Oberon raised a silver knife, his expression exultant. “To this I spill my heart’s blood.” With animal-like grace, he slit his throat. Blood fountained from the wound onto the ground. He wore a frightening, otherworldly smile as he slowly sank to his knees and fell into the pool of blood.
But blood continued to pour as Lord Matlock dragged a matching silver knife across his own throat. His effort was less graceful and more horrifying. His lips moved in a silent prayer as his blood mingled on the ground with Oberon’s, but he looked no less triumphant.
The sunlight suddenly became blinding. A crash louder than any thunder reverberated from every direction. The air seemed to shatter like glass as the earth shifted, knocking Darcy to his knees.
Lord Matlock crumpled to the ground beside Oberon, the flow of blood from his throat slowing to a trickle. The fiery circle flickered and faded to nothingness.
Stunned, Darcy could only stare at the bodies of his uncle and Oberon. A sapling no taller than his knee was already growing between them.
They had made a Great Spell together, the first since the time of Julius Caesar. It was beyond belief. The last Great Spell had sundered Faerie into two parts. What had this one done?
Nothing. Nothing had changed. His uncle and Oberon were dead, and Debenham, Wickham, and Baggins were still standing, seemingly unharmed.
Debenham strode forward, stopping just short of where the circle of fire had been. He snapped his fingers and pointed to a servant. “You there. Walk across the line.”
The man’s feet moved forward, but clearly against his will.
Debenham gave a sharp cry and pressed his fist against his chest. “What?” he gasped. He bent forward, his face screwed up in agony, and collapsed to the ground.
The wards surrounding Darcy sputtered and vanished. Debenham had been the one to set them. If the wards were dead, Debenham must be, too.
Biggins rushed forward. “Carry him inside! Fetch a doctor and –” His face turned ashen. His eyes huge, he reached out a hand and tumbledforward.
Darcy’s mouth fell open. The Great Spell had worked. It had changed the laws of magic. Employing a sorcerous command spell was now a death sentence. Oberon and his uncle could not destroy sorcery itself, but now the choice to use sorcery would be a fatal one.
Wickham backed away from the scene with an expression of horror. He turned and bolted for the stables.
Darcy almost ran after him but stopped himself. There was no reason to chase him. Wickham was no longer a threat. He could be dealt with later.
“Mr. Darcy, sir.” The butler’s voice was unusually timid. “What should we do?”
A Great Spell, two dead sorcerers, a dead Sidhe and a peer of the realm, and the butler thought Darcy would know what should be done? “Free Prince Aelfric and ask him to come here.” Aelfric might know something about how to handle the aftermath of a Great Spell. He could not possibly know less than Darcy did.
ELIZABETH JUMPED ASthe earth seem to shiver. A bell tolled somewhere. No, it could not be a bell, because the sound came from all directions at once, echoing and re-echoing. The air took on that sharp tang that often followed lightning strikes. “What happened?”
“Magic of some sort. Powerful magic.” Eversleigh held up a hand as if to test the air. “More than that I cannot say. Not sorcery, though.”
Titania turned her face up to the sky with a plaintive, keening wail, an eerie fay version of a wolf’s howl. Her face was lined with grief. “Oberon!” She ran from the bower.
Eversleigh jumped to his feet and followed her.
Frederica gave an exasperated sound. “Could he not have takenone second to tell us where he was going?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and reached out her senses to Darcy. Something had changed for him. “Darcy is free. Something has astounded him, but he feels no danger now.”
“Are you certain it is safe? Could it be a trick?”
Shaking her head, Elizabeth said, “Darcy thinks it is safe, and he cannot lie to me through this bond.” At least she did not think he could.
“Let us go, then!” Frederica exclaimed.
Georgiana stood and shook out her skirt. “Where are we going?”
“Rosings,” said Elizabeth with sudden certainty. “The Great Lawn.” She should be more worried, but somehow she knew Darcy wanted her in that particular spot.
They emerged in the faerie ring in the grove. Colonel Fitzwilliam held his knife expectantly, as if it could guard them against sorcery. “Wait here,” he told Georgiana. “I will come to get you if it is safe.”
Georgiana nodded.
