Quickthorn said, “Hornbeam's first companion's death changed him. He missed her terribly, and he was bitter that he would never have the chance to see more of the world. That is why he insisted on bonding to your sister, even though he knew it was not a good match. He saw her as the closest he could get to having your mother back.” Her voice was disapproving. “The Eldest suggested delaying until you or your brother were of age, but he felt he had waited long enough.”
His mother opened her mouth, choked a little, and closed it again. Had she run across another binding? Finally she managed to say, “You say you removed a few of the bindings. Can anything be done about the others?”
Quickthorn clicked her talons together. “If they had been properly applied in the first place, I could do so, but I would prefer to leave it to a dragon with greater experience in these matters. I would not want to do any damage accidentally.”
Finally his mother showed some feeling, and it was disgust. “I would rather take the risk than have these things controlling me.”
“I understand, but with a little time, we can do it safely. I will not risk harming you when there is a better option, but I will find a dragon who can help you. Coquelicot, perhaps.”
A scratching noise came from the wall behind Darcy. Were there mice in the house? Bad enough that there were dragons everywhere, and now this. He would have to speak to the housekeeper. But then the noise grew louder, and he turned to look. There was something just outside the diamond-paned window, something small, furry, and black.
Lady Anne gasped, and then she was on her feet, running to the window. Actuallyrunning, his oh-so-proper mother! She wrenched open the window, and a fluffy black cat jumped into her arms.
“Oh, Shadow!” she said in a broken voice. “I thought she had killed you!” She buried her face in the cat’s fur, her shoulders shaking.
Shadow. His mother’s familiar, who had followed her everywhere when he was a child. Darcy had not seen him – nor heard him mentioned – since long before his mother’s journey to Faerie.
Frederica tapped his arm. “She will not thank us for witnessing this,” she whispered, tipping her head towards the door.
He nodded and followed her, painfully aware that his mother was showing more affection to Shadow than she ever had to her own children.
Once he closed the door behind them, Elizabeth said, “What was that about?”
“He is her familiar, who has been missing for many years,” Darcy said.
Frederica asked, “Do you suppose one of those bindings somehow blocked the familiar bond?”
“It must have,” Elizabeth said slowly. “What do you suppose is under all those bindings?”
“That is the question,” Darcy said darkly. “We must do something about that ring, the one with the spell on it.”
“No need,” Elizabeth said. “Cerridwen has already destroyed it.”
Elizabeth looked up from her seat on a lawn blanket to see Lady Anne Darcy standing by the edge of the canopy that shaded her and little Jenny from the sun. It was still a bit chilly to be outside, but she wanted to take advantage of the rare good weather.
“May I join you?” Lady Anne asked.
“I would be honored,” Elizabeth said politely. What did it mean that her mother-in-law was seeking her out, after keeping to herself for the better part of two days? It had been time wasted, since Elizabeth had halted her practice sessions with Cerridwen, lest her mother-in-law ask uncomfortable questions. “Would you like me to request a chair for you?” Lady Anne did not seem like the sort to sit on even the finest ground covering.
Apparently she was wrong, for Lady Anne lowered herself gracefully across from Elizabeth. “This is perfectly comfortable. I am much younger than you think, you know, owing to my ill-fated stay in Faerie. I might have been born forty-seven years ago, but my body is twelve years younger than that.”
Elizabeth calculated in her head. “It must be disconcerting to find yourself only a handful of years older than your son.”
“No more so than to leave behind a young boy one day, and on the morrow find he is a grown man.” Her gaze dropped to Jenny, resting in Elizabeth’s arm. “Times have changed. I was told to keep an infant in the nursery for the first months.”
“I doubt times have changed that much. Jenny is an exception,” she said equably, determined not to listen to any implied criticisms from Lady Anne, whose mothering was not a model she cared to follow. “She benefits from being close to the land. Afterwards, she eats better.” Best not to mention that this advice had come from Darcy’s illegitimate half-sister.
“She seems to be doing very well for her size.” Was that a peace offering?
Hard to say. Elizabeth’s instinct was not to trust her, but perhaps that was unfair. There was no guessing how much the bindings had affected Lady Anne’s past choices, but she would still have to prove herself – if she had indeed changed. “I will sleep easier when she has gained a little more weight.”
Jenny did finally seem to be thriving, although it took extra help. Both she and Darcy trickled some energy into her every day, and Coquelicot did something mysterious which helped her breathing. But she was still barely the size of most newborns, with that near-translucent skin.
She loved her more than she could say, from the fuzz atop her little head to her tiny fingernails. Holding her close like this felt like the most precious gift in the world.
“I did not spend time with my babies.” Lady Anne sounded almost indifferent. “It would have been too dangerous.”
Had she misheard? Certainly some aristocratic women were happy to hand their infants over to a wetnurse until they were old enough to be interesting, but she had never heard anyone claim it was for their safety. But there was a great deal about Lady Anne she did not understand, not least her connection to the High King of Faerie. “Pray forgive my ignorance, but I do not understand what the risk would be.”
