“Not I. The hatchlings told me it was asking for you.”
He glanced at Elizabeth, who understood dragons so much better than he did. Her eyes were wide, though, as if this was new to her as well.
One of the tiny dragons toddled over to them then, its forelegs cradling an egg nearly half its size, and deposited it by Darcy’s feet. A feeling of familiarity stole over him, even before he spotted the pattern on it.
Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He knelt and laid his hands on the egg, matching each finger to the markings. Not a perfect match, of course – it seemed to have grown a little since it had been delivered – but it still felt right. The shell, which had formerly been soft, now seemed taut.
Then the sending hit him.Can I come out now? It is so dull in here.
Darcy’s eyes flew up to Coquelicot. “It speaks English!”
“Of course it does,” the dragon said. “You spoke to it when it was still inside me.”
“But…” The egg had learned an entire language from that momentary interchange? What else had it taken from his mind? “It is asking to come out.”
“That is why I called you here.”
“Wait a moment,” Elizabeth interrupted. “Are you saying that youchoosewhen the eggs should hatch?”
“Naturally,” Coquelicot replied, sounding surprised. “It would not do to have hatchlings come into the world willy-nilly. With the new Nest only just established, we would prefer to wait a little longer, so we have let them sleep. But Darcy awakened that egg when he spoke to it, so it must have his permission.”
Darcy felt like a particularly dull student who could not understand the lesson. Someday he would remember that dragons did not follow the rules for mortal creatures. “Will it hurt it to hatch now?” He would not want the egg to suffer as Jenny had from being born too early.
“No, of course not.”
The egg wobbled, bulging against his right palm, as if to remind him it was impatient. How could it not be? A dragonet clever enough to learn English from a single contact, left isolated in the prison of an egg? Darcy knew what it was to be locked away from the world.Then come out, if you wish, he told the presence.
A sense of triumph, and then the egg began to tremble in his hands. Somehow Darcy knew he must not let go of it, even when one part of it jutted out and a tiny, razor-sharp talon pierced through. He tried not to think of what that could have done to one of his fingers. The talon disappeared, then re-emerged along with another. Slowly the two talons pulled away from each other, ripping open the leathery exterior.
A set of tiny nostrils peeked through the opening, and then pushed through to reveal a grey head, still gleaming with liquid. The dragonet’s eyes blinked open, staring at him.
It was a strangely moving moment, meeting this creature whom he had touched magically. “Welcome to the world,” Darcy said gravely.
Its head craned one way, and then the other, as the egg continued to heave. A foreleg slowly struggled through, and the other one. Then the entire body poured out all at once in a rush of glistening fluid, leaving the shell to collapse behind it in a burst of spine-tingling magic. It was a tiny miracle, happening right in front of him.
It was no more than a foot long. On wobbly legs, the hatchling turned in a slow circle, taking in its surroundings. It stopped when it faced Coquelicot, studying the enormous red dragon that towered above it. Then it touched its nose to the ground, as if in acknowledgement of her.
A shiver went over Darcy’s skin as silent sendings flew back and forth. Then Coquelicot said, “It is polite to speak aloud when mortals are present, so that they may hear.”
The hatchling made a hissing sound. It tried again, this time saying something incomprehensible, and spat out some phlegm. Finally it managed, in a small, squeaky voice, “Speech is hard.”
Newborn dragons could talk? Astonishing.
“Yes,” Coquelicot said indulgently. “Mortal words are a challenge for dragons, but you are doing well.”
The creature, who looked far more like a lizard than a dragon, turned back to Darcy. No, not just a lizard, for there were little nubs where its wings would come in, but no scales, only leathery skin. “Shall I bond to you?” it asked.
Coquelicot snorted. “No, hatchling, that one is mine, and the woman beside him is his wife, who is companion to Cerridwen the Seer. You are far too young to contemplate bonding. You should be thinking about other dragons, not mortals.”
“This mortal is all I know,” the hatchling said. “And I like him. He saved me, when he could have broken my egg.”
“You have a dragon sire, too. Renoncule, a fine Talent and sculptor. Find his memories within you, and you will feel more like a dragon.”
Darcy stared at the dragonet in fascination. Was it a male or a female? How could one tell, when it was too young for the crest to appear? He had never seen a grey dragon before. Would it change colors as it matured and grew scales?
But this was more than just a hatching. This dragonet was the first of a new generation of dragons, born to the first new Nest in Britain in centuries, a Nest that was determined to lead the dragons of the world. Right here at Pemberley.
The hatchling lifted its head and sniffed the air. “Ah, yes. I will learn to be a dragon, and then I will bond to your next blood.”
