Page 31 of Triumph at Pemberley

If there was nothing there, she would come back down and investigate the two lower rooms inch by inch, in case of an invisible presence.

The staircase ended in a room that was open to the elements. The ceiling had fallen in except for a small, shadowed alcove at the opposite end of the chamber. Bits of rotting timber, rusted nails, and broken slate tiles were scattered on the stone floor.

But there was magic in the air; Elizabeth’s skin tingled with it.

She picked her way through the debris to the alcove, expecting to be able to see more clearly. But it remained in dark shadows and blurred even when she was only a foot away. Too blurred, in an odd manner. She reached her hand out and encountered a resistance that met her glove and pushed her firmly away.

If the alcove had protection, that meant there was something of value in it. She moved from side to side, testing for an opening, but nothing changed. Then, on impulse, she tried removing her gloves. This time, when she touched the barrier, it dissolved into sparkles of light like tiny fireworks.

Beyond it was a moment out of time. Elizabeth caught her breath. Tapestries of dragons hung from the walls, their colors still bright and not a single moth hole. In the center stood a small wooden table, and on it rested a small silver chest.

Her heart beat faster. Could this be it, the container for Ysmeina’s Cuff in Cerridwen’s vision? She tiptoed closer. There was not a speck of dust anywhere, no sign of tarnish on the silver or the natural patina of age. It was as if Ysmeina had left it there only moments ago.

Gingerly she rested her fingertips on the lid of the chest. Nothing unusual there; it felt like any other metal. Almost before she had decided to do so, her hands raised the lid.

It came off with no resistance, revealing crumpled light blue fabric. Wool, if she was not mistaken, and a light touch confirmed it. It too looked new, even though it must be centuries old.

This was deep magic.

Her hands shook as she cautiously lifted the fabric. Underneath it, nestled in yet more of the blue wool, lay an engraved silver wrist cuff.

It looked like an ordinary piece of medieval adornment of the sort she had seen in drawings, but as she watched it, the engravings began to move, creating a dance of some sort. Her chest tightened at this extraordinary sight. What Talent could create such an Artifact?

She hesitated. Perhaps she should seek advice before touching such a powerful item. Cerridwen?

There was no reply, only silence. That made no sense; Cerridwen was waiting for her, barely a quarter of a mile away. But she could feel nothing of her dragon, not even that slight vibration of their bond which was always there. Somehow the wards must be stopping their connection.

She would have to figure this out on her own.

What would be the best precautions to take? She tried to recall the old stories about Artifacts, but her mind was blank, and ….

And her right hand reached out, as if it belonged to someone else, picked up the cuff and slid it onto her left wrist.

It fit perfectly.

Elizabeth gaped. She had not intended to do that; she had not even wished to. It was as if an odd compulsion had come over her and taken control of her body, and now Ysmeina’s Cuff sat against her sleeve.

Or did it? She could feel the weight of it, but it was fading from her sight, the gleam of the silver diminishing into nothingness.

Tentatively she reached out to touch where it had lain. Her right fingers could feel the solidity and cool surface of it, just as her arm could sense the weight. But her eyes could see nothing.

It was magic beyond her understanding. She needed to get it back to the dragons, who at least had a chance of comprehending it. She closed the chest – somehow it seemed wrong to leave it lying open, after it had lain undisturbed for centuries – and made her way back across the littered floor to the staircase.

Round and round, carefully leaning against the wall lest she lose her footing on the slippery steps, past the first empty chamber and down to the doorway where the moor and Cerridwen awaited her.

Except that when she tried to step through, her body bounced back into the room behind her. She lost her balance and landed in a seated position on the hard stone floor.

And she could no longer hear the wild birds.

Fear tightened her chest. What had happened? She rose and tried again, more tentatively this time. Again, the doorway repelled her, although this time only enough to make her take a step backwards.

It would not let her leave.

Panicked, she tried punching through it, but it only drove her arm back. She took a deep breath and drew energy from the air, spinning it into a thread of Talent, and threw that at the door.

Nothing. She was trapped.

Could it be because she was wearing the cuff? Was this a spell to deter thieves? Her hands shaking with fear, she pulled it off and set the invisible weight on the step, where it promptly popped back into view. But she no longer cared about that, only finding her way to freedom.