A golden shape shimmered into being before him, a dragon design that looked like writing in some strange language. It floated in the air briefly before sinking down into the burnt ground beneath. Darcy could feel it expanding, reaching out and joining him in grasping the broken wards.
Then the earth rang, like the tolling of a great bell, reverberating through Darcy's chest with a great pulse of magic. It moved through his bones, through his heart and lungs, and into the air he breathed.
“It is done,” Rowan proclaimed. “Or at least it is patched. We will need to determine how they broke it and make a more permanent repair later.” He looked down at Darcy. “That was an odd way to do it, though it seems to have worked.”
Then something hit Darcy from behind, crashing into his sore ribs and sending him staggering, with a brutal stabbing pain in his back. His vision began to blur.
As if from a distance, he heard Roderick shout, “Get him across the wards!”
Razor-taloned forelegs swept him up and carried him off into the air.
Or rather, into the wind. It buffeted him from all directions as huge dragon wings pumped to each side of him, making it even harder to catch a breath. Not that he could move, with those massive talons wrapped around him at his chest and hips, and the earth spinning below him. He closed his eyes to block the view, wondering if he would ever open them again. What had hit him? Was he even now bleeding his last? He could feel no wetness, no warmth, as he had when he had been shot in France.
The ground came up to meet him, as Quickthorn landed and set him gently on his side on the moor. Roderick was already standing there, breathing heavily as if he had been running.
Darcy blinked up at the Welshman. “What happened?” His voice sounded as if it was coming from the next county.
Roderick leaned over and examined Darcy’s back, reaching down to touch it lightly. Then he straightened slowly, shaking his head. “I do notunderstand. I saw the arrow. It hit you, and hard. Yet there is no arrow, no wound, only a scorch mark on your coat.”
Quickthorn lowered her giant head until her gold-ringed eye was inches over Darcy's chest. She sniffed at him, though how she could smell anything beyond ash from the burnt moor was beyond him. Perhaps she was looking for something less tangible than a mortal odor.
The dragon growled, “As I feared. It was a spell arrow, without doubt, designed to deliver a magical wound. I sensed the spell going off, but it does not seem to have taken. Something stopped it.”
Darcy reached behind his back and gingerly rubbed the spot. Had it been a true arrow, it would have pierced his lungs and likely ended his life. As it was, he was going to have another nasty bruise to add to his collection. “Perhaps my land Talent stopped it.”
“Very little can deter the magic of the High Fae,” Quickthorn disagreed. “Unless you still have a trace of the bond from the French dragon in you. That might do it.”
In that case, he had additional reason to be grateful to Coquelicot, who had formed that lesser bond to allow him to escape from France. “What would the spell have done?”
Quickthorn tossed her head in annoyance. “I cannot tell, and the traces are already vanishing. We have no time for this. We must find the invaders.”
“Invaders?”
But the dragon had already taken off and was flying towards the manor house, just as another creature raced towards him. His lynx, radiating concern, and ready to massacre his enemies. He nudged his nose at Darcy’s side, near where the arrow had hit.
Darcy’s ribs protested as he sat up, but he managed to reach out to the lynx with the remnants of his Talent.I am safe.
Not safe. Protect.
Roderick, oblivious to the silent discussion, said, “Someone got through the wards. Perhaps more than one. Quickthorn came in time to stop the horde, but the ward-breaker is still here. Invisible to all of us mortals, and very powerful.”
A chill ran down his spine. “Georgiana,” Darcy whispered.
Roderick's eyes took on an unfocused look. “Rowan says they are barricading her room with iron. No High Fae will be able to reach her through that.”
A relief, albeit a temporary one. “What of Elizabeth and Jenny?” His infant daughter, who had been foretold to be a bridge between the human world and Faerie.
Roderick's lips curved. “Rowan says they are still asleep, according to Agate, who is very proud of the defenses he has set up around them. Mind you, the spell of a tiny nestling like him might repel a fly, but it was a good thought.”
Asleep after all this time? Or was it so surprising? It might have been no more than an hour since he and Roderick had raced off from the house. Long enough to be half-buried in the peat, soaked to the skin in muddy water, to perform major land magic, and be shot by attacking fae.
He had thought he left all these privations behind him in France.
It felt like he had left Elizabeth days ago. How he longed to be back beside her! Preferably in dry clothes.
But first, to catch the invading fae. “Any ideas of how we can find this High Fae?” He could be anywhere at Pemberley.
Roderick snorted. “Wedo not, unless you have been hiding Second Sight from me. This will be up to the dragons, with the assistance of Miss Darcy's lesser fae servants. How can we hunt for a creature we cannot see?”
