Darcy nodded to Wilkins. The valet fired, a fine shot that thunked right into the bale of hay.
“That was a real bullet. Now he will simply hold the gun while I make the illusion happen. It will look different, of course, since I cannot make the gun kick back, but I only need it to seem convincing at a distance.” Darcy gathered energy from the air, plaited it together in his mind, and cast it out.
And almost stumbled at the explosion beside him. No, not an explosion, just the sound of one.
Elizabeth clapped her hands over her ears. “That was far too loud!” she said. “Did you intend that?”
“No. It should have sounded no different.” At least he was discovering this now, not when he was standing in front of the French Emperor. “The dragon magic seems to be having a bigger effect on my Talent than I expected. Let me try again.”
He gestured to Wilkins to lift the rifle again. This time he reduced the energy he put into the cast. A little too quiet now, but better. At least the smoke had come out beautifully. Odd that the dragon magic had more influence on his sound illusions than on the visual ones, but he was glad of it. People did not tend to question whether gunfire was real.
Or perhaps he noticed it less with his visual illusions because he had been practicing them daily as the dragon magic built up in him. This change was more sudden.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and called to his valet. “Reload and fire again, if you please.”
Elizabeth seemed to have recovered from her surprise. “This is fascinating. I had no idea you could do this.”
“I practiced it often at Netherfield, but not since then. The sound of gunfire comes easily to me – it is familiar and not complicated. I cannot cast a believable human voice, or even a cat’s meow.”
“Is that what you were doing when you and Bingley went out hunting? Everyone wondered if he was a terrible shot, since it seemed like there was far more shooting than was required to kill a few birds.”
“Gossiping, my love? Well, guilty as charged. And poor Bingley – he is actually a crack shot, better than I am. At least when he is allowed to use a gun that is loaded, unlike at Netherfield. Here, watch again.”
Wilkins pulled the trigger, and the crack of the rifle split the air.
Darcy cast again, a better effort this time, despite using less of his Talent than usual. A single shot, and then a barrage of illusory gunfire, with smoke rising from each one. Like an attack that might distract guards. The air currents made it harder, getting the smoke to linger just long enough, but it was a creditable effort.
“What do you think?” he asked Elizabeth.
“I would be convinced,” she said. “Does it feel different than it used to?”
“Without question. Before I could manage no more than three separate shots.” And this had been at least a dozen. “I wonder what other surprises your dragon magic has in store for me.”
But no surprise could be as miraculous as the joy he felt when Elizabeth beamed at him.
Chapter 11
They returned to thehouse in time for Darcy’s meeting with his steward. Elizabeth settled herself in the library with her Arabic book on magery. There was still one segment she did not understand.
She had not even finished a page of it when a maid came in with a message. “Mr. Darcy requests your presence in his study, madam.”
Foreboding washed over her, echoing through her with a sense of horror. Her shoulders tightened. Darcy’s meeting should have taken at least an hour, and he never sent for her, instead preferring to join her wherever she might be. He would only do this if he wanted to ensure they had privacy, even for that first moment when she saw his face.
Which meant his face would be showing something. The time for his mission must have come.
She tried to swallow, but there was a lump in her throat that wanted to choke her. She needed to do her duty, to act as if nothing was wrong. Forcing back the ready tears that fought to spring into her eyes, she pasted a smile on her face as she set her book aside. “Very well.”
It was not as if this was a surprise. They had known it was coming very soon. But it was hard not to feel as if everything had changed, as if each step she took was bringing her closer to her doom.
Elizabeth knew the second that she reached the study that she was not wrong. Darcy’s face sported new lines tugging at the corners of his eyes, even though he stood as proudly as ever.
She would not make him say it. Closing the door behind her, she asked, “When must you leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
“So soon?” The words escaped her.
The corner of his mouth quirked. “It is not my choice. Time is of the essence, they say.”
