gentle push. She stepped into a great hall with beamed ceilings far above and furnishings of heavy dark wood. Tapestries of dragons and humans covered the walls, surrounding an immense inglenook fireplace. It was like stepping five hundred years into the past, apart from the many sinuous carvings and sculptures like those in the Nest, clearly of draconic make. And a raised platform scattered with cushions, perfectly suited for dragon comfort.

She turned in a slow circle, ending facing Rowan. “Oh, my. Are we the only ones here?”

“Apart from the Kith who maintain it. Centuries ago, before the Great Concealment, companions were more common, and many of them made this their home. It has been a long time since a companion stayed here.”

Kith. It took a moment for her traitorous memory to recall the name for the human servants employed by dragons. “Where are the other companions of this Nest?” She was eager to meet them and learn from them.

“You are the only one. Before today, we had none.”

“None?” she cried.

“Taking companions is rare in these days of concealment, and our Nest has had such ill fortune with bindings in the last century that the Eldest determined we would make no more attempts.”

She frowned. “What sort of ill fortune?” Granny had never mentioned this.

Rowan sat back on his haunches, radiating sadness. “First there was Companion Amelia, who no sooner made her vows than she left, taking Sycamore with her. Two unsuccessful attempts to bond followed that, and one human did not recover. Then there was a great disaster nearly four decades ago, when a bonding went wrong. It changed both the dragon and the mortal, allowing the human to misuse her Talents. Hornbeam still lives among us, though his mind and his strength have never been the same. The Eldest concluded our ability to bond must have weakened over time, making the risk no longer acceptable. ”

So she would be the last companion of the Nest? It was heartbreaking. “Yet the Eldest agreed to take me,” she said slowly.

“You had already formed a bond, and that is the dangerous part.” The dragon sounded wistful. “And there was no evidence you would turn our teachings against others, as in the last binding.”

What had happened to that companion, and how had she misused her Talents? She wanted to ask more, but Darcy looked weary again and was surreptitiously holding the side of the table. The walk must have tired him. “Is there a room where my husband can rest?”

A young woman appeared at a side doorway. “I will show tha’ the way, honored Companion.” One of the Kith, presumably.

“I will check on you later, should you require anything further,” the dragon said.

“I thank you for your assistance.” Elizabeth tried not to sound hurried, but Darcy’s hands were trembling where he clutched the table. He would never admit his own weakness, but she could do it for him.

“I pray you, lie back again,” Elizabeth pleaded. “It has only been half an hour, and you are still pale.” Given how much trouble he had coming up the uneven stairs, she doubted he would get far if he tried to get up.

Darcy’s eyes darkened. “If I must be in bed, I would rather you were here, too.”

She laughed. “You must be feeling better, but I still insist that you rest. Come, I will sit beside you, and we can pretend we are lord and lady of the manor, waiting for news from the Crusades. Although I should not say that; the Crusades are a sore spot for dragons.”

“Truly? Why would they care?”

“It was the end of the Great Age of Dragons. The dragons counseled against seeking out holy wars in faraway lands, and the English kings listened – at first. But Richard the Lion Heart, whom the dragons call Richard the Traitor, wanted a war, and he resented the dragons for opposing him. He did not like the dragons dispensing justice to the people, either; he thought that should be the prerogative of the King. He came back from his crusade carrying the banner of St. George the Dragon Slayer, claiming that all dragons were liars and should be killed. He spread false stories of dragon hoards to tempt people to hunt them. Eventually that led to the Great Concealment.”

Darcy’s brow furrowed. “I can see why he would not wish to share power with the dragons, but how could mortals kill them?”

“They cannot, unless the dragon permits it. But sometimes they prefer to die rather than to kill in self-defense, given the consequences.” It was a dark thought, and not one she wished to consider at this time when dragons were being forced to become murderers. She rubbed her hand over the slight bulge in her abdomen. What a world to be bringing a child into!

Darcy did not miss the gesture. “Is anything wrong?”

“No, just thinking about the future.” Perhaps this was the moment to bring up a sensitive subject. “Though I suppose I must think about some practical arrangements. Perhaps Mrs. Sanford will meet with me now. Having a nearby midwife who understands bonding to the land would be an enormous advantage.”

His warm look faded into an expression of embarrassment. “A fine idea, although I have learned something unexpected about her. I would have told you, had we not been so preoccupied with the dragons.” He paused. “Mrs. Sanford is my half-sister.”

She wished she could let herself smile. Not because he knew, but because he was voluntarily telling her a secret. “I had heard rumors, but did not know what to make of it.”

“I only learned of it after she helped with your healing. I am told my father had sent her away as a child, but after his death, Mrs. Sanford quietly came back to care for her ailing mother. She assumed I would insist that she leave if I ever discovered her presence, so she avoided coming to my attention – at least until my lynx gave her no choice.”

“Did you speak to her, then? ”

He hesitated. “My steward felt she would not be comfortable with that. Instead I instructed him to give her the deed to her mother’s cottage and to tell her that it was not in payment for her help when you were ill, but because it should be hers by right.”

Of course, he had fixed the problem, at least as much as he could. He always did. It was a shame, though, that he never had the chance to know his half-sister, but that could still change. “Well, I will meet her and try to persuade her to attend me. Perhaps now that she knows she can stay, she will not be so shy of me.” And she wanted to find out how the midwife had learned to spin her land Talent into fabric.

“I would not wish Georgiana to be aware of the connection,” he said in a low voice. “She worries so much about not being my true sister that I fear what she would think if she discovered it.”

Poor Georgiana! It would be hard for her to learn that Darcy had a blood sister living right on the estate. “I shall not tell her.”

Darcy pushed aside the heavy bed curtains and swung his feet over the edge, wincing at the sore muscles in his legs. The sun through the mullioned window looked to be near its zenith. He must have slept nearly round-the-clock, despite the creaky bed and the coarsely woven, too-short nightshirt someone had found for him. And his stomach was grumbling.

He was alone, but somehow he knew Elizabeth was nearby, her sparkling presence imbuing the air. Was this one of the changes in his Talent the dragon had predicted?

He rubbed his chin, the stubble scraping against his hand. It would be too much to hope for a shave, much less fresh attire. If there was any to be found in this place, it would doubtless be from a previous century. Nothing to be done for it, though, besides shrugging himself into yesterday’s clothes and doing his best to tie a simple knot in his cravat. His fingers seem to lack something of their usual dexterity, as if he were recovering from a severe illness.

At least there was a comb, so he made himself as presentable as he could. Then he set off to follow that ineffable sense of Elizabeth in this ancient house.

He found her in the great hall sitting at a trestle table with a sturdy young woman. “Ah, there you are!” she exclaimed. “I hope you are well rested.”

He grimaced, knowing better than to mislead her. “Rested indeed, although I feel as if I had been through a particularly bad drubbing. Better than yesterday, though.”

The woman stood. “Tha’ must be hungry. Shall I bring tha’ summat to eat, then?”

His stomach growled. “That would be most welcome.”

As she bustled out of the hall, Darcy asked, “Human servants among the dragons?”

Elizabeth nodded. “They are called Kith, local people with a bond to the Nest. They provide service to the dragons in exchange for protection. Food during poor harvests, healing, that sort of thing. I was just asking her about it.”

So there were common folk who served the hidden dragons. Curious, but it made sense. The few people who scratched out a living in the poor soil of the Dark Peak likely needed all the help they could get.

Elizabeth reached out her hand to him, and he could not resist leaning over and tasting the sweetness of her lips. How fortunate he was to have her!

When she finally broke off this kiss, she said archly, “I see you are much improved.”

He laughed. “Indeed. Can we travel today? I am anxious to return home.” Especially as there might be a letter from the War Office. And grave dangers to come, but he would not think about that now.

“I suppose we must. Though I must admit, if it were not for that, I would not mind spending a little more time exploring this house and everything in it. ”

Darcy nodded. “It is an odd place, but pleasant. Very quiet, as if the walls absorb sound.”

She tipped back her head to gaze at him. “Like your cottage in the oak grove. The heart of Pemberley.”

The cottage where they had first joined together in love, sharing their passion on the simple, narrow bed. “ Our cottage. I will never think of it without remembering our time there.”

A becoming blush rose in her cheeks, but the sound of approaching footsteps silenced whatever she might have said. Instead, she looked at the table before her. “I wonder when an outsider last saw this place. Probably not since the binding that failed. How strange that it would be empty for so long.”

It was the serving woman, now carrying a wooden platter loaded with dark bread, cheese, and a bowl of some sort of stew. She placed the dishes in front of him. “Sorry ’tis so simple. We had no warning of your arrival.”

Peasant fare had never looked so appealing. “This is perfect.” He bit into a slice of bread, finding it gritty, but with a pleasant, tangy flavor. The cheese crumbled at his touch and carried the sweet aroma of sheep’s milk. He followed it with a swallow of small beer from an ornate flagon that would have been hopelessly old-fashioned in his grandfather’s day. Shaking his head, he chuckled.

“Is something the matter?” asked Elizabeth.

“The strangeness of it. Yesterday I was an educated gentleman of our modern scientific age, and now I am a squire in the Middle Ages.” He gestured around the hall, the blackened beams overhead, and the food before him. “Eating as my many times great-grandfather might have done, and drinking from a goblet at least that old – and all of it after a consultation with dragons. As a boy, I would pretend to be Guillaume D’Arcy, who would have known dragons, and now I am living his life. This is not the world I was born to.”

She cocked her head and studied him. “Perhaps it is the world which you were born for, though. The Age of Concealment is over, for better or for worse. You could be a bridge between the ancient world of dragons and the fine society of London, bringing modern science to the dragons and dragon magic to our mages. Perhaps a human natural philosopher could help the dragons solve their problem with bonding companions.”

It was a revolutionary notion. His father had told him his only purpose in life was to care for Pemberley and the Darcy family name. His mother’s one concern was that he should beget more mages. Apart from the War Office, no one had ever asked him if he wanted to do something else.

Nor had anyone told him what it would be like to become a father, to suddenly have a responsibility for the world his child would be born into.

“And intriguing thought, but first I must face Napoleon. I have some questions for the dragons first, about how my Talent has been changed.”

“That may have to wait. The Nest has gone back into Conclave, to discuss what they have learned from us and decide on their next steps. Cerridwen says it will last for days, perhaps weeks.”

He wanted to protest that he did not have time to figure this out on his own, but it would do no good. “I suppose we should return home, then. They will be wondering at Pemberley what has happened to us.”