“It is Scottish Gaelic,” I said. He passed it back with an elevated eyebrow, and I resumed, “Before preparing to control the dragon, their captives are tested on an easier task: controlling a common draca. That ‘testing’ is the brutality Miss Bathurst described to us: feigned rewards, vicious punishments, and drug-enforced stupor. Miss Rees was their strongest captive wyfe, so she was taught to use the dagger to control Fènnù. Miss Bathurst did not receive that training; she was sent to the ball to assault Lizzy and to cause panic. But she heard the instructions. The dagger’s blade has an inscription revealed when wetted by a wyfe’s blood. A song that establishes a connection to the dragon.”
Other than their revolted expressions, Lizzy and Lord Wellington offered no comment. I had a sour taste in my own throat and needed a steadying breath before advancing a topic. “To raise Fènnù, Miss Rees carried a huge dose of venom to swallow once she had the dagger in her possession.”
“The venom boosts a wyfe’s power,” Lizzy said. “That is how Lydia used it. Even with the dagger, I am sure they need it. A dragon’s mind is unimaginably strong.”
“You would know,” I acknowledged. “I deduced it was required because the dose inflicts a severe cost. Miss Bathurst said even the doses necessary to control common draca killed wyves in days. Her memories are clouded, but she believes this occurred twice, forcing the abduction of yet more women. I think that,once a wyfe takes the huge doses required to control Fènnù, she cannot survive long.”
“Lydia Bennet took the venom,” Lord Wellington said. “She did not die in days.”
Lizzy’s response was quiet. “Lydia was no ordinary wyfe. I battled both her and the wyves at the ball. Lydia was far stronger.”
“Because she was your sister,” Lord Wellington said. His gaze found mine. “Miss Bennet, you avoided my earlier question. I must ask directly. What is your strength?”
“Reading Gaelic,” I answered. “And irritating lords. It depends upon my mood.”
He grunted—perhaps he laughed—then he shrugged. “If wyves do not survive long, that explains the gap in dragon attacks. After Fènnù rose, there were raids on the fleet, then on the royal residences. But in less than a day, the black dragon vanished. The French and American invaders at Brighton fought conventionally. Even with our regular army trapped in Spain, we had mustered the militia and could have cast them back. Then yesterday, the black dragon returned.” His jaw corded. “I have an account from a militia lieutenant who survived. His first combat. It reads like the end of the world.” He squared the knuckles of his fist against the table, then pressed until his fingers turned white. “Can we rely on that gap each time?”
“It is impossible to predict,” I said. “This gap was due to insufficient strong wyves. They lost two at the ball, and their replacement wyfe was not yet… tested. She must have become ready. I do not know if they have others to follow her.”
Lord Wellington tapped a small, curled piece of paper, a message that had been carried by bird. “Yesterday, the enemy controlled Brighton, Canterbury, and Portsmouth. They could be halfway to London today. What if they collect wyves from those cities?”
My stomach twisted. “That is a vile thought. You may judge the French army’s morals, but the brutality of slavers has no limits. The man who punishes the captive wyves speaks like an American. You have seen the marks of his handiwork. It is rank torture.”
Lizzy was flushed. “We must get the dagger back. This is evil, and it is my fault. Think of the nightmare for those women.”
“For those women and many more,” Lord Wellington said. “Without the dagger, England will lose this war, and swiftly. Tinsdale is an open traitor. Bonapartehas declared Tinsdale king of England—a vassal king who swears loyalty to France, and only for those regions he subdues. And even though Tinsdale is odious and dishonored, there are demonstrations supporting him in London. His agents post lies throughout the city: that England’s monarchs feed on the blood of infants, and that France’s war is a divine crusade to liberate Catholics imprisoned by English devil-worshippers. I do not know who he expects to convince with such falsehoods.”
“More will believe than you think,” I said. “England’s oppression fosters rebellion. Catholics are one of many minorities—”
“Mary, stop,” Lizzy muttered. I looked at her, surprised—less for being scolded than for the weakness of her reprimand.
Lord Wellington stomped to his feet and glared southward as if anger could spy an enemy two hundred miles distant. “I willnotbe defeated on English soil. The black dragon must be removed from the field of battle, so we must retrieve the dagger. Darcy and I have almost completed Pemberley’s security. When that plan is done, I will depart south to have swifter command.” He turned gravely to Lizzy. “Mrs. Darcy, the soldiers I leave here will be straw in a storm if our enemy discovers the royal family. Only your dragon can stop Fènnù. It is no exaggeration that England’s fate relies on you. If His Highness is killed, Tinsdale’s claim to the throne becomes uncomfortably close to the truth. England’s crown has been taken through blood and assassination before.”
Lizzy shook her head doubtfully. “Yuánchi cannot overcome Fènnù.”
“You drove him away from London.”
“Yuánchi was severely injured.”
“I saw Yuánchi’s breath rip the heavens. The power was unimaginable. Fènnù must have been as injured.”
Lizzy did not answer. It was unlike her to abandon a debate; her response should be that Fènnù could not have been injured as the attacks on the royal residences came afterward.
Instead, she said, “We need the dagger but not because it is a weapon. It is a cure.”
Lord Wellington arched an eyebrow. “A cure for what?”
“For the damage to Fènnù’s mind. Yuánchi calls it ‘the fracture.’ Thus far I have only hints of how to proceed, but Pemberley has the largest collection of draca lore in England. I hope to learn more.”
Lord Wellington clearly held Lizzy in high regard as he did not challengethat exceedingly vague explanation. He said only, “What would be the effect of curing Fènnù?”
“She would no longer fight in this war.”
His answer was deliberate. “I do not yet have a battle plan to defeat a dragon. My priority must be retrieving the dagger. But when we regain the dagger, rendering Fènnù unable to fight is ill-advised.”
Lizzy sat unmoving and silent—she must have guessed his plan—but I exclaimed, “You cannot mean tousethe dagger!”
“Our navy is weakened, the remnants scattered,” Lord Wellington said. “Our army is stranded across the channel, and our militia is crushed and reeling. France has a ruthless and powerful ally in America’s slave states. I need strength to cast the enemy from our shores.”
