She bowed her head silently.
“May I see her?” he asked.
Elizabeth tipped back the swaddling cloth that half-covered the infant’s head. “Her name is Jane. For your brother and my sister. I was going to call her Jenny.”
Her face was impossibly tiny, smaller than a doll’s, pale and wrinkled. He could see her fighting for each rapid breath. “She is beautiful." Because she was. The most beautiful, precious thing he had ever seen, and they were going to lose her. Their little Jenny, the child of their love.
Elizabeth raised her tear-filled eyes to him. “Will you hold her and try to give her strength from the land? I tried it and it seemed to help her a little, but Frederica made me stop. She said I was giving too much.”
He would have happily opened a vein if it would have helped little Jenny. “Can you show me how to hold her?”
Shakily Elizabeth placed the baby in his arm. “Like that, so her head is supported.” Her voice caught.
She weighed almost nothing, like a wren, and now that she was pressed against his chest, he could feel even through the swaddling how hard she was working to breathe. Her skin was so thin he could see the veins through it, and his heart wanted to burst with love for his tiny, doomed daughter.
He grounded his feet on the floor, letting his Talent sink into the land. As it received him eagerly, he begged it in his head to help his daughter, the flesh of his flesh, the blood of his blood. The words he would have said in the ceremony to bond her to the land.
The power wound up around his legs, tingling through him. He laid his finger on Jenny’s cheek – how tiny it was in comparison! – and let thepower trickle through. Just a bit at first, fearful of hurting her with too much. He could feel the weight of it entering her.
He knew nothing of the healing arts, but desperation was a powerful instructor, so he told his power to make it easier for her to breathe. He felt his own lungs expanding and contracting, as he tried to give that strength to the baby. Rocking back and forth, his entire existence focused on the slight quick flutters of her chest.
Elizabeth asked tremulously, “Is her breathing a little better, do you think?”
“Perhaps.” Or it might be just his own desire speaking, and even then, he knew it was not enough. Her skin was still pale, almost blue. And Elizabeth looked so bereft, sitting there with empty arms. “Perhaps if you hold her, I could try to give her power with both hands.” Not that he wanted to give up his precious burden, not for a second.
“It is worth a try.” But there was no hope in her voice, and her tears flowed.
He managed to transfer little Jenny back to her, his hands wanting to linger on her tiny form. Then he put both forefingers on her face and resumed feeding her the power of the earth. He would give her everything he could. And now he could feel the subtle tang of Elizabeth’s Talent underneath his.
It was so terribly unfair, that all their love and all their Talent was not enough to save one tiny baby. He wanted to howl his pain to the sky, but all he could do was to try to treasure the few moments they had.
A rap at the door interrupted them. Who would dare interrupt this moment? Then a woman in full Indian regalia and a heavy veil sailed in without waiting for an invitation. It took Darcy a moment to recognize Rana Akshaya, the Indian mage he had last seen before his wedding. No, the Indiandragon– Elizabeth had mentioned that in France.
Rana Akshaya ignored his glare, her gaze firmly on Elizabeth. “Chandrika informs me your infant is unwell. Do you wish me to attempt to heal her?”
Could it be possible? A normal healing Talent was rarely useful for more than injuries and infections, but his mother had mentioned Rana Akshaya’s extraordinary powers.
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open in a gasp. “Would you? If you could do anything, I would be very glad of it.”
“Perhaps I can help her, and perhaps not. It depends upon the problem.” Her tone was completely neutral, as if she did not care one way or another, but Darcy was prepared to fall on his knees and beg if that would make a difference.
She came to the bedside, where little Jenny lay swaddled in Elizabeth’s arms, her face even more blue-tinged. Without a word, she peeled back the cloth to expose her entire head, revealing her sparse black hair. She cradled her tiny head in her talons, which looked huge in comparison.
Magic thickened the air, rough and flavored with cinnamon. At first Jenny’s infant face crumpled, as if she wanted to cry if only she could get enough air, the veins under her thin skin even more prominent. But she did not seem to be in pain. If anything, she seemed to relax a little.
Even if this healing only made her more comfortable, that would be something. Watching her struggle was devastating. Darcy’s lips moved in silent prayer, his eyes fixed on his daughter’s face.
Rana Akshaya straightened, lifting her hands from Jenny’s head. So quickly? Was there nothing she could do?
“That will help,” she announced. “It was a simple matter, a hole in the vessels of her heart. I repaired it and cleared her lungs. She will be very hungry and will need to sleep a great deal.”
And it was true. Jenny’s skin was turning pink, and suddenly she let a howl of protest, far louder than any sound that had come from her before. Elizabeth clutched her tightly, tears streaming down her face, clearly beyond the ability to speak.
Darcy did it for her. “I have no words to tell you how much this means to us. Your generosity does you great honor.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over Jenny’s squalling, the sweetest sound he had ever heard.
Rana Akshaya did not respond to him. Instead the mage – no, the dragon – studied Elizabeth. “Chandrika knows healings come at a price. She came to me, offering to return to my service for life if I helped your hatchling.”
Elizabeth’s teary eyes widened. “Chandrika did that? Oh.” She turned her eyes to little Jenny. pressing her lips to her forehead. “It was…good of her.”
