Darcy gave a tiny tug on his land Talent. The power of Pemberley rose to meet him. Good. He needed to be ready. And the dragon Artifact hung on his chest, safely invisible, ready for his touch. It would do him little good here in this crowd, where there was no clear path. But if a chance arose, he would be prepared to seize it.
The next time the chamberlain entered, he called out Velaudin’s name. Darcy made his way across to him and entered behind the would-be assassins. Into the imperial presence.
Every eye was on Napoleon, including Darcy’s. He felt like the needle in a compass, twirling to face true north. It was almost as if the other people in the room faded into the background, the courtiers and secretaries and soldiers.
Only the emperor stood out as an individual, despite standing off to one side of the salon in front of the fireplace instead of sitting in the great chair under a canopy – not a throne, but close to it. He was dark-haired and no more than average height, shorter than most of the guards around him, with features more suited to a merchant than an emperor. He should not have looked majestic, but he exuded an intense magnetism.
The sight of Velaudin making his bow shocked Darcy out of his strange fascination. He hurriedly followed suit, and as Darcy’s gaze moved away from Napoleon to the elaborate carpet underfoot, he realized his mistake. He should have been examining the room, not the man.
As he straightened, he tried to remedy his error. Two large windows to his left – thank heavens! A door in the middle of the opposite wall, presumably leading to Napoleon’s private apartments, given the two guards standing in front of it. And many people – they were outnumbered by far.
Velaudin was speaking, and Darcy dragged his attention to him. “ThisEnglishmanclaims he has permission to try to contact my cousin’s daughter regarding an inheritance. He has a safe-conduct, but it may be forged. We cannot be too careful of our enemies.”
One of the secretaries handed Napoleon a paper which he glanced at. The emperor said, “It all seems in order.” His words were quick and businesslike, as if he found the matter uninteresting.
Then he turned to Darcy, his eyes fastening on him, studying him closely. “Have you anything to say for yourself, M. Harcourt?”
A frisson went down Darcy’s spine. Something was odd about this, but what? Perhaps it was just that the emperor’s face was so familiar from engravings and caricatures. “Your Imperial Majesty, my only interest in France is to fulfill my stepmother’s commission to find her long-lost daughter. I sent all the paperwork through the embassy several months ago.” Why had Velaudin not given him the signal to produce his illusions?
Napoleon was still studying him, with eyes that seemed almost like molten metal. “You interest me, M. Harcourt,” said the emperor. “I wish to know more of you. Step forward.”
Darcy’s heart pounded, but he obeyed. Two of the guards stood on either side of him, prepared to seize him if he should make an untoward move. “Your Imperial Majesty honors me.”
“You are a landed Talent, I am told.”
“Your Imperial Majesty is well informed.”
Napoleon’s nostrils flared. “Have you ever been tested for magery?”
“No, Your Imperial Majesty.” It was even true. His mother had always known he had that ability. But how had Napoleon thought to ask that question? He was not a mage or even a Talent, or Darcy’s skin would be burning.
“What do you know of the fae?”
This was unexpected. Cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. Why did the duc not give the damned signal? “I am told by those with the Sight that there are lesser fae on my estate. And I have heard stories, of course.”
“And dragons?” Muffled gasps came from around the room.
“Dragons? I have read about the attacks in Austria, of course.” His heart thudded. Someone had betrayed him. How could Napoleon possibly know otherwise? Suddenly it was harder to breathe, as if the air itself had grown heavier, warm and full of a rich scent redolent of spices.
“You know more of dragons than that, Englishman. You wear their work around your neck.”
How could Napoleon see his pendant?
Then, inexplicably, he relaxed. It did not matter, did it? The emperor did not seem displeased, only curious, and who would not be? There was no reason to distrust him. He was so interested in what Darcy had to say. Perhaps he should simply tell him everything. How could he be emperor if he was not also wise? Relief filled him; yes, this was the answer.
Darcy was so tired, though. What had happened to all his energy? At least he had his bond to Pemberley to draw on. He pulled at it, sucking in all the energy he could, through his child in Elizabeth’s womb.
Elizabeth. Her presence was there in the power of Pemberley, yanking him back to himself. To the reality that Napoleon was his enemy – and had somehow taken control of his mind.
Which still wanted desperately to believe anything the French Emperor said.
He was the rope in a tug o’war, with Napoleon pulling one way and Elizabeth anchoring him at the other, swaying back and forth. His breath rasped in his throat as the room seemed to close in on him. The only thing he could see was the emperor’s eyes.
“You will answer my question.” It was the voice of trust, of honor, of every hope Darcy had ever held.
No. He was here for a reason. But those mysterious eyes drained his resolve. He had to get away from them, this very instant. Panic made his skin clammy.
Then old instinct took over, the instinct that had kept him out of trouble so often as a child. He retreated into invisibility.
