Chapter 17
Darcy massaged his aching neck. He had somehow managed to sleep in his chair for an hour or two, but he was paying for it in stiffness. At least the morning sun had made an appearance outside the library window, freeing him from the long hours of darkness with no escape from his thoughts.
There could be no good resolution for him. Of his very few choices, all were bad, and the most dignified seemed to be to accept his captivity with apparent calm, even if it meant pretending to read a book that could not begin to hold his interest. It was preferable to burning the house down without any guarantee he could burn Debenham with it.
When Biggins came in wearing his customary smirk, Darcy merely glanced up at him and returned to his book.
“Now, now, Darcy. No point in ignoring me. I am doing you a favor this time.”
Perhaps the earth was flat, too. “How kind of you.”
“Lord Matlock has been fretting about your well-being and has convinced Debenham to allow him to talk to you. Ten minutes, no more.”
Now he had Darcy’s attention. Peering behind him, he could see Lady Matlock holding the arm of her blindfolded husband. “You are in luck, Biggins. As it happens, I am quite at leisure to receive visitors.”
Biggins stepped back to allow the Matlocks to enter. Lady Matlock led her husband to an armchair. “The chair is right behind you,my dear. You may sit.”
“Never thought you would have to lead me around like a helpless baby,” grumbled Lord Matlock. “I hate this.”
“I know, my dear,” said Lady Matlock. “We all do. But here is Darcy, and he appears unharmed.”
“I am indeed unharmed.” A few bruises hardly counted as harm. “And you?”
Lord Matlock made a hissing sound. “Disgusted with myself and under a control spell, but that is all.” His hands were linked by a short rope, giving him some ability to move them. It was more freedom than Darcy had expected him to have.
“The control spell prevents you from removing the blindfold, I assume.”
“Debenham is too clever to resort to that. He told me if I made any attempt to remove the blindfold, they would blind me.”
“I am glad they did not do that.” Darcy had assumed Debenham would already have blinded his uncle.
Lord Matlock scowled. “Debenham wants to use as few spells on me as possible. Apparently each spell reduces the amount of power he can draw from me. An interesting fact about sorcery, if we survive long enough to document it.” His voice dripped bitterness. “How have they treated you?”
“I cannot complain of discomfort. Debenham set blood wards around me to stop spells, and there is always a guard here, but I have a comfortable chair and they bring me whatever books I request. It could be much worse.” It would only last until Debenham realized Darcy would never cooperate, so he should enjoy the comfort while he could.
“Do the wards stop your elemental magic?”
Darcy shook his head before realizing his uncle could not see him. “No, but it makes no difference. I can only control water and earth, and those are no danger to Debenham and little use to me.” Would LordMatlock understand his silent message?
His uncle sat perfectly still for a moment. “Yes. It is a pity you cannot control fire, but there is no point in wishing for what we do not have.”
It had taken several hours for Darcy to realize that his failure to use fire the previous day had left Debenham with the impression he had no power over it. Now that Darcy knew Elizabeth and the others were safely away, he was waiting for his chance. Once he had Debenham close enough, he would set him and everything around him afire. Innocent lives would be lost – the servants, his aunt, his uncle, and his own – but far worse would happen if Debenham consolidated his power. He had to do it soon, too, before Wickham arrived. Wickham knew he controlled fire.
Darcy said, “Debenham seems to be hoping he can convince me to join him, so he treats me well. I do not know if he truly believes he can change my mind, or if he is simply making the best of it since he can neither bespell me nor kill me.”
“Ah, yes,” said Lord Matlock with the first sign of his old self. “The elemental mage’s death curse. How very useful it is, even when not employed.”
“I assure you I have already chosen the curse and set it to take effect on my death, even if I am taken by surprise.” If Darcy were certain enough that the old stories of the death curse were true, he would be making efforts to force someone to kill him solely so the three sorcerers would die with him.
“I wish Debenham would kill me,” Lord Matlock said. “At least that would be an honorable death rather than watching everything I fought for being destroyed.”
“My dear, we must not despair,” said Lady Matlock. “I may not be clever, but I know there is always hope.”
Lady Matlock, not clever? She must be hiding her abilities, too.
Lord Matlock’s hands clenched into fists. “Even if we miraculously escape another reign of sorcery, my legacy is destroyed. I wanted to be remembered as a scholar and a mage who protected England from sorcery. Instead my name will be cursed for generations as the man who let sorcerers come to power, even when they were right under my nose. My own brother-in-law and sister, sorcerers. I appointed a sorcerer to the Council of Mages, and if Debenham had not been in Ireland at the time, I might have made him Master of the Collegium instead of Eversleigh. I all but paved the way for them.”
“You had no way of knowing. They hid their sorcery well,” said Lady Matlock gently.
