The remnants of Darcy’s breakfast – a half-empty plate bearing the traces of ham and toast – lay partially obscuring the ornate compass rose in one corner. Beside it was a heavyporcelain cup, still steaming with coffee.
“It is a map of Derbyshire,” he confirmed, “I have just received a communications from the Arcane Office. Given our recent success, they have requested an immediate attempt at a more direct application of the Concordance. I have been considering potential sites this morning.”
Elizabeth helped herself to a modest selection of breakfast offerings before returning to stand by his shoulder.
She found him making a movement to roll up the map, perhaps to grant her the necessary space to partake of her meal without fear of inadvertently anointing the cartography with a stray drop of marmalade.
“There is no need for that, Mr Darcy,” she said, “I would like to hear your thoughts on the matter. You have formulated a plan, I presume.”
“A hypothesis,” he corrected, his gaze returning to the map. “The Arcane Office believes the primary North-South ley line, the one that nourishes this entire region, is most severely occluded in a section that runs through the High Peaks, not far from here. There is an ancient stone circle there which has reportedly fallen entirely dormant, its energies choked by the Blight. If we can cleanse that node, we may re-establish the flow of magical energy.”
He regarded her sombrely. “It may be exceedingly dangerous. The energies we will be attempting to wield are considerable. The risk of losing control is significant, and we are very new to this. Our combined abilities remain largely untested.”
“The risk of doing nothing is even greater,” she said. A lively twinkle entered her eye. “Are you not the man who professed to find the study of tangible earth properties so rewarding? I should think a direct confrontation with a corrupted ley line would be most engaging.”
The corner of Darcy’s mouth twitched. “I see you intend to hold my past pronouncements against me for the foreseeable future.”
“To discard them would be a terrible waste,” she said.
“Then we had best be on our way. Doubtless this venture will provide you with several new and unflattering additions to your collection.” He rolled up the map crisply. “I suggest we depart within the hour. You should dress warmly; the air in the Peaks is bracing, even in the milder seasons.”
The journey to the stone circle took them high into the rugged, windswept heart of Derbyshire. The landscape here was wilder and more desolate than anything Elizabeth had ever encountered. Great, grey tors of rock jutted from the land like bones, and the wind lashed at their cloaks and stung their faces. The signs of the Blight were more pronounced here. The heather was brown, the stunted trees gnarled and lifeless, their branches black against the sky. The air felt thin and depleted, its magical energies struggling for a pulse.
They left the carriage and proceeded on foot, Darcy leading the way with a determined stride. Elizabeth followed, her heart pounding with a mixture of apprehension and a sense of purpose. This was it. Their first true test.
The stone circle, when they finally reached it, was a depressing sight. It stood on a slight eminence, a ring of massive stones, clearly once a sacred place of immense power and significance. But now, the stones were dull, their surfaces covered in a creeping, unhealthy grey lichen. The ground beneath their feet seemed leached of all vitality.
“This is it,” Darcy said, his voice low, his expression grim as he surveyed the scene. “One of the primary hearts of Derbyshire’s magic. Now silenced.” He turned to Elizabeth, his eyes holding a desperate urgency. “Are you ready?”
Elizabeth took a deep breath, the thin air filling her lungs. “I am.”
They stood in the centre of the circle, the wind whipping their hair and clothes around them, the silence of the blighted land pressing in on them. Darcy cleared his throat.
“While we have managed the connection at a distance before,” he began, his voice carefully measured, “arcane theory suggests that a direct physical point of contact could significantly amplify the resonance.”
He held out a gloved hand, palm up. It was a small gesture, yet so freighted with unspoken magnitude that she found she could not move, her gaze fixed on his hand as she felt the thrum of his contained power. Then, setting aside all past grievances, she laid her hand in his.
The contact was a shock, and every bit as strange as she had imagined; the pressure of his fingers against hers a solid, foreign sensation. She was intensely aware of his close presence, of his large hand covering hers, of its unfamiliar weight and the startling warmth that pulsed through their gloves. This was the first time their hands had met not by the dictates of etiquette, but by deliberate choice. For a simple and wholly proper touch, it felt almost scandalously intimate.
She saw his gaze drop for the briefest of instants to their joined hands, some unreadable emotion crossing his features before he mastered it and locked his gaze on hers.
“As we did before,” he instructed, “Release your power. Do not try to control it, do not try to shape it. Simply unleash it, and trust me to guide it.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying to focus past the overwhelming sensation of his hand in hers, and sought the core of her magic. It rose within her, a surging, powerful sensation. She opened the floodgates, letting it pour forth, a torrent of elemental energy, into the cold heart of the stone circle.
She felt Darcy’s magic meet hers. His control was still there, precise, unyielding, but it felt less like a rigid constraint and more like a supportive framework, a guiding hand shaping her power into a focused force.
Together, they drove their combined energies into the blighted stones. It was an immense effort, draining them both. Elizabeth felt as if she were being consumed by a great fire, yet also as if she were a part of that fire, a conduit for a power far greater than herself. She could feel Darcy’s strength beside her, his will a steadfast foundation for their combined magic.
For what seemed like an eternity, they stood thus, two solitary figures in the desolate landscape, pouring their magic into the dying earth. The wind howled around them, the sky grew darker, and the air seemed to crackle with the immense pressure of the energies they had unleashed.
And then something began to change.
The stagnant air around them began to warm, to quicken, to fill with a new, vibrant energy. An almost inaudible hum began to emanate from the ancient stones, a sound like the distant drone of a thousand bees. The grey, lifeless lichen that coated their surfaces receded, revealing the true, warm, honey-coloured stone beneath. The stones themselves began to glow, pulsing with a faint golden light like a returning heartbeat.
Elizabeth opened her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. The change was delicate, yet undeniable. The heather at their feet, which had been brown and brittle, now showed tinges of green. The gnarled branches of the distant trees seemed less stark. A brave white flower, a hardy bloom she had not noticedbefore, had unfurled its petals near one of the newly glowing stones.
The land, which had felt so dead, now beat with a current of returning life.
