Beneath my closed lids, a fog of cloud appeared, streaming fast as he descended. The fog vanished to reveal the lake, colored cold and looking round as a huge wheel when viewed from so high.
My human ears heard the servants’ excited shouts as they spotted Yuánchi. Already his eyes had fixed on the cave mouth. At least I chose this before Darcy approached near enough to be in danger.
The view through Yuánchi’s eyes jolted crazily. His silver binding yanked desperately at my heart. Then his full senses slammed into me, blowing my fragile human perceptions aside like a leaf.
I was plummeting, driven down by colossal strength, my wings frozen with numbing black and crushed to my sides. The underside of Fènnù’s black wing flashed past my eyes, then the black scales of her side. Pain exploded as her claws tore me, cutting scale and muscle, but her grip was turning me also, purposefully, a spider turning a helpless fly.
The turning stopped with a massive foot before my face. The claws spread and struck. My eyes tore away.
Then there was not even the refuge of blackness. Sight became shrieking hues of pain, and I was falling, falling.
47
WYFE OF HEALING
EMMA
Harriet moaned,her head cradled in my lap.
When I had laid my fingers on the sides of her neck, the poisons in her body became vivid, a stench of corruption filling my nostrils—a filth that strangled her nerves and froze her heart. Then the golden radiance of the wyvern had poured through me to strengthen her. To fend off death.
But her blood was still flooded with vile toxin. There were other injuries, too. Her back was bloodied, her ankle bruised. I let the radiance flow, but cautiously, strengthening only her breath and heart. I needed a reserve to cure Lizzy—how much was impossible to know, but if I spent it all, I would be trading one life for another.
My effort was like trickling water into a raging fire. Did I dare try to remove the poisons, instead of just fending them off…
Harriet’s eyes roved beneath her eyelids. The dagger tied in her bound hands twitched. “I will slay the devil…”
“It is a dream,” I whispered.
The American shoved me to the floor and hauled Harriet to sitting with a grunt, then slung her over his shoulder like a bag of grain.
“I must stay with her!” I cried.
“Then come,” Mr. Tinsdale said. He hauled my hand roughly, his face ruddy with excitement. “You have done it!”
He dragged me out of the cave, carelessly kicking through the gear on the floor. My elbow scraped the rock, tearing cloth as he pushed me out into the day. When he looked up, his face lit with triumph.
Higher than the hilltops, trailing a thick column of night-black smoke, a confused tangle of wings and limbs fell from the sky. The wings were both scarlet and black—the dragons, grappling in midair. They broke apart, Fènnù’s wings spreading smoothly as she banked away, but Yuánchi continued to tumble, staining the air with thinning coal-black coils. At last, his wings opened, awkward and bent, and his fall angled into a curved, blind plunge toward Pemberley House. He fell short, an unchecked crash into the forest that felled trees. The sound reached us seconds later, a massive shattering of wood muted by distance.
Wind pummeled me, driving my dirty skirt out like a flag, and Fènnù landed in the lake shallows in front of us. Inky drops rained from the edges of her wings. Where they struck the lake water, black fog curled. Hissing ice congealed.
Her massive head swung toward Harriet, lying at the American’s feet. Mr. Tinsdale recoiled, shoving me in front of him like a shield. “Is she controlled?”
“The darkie has her locked tight,” the American said, staring boldly up at the dragon. “That lady of yours did some trick. She’s gonna last a while more.”
The shred of hope I had gained by helping Harriet turned sour. This was the purpose of his whispers—to bring down Yuánchi. I looked at the flattened stretch of trees. Unmoving scarlet was visible amongst the scattered trunks, but I sensed a living presence. Not dead.
“You have made me a king,” Mr. Tinsdale crooned, his breath hot on my ear. Then he shouted, “Destroy the house. Raze the forests. Kill everyone.”
The American bent and whispered.
LIZZY
Through the seething pain,I heard Mary’s voice, intent and focused. “Lizzy, come back. It was not you who fell. Your binding—” A broken bonegrated as a wing twitched, and her voice drowned in torment, then returned “…follow the song.”
Music teased the threads of my mangled thoughts apart—a woman’s voice and the piping harmonies of a chorus of flutes. My tangle of senses separated. The violent tremors of my silver binding stilled. The shattering pain distanced.
I opened my eyes. Mary was leaning over me, her gaze intent behind her spectacles. Georgiana knelt beside her, singing softly, tears on her cheeks. All around us, small song draca were perched, singing a peculiar chorus. One even sat on Mary’s shoulder, peering down as intently as Mary.
