It was coming from upstairs. Darcy set off at a run, going up the grand stairs two at a time, following his instincts to the ballroom. Because somehow he knew this wordless, ululating wail of agony came from Coquelicot.
He could taste her aura already, even several rooms away, the bitterness of heartache and loss. By the time he was at the ballroom doors, his very bones ached with it, a stew of misery that he had to force himself to approach. His eyes watered from fighting the power of it.
Inside, the French dragon was huddled on the parquet floor, her head down, covered by her forelegs. Anguish poured off her in waves.
Was it safe to approach her when she was so distraught? She could incinerate him or tear him to bits with her sharp talons and teeth. But she had never shown any tendency towards violence before - quite the opposite. He could not leave her alone in such pain, nor could he risk Pemberley being shaken apart by it.
“Coquelicot, what is wrong? Can I help?” he asked gently, though he braced himself for a possible outburst.
Her keening paused, and then she said in a broken voice, “Disparu. Tout a disparu.”Gone. Everything is gone.
He switched over to French, since that must be more natural for her than English. “Qui a disparu?”Who is gone?A sinking feeling told him he already knew.
“Tout!” It was a wail. Then images battered his senses, some familiar from his visit to the French Nest in the Vosges Mountains, others no doubt parts he had never seen. Dragons, from the giant Eldest to the smallestnestlings. He could smell the hot metal and cinnamon, hear the elaborately decorated stone walls echo around him.
A figure brushed past him, and it took a moment to realize that sensation was real, not part of the visions in his mind. He shook off the sending just in time to see an apparently human, sari-clad Rana Akshaya transforming into her true form.
Or, more exactly, just in time to realize a giant dragon was about to occupy the precise space he was in. He dove for the wall with only a few seconds to spare. That had been too close.
The dragon from India dwarfed Coquelicot as she spread a vast wing over her. Darcy's skin tingled from the sendings as power rippled off Rana Akshaya. He could sense no aura from her, but her actions were clearly intended to comfort.
Go. This is not for mortals. It was a brusque dragon presence in his head.
It was an order he was happy to obey. He pushed himself up to his feet and stepped sideways towards the door.
“Non, mon petit!” Coquelicot cried - and held out her forelegs to him.
Darcy had never thought himself lacking in courage, but it took all he could muster to walk into the narrow space between the two dragons, one of whom had ordered him to leave. Coquelicot had saved his life, and he would not abandon her.
He let Coquelicot pull him against her broad chest, her convulsive movements forceful enough that he would likely have bruises tomorrow. He bore it for her sake.
And because once he stopped thinking of her, he was going to have to remember that his brother lived in the Nest that had just fallen to Napoleon. He pushed that unbearable thought away.
Coquelicot dropped something small into his hand. “Take it.” The image showed him drinking it.
It was a corked vial, heavy with magic, like the ones she had made for him to create the lesser bond. He had not taken that in a few weeks, ever since the Nest gave the French dragon permission to remain at Pemberley until she laid her eggs.
Should he ask what it was? No, she needed him to trust her. Even so far as drinking a magical elixir. He opened it and quaffed the contents.
It burned on the way down, just like the other elixir. And it tasted like the autumn air in the Vosges mountain, crisp and bright with an earthy overtone of decaying leaves and pine. The heat spread through him like an immense power.
And then he felt the lesser bond snap back into place. It had never gone away completely, even after he stopped taking the elixir, but it had been much weaker.
He had not realized how much he had missed that special closeness, even as he was overwhelmed with her misery and horror. He could be there for her, so that she was not all alone, and that was enough for now.
Once the French dragon had finally fallen into a fitful doze, apparently aided by Rana Akshaya's powers, Darcy slipped away. Not just from the ballroom, but from the house itself, keeping to hidden pathways where he would be unlikely to encounter anyone. Best to be alone while he was rubbed so raw over Jack.
The worst part is that he would never know whether his brother was alive or dead. There had been talk, even when Darcy was in the French Nest, about moving Jack to a different Nest if they felt he was in danger. Perhaps that had happened, and Jack was safe, if still a prisoner of the dragons.
But Darcy would never know, because Jack would not be allowed to contact him or anyone else. Just like he had been at the Vosges Nests, where Darcy had stumbled over him accidentally, believing him long dead. Jack had not been free to leave there, either, but Darcy could have gone back to see him when peace finally returned to Europe. Now he would not even have that consolation, that someday he might see his brother again, because that was the only Nest he knew.
Or Jack might be dead. His little brother, who never walked away from a fight, would not have left the Vosges dragons to Napoleon's depredations if he had a choice. More likely he had stayed to the bitter end, using the weapons that were forbidden to the dragons themselves.
Surely it should be easier, losing his brother for the second time. When he had received the word that Jack's charred body had been found at Salamanca, it had torn him to shreds. When the War Office had offered him a dangerous mission to France and a chance to avenge Jack - at the likely cost of his own life - Darcy had agreed without hesitation.
Now it was different. He had Elizabeth, Jenny, and Coquelicot depending on him. He was needed here. But none of that helped.
He looked up to find his feet had led him to the cottage in the heart of Pemberley. It had been his retreat for many years, and more recently a refuge where he and Elizabeth could be alone together. Jenny had been born there, Jenny, who would never know her Uncle Jack. On an impulse he left the path and made his way to the small glade where he and Elizabeth had performed Jenny's land binding ritual. The power in the earth grew under his feet with each step.
