“Ihave encountered horrible men.” My skin crawled at the memory. “My last encounter with Mr. Elton was vile. That does not mean”—we reached a large wooden building, and Mr. Knightley opened the door for me—“that I can toss him over my shoulder.”
The Darcys looked up, and Harriet, red-eyed, rushed over. We embraced. Without gloves, the wool of her borrowed coat was scratchy against my palms. I rarely touched her clothes directly. It seemed profoundly intimate.
“Are you well?” Lizzy asked me. “We were worried that you would… react poorly to what we saw.”
“I see horrors every day,” I said. “I recover.”
“You see false horrors,” Mr. Darcy said.
“They are real to me.” Of course, their reality was in the moment, like nightmares. Afterward, I could comfort myself they were illusion. Today, a woman had truly died. My throat caught. Then I remembered something else. “Lizzy, were you hurt?”
“No,” she said dismissively. “Just… affected. A tremendous power stirred.”
I looked at Mr. Darcy and found him watching me. He looked quickly away. I remembered touching him and felt a blush rise.
We were in a modestly sized, empty schoolroom. Ten small chairs and desks formed two loose ovals. Papers with childish script were tacked on the wall, titled “When I Bind” and decorated with pencil drawings of fantastic draca.
Mr. Knightley strode down the aisle between the chairs, then back, his motion furious and his jaw corded. “That woman waswhipped,” he burst forth. “I attend the Freedom Society. I have seen the scars on escaped slaves. Their healing wounds. What barbarians do such acts?”
“She was no slave,” I said. “She was white.”
“Yes.” Mr. Knightley’s mouth twisted. “When I saw her injuries, that shocked me. Am I so despicable that I expect my kin to be beaten but am dismayed when a white woman is hurt?”
Mr. Darcy stepped into Mr. Knightley’s path and caught his shoulders so they faced each other. “I have seen you challenge injustice many times. You are only surprised because this was unexpected. Your anger has never depended on the color of a person’s skin.” Mr. Knightley sucked air through his teeth, then clasped Mr. Darcy’s shoulders in return. He nodded, and his furious tension diminished.
I heard voices in the next room, then a knock at the door. A woman in a good, practical dress, like a governess, stuck her head through. “Mr. Darcy, Mr. Tinsdale is here.”
A barrel-chested gentleman in a charcoal tailcoat and waistcoat rushed in. He had an aura of importance, somewhat undermined by overgrown eyebrows and a shock of disordered, straw hair.
His eyes went round when he saw Lizzy. “Mrs. Darcy! I heard a wyfe was burned. You cannot imagine my relief.” His gaze scanned the room and fixed on me, curious.
Mr. Darcy stepped forward. “Miss Woodhouse, may I present the Honorable Mr. Tinsdale. A member of Parliament.”
“At your service, madam,” Mr. Tinsdale said, his solid hand swallowing mine as he bowed. My curtsy was sober and suited for mourning.
Mr. Tinsdale rose quickly from his bow and gave his coat an agitated tug. “I cannot stay long. There is a riot at the docks and stories of witches battling with draca. The Darcy name is circulating. When the Council of War hears that another dangerous event occurred in Mrs. Darcy’s presence, they will call anemergency meeting. I must hurry there to prevent reckless decisions.” He dug his fingernails into his bushy eyebrows. “Wereyou there?”
“Yes,” Mr. Darcy said. “It was another attempt at assassination. By a wyfe bound to a bronze firedrake.”
Mr. Tinsdale drew a sharp breath. “The wyfe who sank theDapper.”
“I believe so. She was coerced. She had been terribly abused.” Mr. Darcy turned to Lizzy. “She said she could not kill you.”
“I heard her,” Lizzy said. “Despite her fear, she refused to attack me with her drake.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Darcy said. “Or perhaps shecouldnot attack. Draca perceive great wyves. Her drake may have rebelled. You were not alone. You stood with”—his eyes flicked between me and Mr. Tinsdale, then he finished—“all of us.”
“It was her choice,” Lizzy said. “She defied her captors and saved her true weapon to take her own life.” Lizzy lifted a small vial between her thumb and forefinger. “She drank from this. It reeks of sour orange and bitter almond. Crawler venom. I felt the filth of its potency. Her control of her drake became absolute… until she died, leaving her draca in an agony of remorse.”
“Crawler venom?” I said. “Would that not just kill her?” Foul crawlers were small, dangerous pests, like armored, multi-legged worms with stingers—a sting that was lethal.
Mr. Darcy answered, “A powerful wyfe can tolerate small doses of venom. It strengthens her control of draca. It also addicts her and destroys her mind. But this explains how she was able to compel her drake to attack the HMSDapper.”
Lizzy bent and carefully placed the vial on the floor by her feet. “I could have found her.”
“You must not blame yourself,” Mr. Tinsdale said. “No one could find one woman concealed in London.”
“A wyfe bound to adrake?” Lizzy gave a rough laugh. “I could find every drake in London within minutes. I needed only totry!” She stomped her boot, smashing the vial. Mr. Tinsdale looked very taken aback.
