The wyves of war have the strongest call. Among those wyves, you are the most powerful I have known.
“So this is a dalliance? To escape boredom, you bound a novelty wyfe? Is this a habit?”
No dragon before has bound outside their purpose.Yuánchi’s muzzle emerged from the night.Elizabeth Darcy Bennet. Child of the Lake. You burn with anger. You reek of shame. None of these are just feelings.
“They feel just to me!” I cried. “You have peered inside my head and given an excellent summary.”
Nothing has changed. You are a great wyfe and bound to a dragon. The love of your marriage is strong.
“That is what this means to you. A way to spy on my human passions!” An icy tear scraped down my cheek.
Stabbing with words will not infuriate me, or shame me, or drive me away. Draca minds are not like yours. We see what is, not what we wish. I have no curtains you can tear away to reveal painful truths.
I blew a wordless syllable, half gasp, half unarticulated curse. “That makes you most unsatisfying for arguing.”
I have been told that.His head tilted, eyes shining.Do you recall these words: ‘No archaic verse rules me. My destiny is my own.’
“I said that to you. When we bound, and you asked if I was the wyfe of war.”
The Child of the Lake is old and wise. Your destiny is your own. But you choose for more than yourself. Your choices bind me.
The wild swings of my feelings diminished like an exhausted pendulum. Finally, I hmphed. “I am irritated that I am no longer angry.” I rethought that. “Lessangry.” Yuánchi huffed his laughter. “What does this mean for Emma?”
She will marry, and bind, and become whole, and be the wyfe of healing. More than that, no one can know.
“She does not need to bind with you to be a great wyfe?”
All great wyves bind. Few bind dragons.
“So, therearemore dragons?”
Would it not be stranger if there were only one?
11
HANDSOME, CLEVER, AND RICH
EMMA
The door closed,sealing me in the walls of Chathford, but my soul stayed in the night, a giddy leaf riding a mighty scarlet ocean. Every step I had taken toward the creature thrilled me. That siren still called, vital and intoxicating, but forbidden. Lost.
Lizzy’s young maid, Lucy, curtsied. “Ma’am. May I help with your coat?”
Only long practice hid my turmoil. “I do not wish to take you from your mistress’s tasks.”
“It’s no bother, ma’am. Mrs. Darcy is no work at all!”
“How nice.” The scarlet surged, flooded my lungs, ebbed. Lucy raised an impatient eyebrow.
I said, “Can you keep a secret?”
Lucy’s face flushed with excitement. “She showed you! Oh, I knew she would. You are so pretty, he must like you. He’s the most amazing thing alive!”
“He is very wonderful. But this is another secret.” Lucy grew a proud inch, and I smiled at her. “I play a silly game. I do not like to see my winter clothes while they come off. Will you help me?”
She gave a dubious nod, and I closed my eyes. Quick fingers replaced my leather gloves with cotton, then undid clasps and silk ties on my front. My heavy pelisse slipped away. Layers of scarlet seemed to sheet away with it.
The touches stopped. “My bonnet,” I said through tight teeth.
