Of course. He must have looked like he was fleeing from the palace, and that was dangerous. “Fire in the palace! No one knows if the emperor is safe.” And he forced himself to chat for a minute with the Frenchman before setting off at a pace that he hoped looked relaxed.
But he might never relax again, not after this catastrophe.
Once he was a few streets away from the Tuileries, he increased his pace, following his carefully made escape plans in a daze. He went to the modest boarding house where he had taken a room the previous day for the sole purpose of leaving a change of clothes and an easily carried satchel of useful items. He struggled out of the tight formal coat he had worn for the emperor and into an outfit that would suit a common tradesman.
He hurried to the square from which the diligences departed, expecting to be stopped and seized at any moment. Using the new identity papers he had hidden away until now, he purchased a seat on the next coachto leave, one headed east. Not a helpful choice for him, since the Channel was to the northwest, but it might throw off any pursuit. At the first opportunity, he intended to switch to a less-trafficked line, where he would be less likely to encounter another Talent. His newpasseportdid not list him as a Talent, so running into anyone who experienced repulsion to him would risk immediate exposure.
He climbed into the open-air cabriolet section. The smell of smoke that still clung to his hair and skin would be too evident inside the closed carriage. At least the damp, chilly air meant he had it to himself. Over the tops of the nearby buildings, a wide plume of smoke rose from the Tuileries.
How much of the historic palace had he destroyed? How many people had died in the flames? And all of it for no reason. Had he only stopped to think of the significance of Napoleon changing into a falcon, he would have known better. But he had been desperate and disbelieving, so he had used the first tool that came to mind.
Fire was harmless to dragons. And unless there was some other unknown creature that could shift shapes to a falcon, Napoleon was a dragon.
His stomach lurched as the diligence swung into motion. And then there was nothing else he could do, no action he could take to make himself safe. All he could do was to sit there until the coachcame to a halt.
No. There was one thing he could do. He could test his connection to Pemberley, the one that Napoleon had somehow broken. Could he have destroyed it permanently? The horror of the very idea roiled his stomach. How had Napoleon managed to cut off Darcy’s blood tie? Dear God, had he somehow harmed Elizabeth when he did it?
He was almost afraid to try. Closing his eyes, he reached out to the land he loved.
And it answered. The oak grove, the clearing with the Dragon Stones, the moors and streams, all the power was there. And that meant Elizabeth and their child were safe, too.
But his relief was tempered by the full horror of the day. His mission had failed. Napoleon had escaped – and it was a worse disaster than any the War Office had ever imagined.
Chapter 21
Elizabeth thought the sunwould never set on this interminable day. Her heart had been in her throat since Darcy had pulled the power of Pemberley through her late that morning. She had felt it flowing, a constant stream of pulsating magic that went through her without touching her, flying invisibly to France to create illusions.
And then it had stopped, leaving her completely ignorant of the outcome. Had Darcy been captured – or worse? Had she somehow signed his death warrant by failing to give him enough power? She would not know if Napoleon had been killed until the news reached England, which could take days.
All she wanted to know was if Darcy was alive. And sunset, when the dragon scale became active, would provide the only answer she might get. Would she feel his presence, or would there be nothing there?
She could not bear to sit and wait, so she excused herself and headed outside. Frederica would have been happy to accompany her, of course, but it was easier to be alone. Anxiety ached in her throat as the sun approached the horizon. Would this be the night that she heard nothing?
The chill of the evening had set in, so she headed for the walled rose garden. She could sit on the marble bench under the pergola, but the soil called to her, asking for her Talent. She sent back the sensation of regret and the promise of more later; she could not deplete any of her energythat might be needed for the contact. But the land’s disappointment was palpable, so she tried to make up for it by kneeling in the dirt and working it with her fingertips – not at all magical, but at least it showed her attention.
And it distracted her a little from the frantic worry.
Then it came, the special tug with Darcy’s unique flavor, that sense of an oak grove in summer, and relief flooded her. He was still alive!
But then the tug intensified, dragging power through her, through their unborn child, just as it had earlier. Rivers of energy, all washing through her from the land, through Pemberley’s bond to its master. She dug her fingertips deep into the soil.
What was happening? This was even more than he had pulled through her before.
He had to survive. Desperate, she poured all her powers through their bond, begging the land to give her more.
The draw of magic abruptly stopped. A cry left her lips.
Then another slight tug, and his voice, faint with distance, just at the edge of her hearing. No, not words, but images, coming from him.
Napoleon, held fast by two men, a garrote around his neck. Then the garrote falling loose, empty, as the familiar form of a kestrel took the air; and Napoleon nowhere to be seen, the men who had been holding him staring at each other in disbelief.
He controlled my mind.It was Darcy’s voice.
Then the images faded, and she was alone, collapsed on the ground between two rosebushes, her mind spinning. Napoleon. Who had turned into a falcon.
Utterly impossible, and yet it explained everything.
His ability to find and control dragons, his uncanny knowledge of his enemy’s battle strategies, his strange magnetism that caused even those who disagreed with him to follow him. All possible for a powerful dragon who could shift forms to fly over a battlefield before the fighting started.
