“I see it,” Elizabeth gasped, “All of it. The darkness is everywhere.”
“Then everywhere we shall meet it,” he said, calm and unwavering, “With our light, we shall meet it.”
And together, the four of them, they focused their light, not only on the ley line beneath their feet, buteverywhere.Along the shimmering pathways of England’s ancient magic, seeking out the wounds, the dying nodes. Elizabeth saw it all.
And they swept it with a will to heal. A gentle, yet irresistible infusion of pure healing light.
And where their woven light touched, the Blight receded. Dissolved. Vanished, like the darkness before the light of a new dawn. In that transcendent vision, they watched the darknessunravel across England. The golden ley lines blazed anew, and the land itself seemed to sigh in a final, shuddering release.
“Can you feel it?” Elizabeth said, a sense of awe filling her. “The land is drinking it in, like a parched desert.”
“It is like playing to a silent world,” replied Georgiana, her own voice filled with wonder, “and hearing it begin to sing in return.”
Even Wickham let out a shaky laugh. “By God. I never imagined magic could feel like like this.”
They stood there, in the heart of the reborn and now wonderfully alive quarry, their bodies trembling with fatigue and exhilaration. Here was a bond made whole. A testament to the power of forgiveness, of trust, of hope.
And of love.
“I can scarcely believe it,” Georgiana breathed, “Have we…?”
Darcy looked at Elizabeth, his eyes ablaze with an emotion too deeply felt for words.
“We have,” Elizabeth said, her voice choked with tears and an overwhelming joy.
They had done more than heal a single city; they had touched the very heart of England’s ancient magic, and commanded it to beat again. They felt that pulse as a golden wave surging through the ley lines, burning away the corruption and mending the land’s deepest wounds. The Blight was broken, its presence unmade.
It was over.
The light, against all odds, against all expectations, against all hope, had prevailed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The city already felt lighter upon their return. It was not a dramatic, miraculous transformation, but a hesitant unfurling of life. The oppressive, soul-crushing despair that had gripped the streets was lessened, replaced by the tentative sounds of a community beginning to stir. A wisp of smoke rose from a chimney, a shuttered window was thrown open. A small group of woman in the market square were sweeping away blighted dust. The air, too, tasted different. No longer did it hold the metallic tang of decay, but instead the clean scent of the nearby sea.
Two days were lost to a bone-deep exhaustion, a necessary recovery from their enormous magical expenditure. During that time, the city began to recover, a fragile process aided by the colonel, who threw himself into the practical work of organising relief with military efficiency.
Then on the third night, he informed them of his imminent departure.
“My regiment is congregating nearby,” he explained, “and my leave is at an end.”
“Your leave has proven most opportune in its timing,” Darcy observed mildly, “It has occurred to me to wonder whether your visit was a product of your own inclination, or a directive from another quarter.”
Elizabeth watched as a look of discomfiture crossed Colonel Fitzwilliam’s features.
“Let us merely say that the interests of all parties were well-served by my visit,” the colonel sidestepped smoothly, “We all serve the Crown, Darcy, by one means or another.”
“I see,” came Darcy’s response, a faint frost coating the words.
“And provide such excellent company while doing so,” Elizabeth added, “The Crown is fortunate indeed to have such an agreeable asset.” But she smiled at him when she spoke. Whatever the true purpose behind his extended visit, she had come to rely on the colonel’s easy charm, his ready wit, his often insightful observations. His departure would be a loss.
“Ah, but the company makes the duty a pleasure,” he replied.
“You will be sorely missed, Richard,” she said, “You have shouldered a great deal of the conversational burden in this house. I shall have to exert myself considerably more in your absence.”
“We will manage,” said Darcy, his voice gruff, but with an underlying note of affection as he glanced at his cousin.
The colonel’s eyes twinkled. “In such good society, I have never found the conversation to be a burden in the least.” He rose to his feet then. “I shall take my leave in the morning. But before I go,” and here he paused, his gaze shifting with a playful intensity, “A word of advice, cousin, if I may be so bold.”
