Page 3 of Triumph at Pemberley

The little fae folded into a deep bow. “The great lady is on her way, Honored One,” he squeaked.

Cerridwen now loomed over the High Fae. “Be warned. Their lady decreed that no invading fae should be killed until she could speak to them. It is the only reason you still live.”

Darcy caught his breath. He had forgotten Georgiana’s request that there be no fighting against future fae invaders. It was a good thing Cerridwen’s memory was better than his.

Thompson emerged from the gatehouse with the pistol and rope for the lesser fae. Darcy took the weapon, keeping a wary eye on the High Fae. He would not use the gun unless he had to.

A moment later his own dragon’s reassuring presence filled his mind. Coquelicot must be close. Darcy removed his hat and clutched it tightly, just in time to avoid the blast of wind from her enormous wings as the huge red dragon landed a short distance behind him.

Is anyone hurt? she asked him. Of course that would be her first concern!

No one apart from the High Fae, he responded. How much easier it was to send to his own dragon rather than Elizabeth’s!

He will heal quickly, she sent dismissively. Apparently High Fae were beneath her concern.

Footsteps sounded on the gravel behind him, and he glanced back to see Georgiana approaching.

She strolled up to the fae, looking both bored and haughty, and not at all like herself. Especially once she curled her upper lip. She gazed down at the fallen High Fae, “You have been defeated in fair combat by my champion.”

Then Darcy noticed her hands were trembling.

Awe and shock warred in the High Fae’s face. “Great lady, I am yours to command.”

“Release him,” Georgiana said. It sounded more like a question than an order.

Jasper withdrew his blade. A rush of crimson blood came from the High Fae’s wound. Slowly it closed in a burst of spine-tingling fae magic, leaving only a stained patch on his silver coat. The lesser fae rushed to remove his bindings.

The High Fae rose, only to fall to his knees in front of Georgiana.

She seemed to listen to something invisible for a moment and then held out her hand. “I will have your blood bond to serve me.”

Without hesitation, he pulled a small silver knife and cut into his palm, letting it drip into Georgiana’s hand.

Darcy inwardly cringed at the sight. Not simply at the crimson fae blood on his sister’s hand, but her unflinching acceptance of it.

The High Fae spoke melodic words in a language Darcy could not understand, but the formality of his tone turned it into some sort of vow. Another wave of fae magic confirmed it.

The blood vanished from Georgiana’s hand as if it had never been there.

She said, “And your true name.”

The High Fae bowed his head as if defeated. After a moment he held his hands cupped to his mouth and whispered into them.

Georgiana plucked something from his grasp and held it to her ear. Then she nodded. “It is done. What are you called?”

“Great lady, Lyren of Evendale is at your service,” he said.

“Who sent you here, Lyren of Evendale, and how did you cross the wards?” she asked.

“Great lady, the High King himself ordered me to come, taking advantage of my particular Talent to transform myself into water. In that form, I soaked into a letter written to Mrs. Darcy. It dried, but I could still take my true shape once I was across your borders.”

How could such a thing be possible? There would be no way to defend against it!

Thompson the gatekeeper gasped. “It is my fault, then,” he said despairingly. “When the post arrived, the wards stopped it. Or rather, just that one letter. I checked it thoroughly and even opened it to make certain nothing was inside. No metal that could be an Artifact, nothing. I thought it had to be a mistake, so I carried it across.”

A human error, then. Darcy closed his eyes for a moment before saying, “Always send for me when in doubt.”

Wretchedly the old man said, “I did not want to disturb the festivities. I swear I’ll never do it again!”