“You think it was a dragon?” It sounded unlikely. If his mother had known a dragon, she would have told him about it.
Unless the bindings had stopped her. It was a terrifying thought.
“They have that flavor, but a High Fae could have done it, too. Now pray be quiet. With your permission, I will remove a few of them and see what happens.”
At Darcy’s nod, the sea-green dragon rested her talons gently against Lady Anne’s cheeks, and the weight of magic swirled around the room, prickling at his skin.
His mother stirred, her hand twitching. Quickthorn released her hold and moved back.
Then Lady Anne’s eyes fluttered open. Her gaze darted from side to side, as if she were frightened. His mother never showed fear.
“What happened?” Her voice was high-pitched. Then she spotted him. “Fitzwilliam, what is going on?”
He took a cautious step forward. “Welcome, Mother. You fainted by the gatehouse, and they brought you here.”
She visibly collected herself. “I am sorry to have caused such trouble.” She sat up and carefully swung her legs off the settee. Of course she would hate to look like an invalid.
“As long as you are well, I am happy,” he said mechanically. Turning to Quickthorn, he asked, “What now?”
I will try asking her the same question that caused her to swoon.Then Quickthorn said aloud, “You have bindings in your mind. Who did this to you?”
Lady Anne paled, but she raised her chin, her face contorted in an odd grimace. In a low, bitter voice, sharp enough to cut ice, she said, “My sister Catherine, of course.”
Her words sent a chill down Darcy’s neck. It was obvious, once she had said it. Who could it have been other than Lady Catherine de Bourgh, the former King’s Mage who had misused her Talent to influence minds, which no other mage could do? Who had been a dragon companion herself, before she stole her dragon’s Talents and broke the bond.
Quickthorn straightened to her full height, her crests brushing the high ceiling. “Amortaldid that? Impossible!”
“It is true, whatever you may think,” said Lady Anne coolly, her usual distant composure back.
“Iknowit is true, since you cannot lie to me,” Quickthorn sputtered. “But no mortal has ever had that ability.”
Darcy found the words that had deserted him. “Did Lady Catherine put bindings on you often?”
His mother smoothed her hair back from her cheeks, as if trying to disguise the color rising in them. “Frequently,” she said in a quiet, hopeless voice. “I do not understand why I can even say this much. Did your dragon do something to me?”
“Mydragon, actually,” Frederica said. “And yes, she removed some of the bindings – which she says were very badly done.”
His mother stiffened, shifting away from Frederica, her face suddenly ashen. “Youare a dragon companion now?” Her voice shook.
Before she could reply, Quickthorn let out a fiery snort. “Do you mean Lady Catherine Fitzwilliam, may her name be cursed in eternity?”
“We call her Lady Catherine de Bourgh now, but yes.” How could his mother maintain complete composure with a huge dragon who was breathing fire, yet be frightened by the news that her own apprentice was a companion?
Darcy stamped out a spark that had fallen to the carpet. It made horrible, sickening sense that Lady Catherine had been somehow involved in this. His stomach churned at the idea of his mother suffering under bindings all these years. How had it affected her?
“That would explain it,” snarled Quickthorn, scraping at the floor with one of her back legs as if remaining still was impossible. “She tore that ability from the mind of her dragon and made it her own, monster that she is.”
Either his mother was an even finer actress than he thought, or it was not news to her that her sister was a dragon companion. Lady Anne’s next words put that question to rest. “What happened to Hornbeam?”
Quickthorn said, “He still lives among us at the Nest, though she damaged him badly. His mind is not the same.”
Lady Anne seemed to shrink a little. “Poor Hornbeam! He was always so kind to me. He did not deserve such a fate.”
“No, he did not.” But her words seemed to settle Quickthorn, for the anger in her aura faded. “Did you know him well?”
“More when I was young. He was my mother's dragon, of course, until she died in childbed, and I loved him. By the time he bonded with Catherine, he was...different. Harder,” Lady Anne said. “But he was still good to me.”
And Darcy had thought he was beyond being shocked. His grandmother, who had died long before he was born, had been a dragon companion, too? The dragons in France had said that his brother Jack must be a near descendant of a dragon companion since he could survive dragonfire; this must be the explanation.
