She waited, her heart pounding an erratic rhythm in her chest. A small, desperate part of her almost childishly hoped that they would laugh. That the Lord Magister’s stern expression would crack into a smile, that Arch-Chancellor Pembroke would chuckle, that even Mr Darcy might allow a glimmer of humour to touch his eyes, and they would declare it all a most elaborate lark.
But the hush that followed lacked any mirth, crushing that foolish hope.
Arch-Chancellor Pembroke leaned forward, his intelligent eyes fixed on her, missing none of her veiled impertinence.
“The marriage, as you say, Miss Bennet, is not the entirety of the solution, nor is it a simple, symbolic act. It is but thebeginning. The forging of your disparate magics into a new resonance. We believe it will be a conduit of unimaginable power. Yet once the Concordance is formed, you will need tolearn,together, and understand,together, how to wield this combined power. The marriage is merely the crucible; the true and arduous work begins thereafter.”
Lord Magister Theron added severely, “It will require immense effort and cooperation. Your ability to function as a unified magical entity is paramount to the survival of England.”
Together. To function as a unified entity. To act as one.
To be bound not just by law, but by magic, to the one man in all of England she had so instantly and thoroughly disliked. The very notion was almost unbearable.
But looking at the grave, unyielding faces of the Lord Magister and the Arch-Chancellor, Elizabeth knew that this was no elaborate cruel prank. This was real. This was happening.
Her magic, which had been simmering with anxiety and suppressed panic, now erupted within her. The candles on the table flared, their flames leaping towards the ceiling. The ink-stained ink bottle on the table rattled and vibrated, then shot across the room, shattering against the far stone wall into a dozen pieces. Outside, as if in direct sympathy with her inner turmoil, a furious gust of wind howled, rattling the windowpanes in their frames like angry spirits.
Before anyone else could react, before even the Lord Magister could raise a hand, Mr Darcy intervened. His magic, which had been pulsing with his own barely suppressed irritation, intensified for a breath, then,sharpened.
The wildly leaping candle flames were instantly subdued, shrinking back to almost timid points of light, as if doused by an invisible force. The furious wind outside was just as effortlessly dampened, as abruptly and as unnaturally as it had risen. The sudden stillness he imposed was almost more shocking than her outburst had been.
The restoration of order was so quick and so effortless, it was almost more insulting than a grand display of counter-magicwould have been. He hadn’t even looked directly at the chaos she had created; his stern gaze had remained on the Lord Magister.
Only then did Mr Darcy finally speak. His tone held a quiet severity. “My lord, I trust you will permit me to question the merit of this arrangement. I should think there are a great many mages in England whose abilities would be of greater service.”
“There are none, Mr Darcy,” Lord Magister Theron said, “The magic of the land itself has chosen. The Concordance is specific, and its requirements are immutable. Your lineage, Mr Darcy, and your inherent elemental control – so aptly, if somewhat dramatically, demonstrated just now – and Miss Bennet’s intuitive resonance are the precise polarities required. Bound together, they will create a power, a synergy, that England has not seen, has notneeded, in a thousand years. Apart, you are simply two strong, gifted individuals. Powerful, yes. But insufficient, wholly insufficient, to the monumental task that lies before us.”
Elizabeth felt the words of protest rise in her throat. The medieval nature of the proposal stunned her. To be forced into a union against her will, all because of some dusty, ancient text? She wanted to ask if the Arcane Office always conducted its affairs through coercion and the complete abrogation of personal choice.
As if sensing her thoughts, Lord Magister Theron said, with sorrow in his voice, “It is for survival, Miss Bennet. The survival of everything we know and everything we cherish. The Blight will not wait for polite debate, for personal preference, or for the niceties of courtship.”
Elizabeth looked at Mr Darcy. He was looking back at her with an expression of equal distaste. In that silent moment of shared, absolute dismay, they were, perhaps for the very first time, in perfect, unwilling, and miserable agreement.
The silence in the hall stretched, taut and heavy as a hangman’s rope, after Lord Magister Theron’s pronouncement. Elizabeth felt as though the air had been pressed from her lungs.
Married. ToMr Darcy.Though she could turn the words over a thousand times in her mind, they would not form themselves into any sensible arrangement.
Mr Bennet finally spoke, his voice betraying only a mild curiosity. “Forgive my ignorance, but is it now the custom to arrange matches without the usual preliminaries? I believe the father of the blushing bride usually has a role to play.”
The Lord Magister said, with a note of warning in his voice, “This is not a matter of custom, Mr Bennet. It is a matter of England’s survival. Your consent is not required.”
The answer was no surprise, though it was still a fresh disappointment. But in an arrangement where the groom’s proposal had been dispensed with, and the bride’s own consent was an irrelevance, a father’s permission would be considered just another piece of sentimental clutter in the path of their duty.
“Ah,” Mr Bennet said, leaning back slightly, as if receiving a piece of interesting news. “So it is the custom now. How modern of you.” He then gestured vaguely at the space separating Mr Darcy and Elizabeth. “I only mention it because their acquaintance thus far can best be described as barely existent. And what little acquaintance they do possess…” he trailed off, perhaps realising there was no need for elaboration on their mutual dislike, which was currently bristling from both parties. “A fine basis for a marriage, I am sure.”
The Arch-Chancellor stirred. “As the Lord Magister has said, the magic of the Concordance does not care for personal inclination of romantic suitability.”
“A relief for all involved. England, in particular,” Mr Bennet sighed. “Very well. Since we are to dispense with the niceties of courtship and consent, perhaps we can move directly to the less sentimental, but no less essential, matters. A marriage, even one ordained by ancient magic and decreed by Arcane Office, involves certain financial arrangements.”
To speak of dowries and settlements at such a moment felt inappropriate beyond the pale, a descent into the most vulgar concerns of the marriage market. It was, she thought with no little embarrassment, precisely the sort of calculation her mother might have revelled in, but to hear it from her father was startling.
She saw the clenching about Mr Darcy’s jaw, the way his features seemed to set into even haughtier lines. The implication was clear: this open, almost grasping, discussion of his fortune, this seeking of a portion of his considerable wealth, was a gross insult.
Yet, Mr Bennet, far from being cowed by the younger man’s clear displeasure, stood his ground. His eyes were now unnervingly bright, almost challenging, as he stared down the Master of Pemberley.
Goading him, Elizabeth realised. Her father was artfully prodding at Mr Darcy’s pride. He was not negotiating for her future security; he was attempting something far more daring. If Mr Darcy, in his offended dignity, could be provoked to repudiate not just the marriage, but the authority of the Arcane Office that decreed it…then perhaps, just perhaps, this whole absurd affair might yet be brought to an end.
For a wild moment, she looked to Mr Darcy, hoping his pride would be her unexpected ally, that he would sooner face ruinthan be forced into such a connection. But one look at his face, at the resigned set of his features, and the hope died. He was a prisoner of his own honour. A man bound by a code so rigid it demanded he sacrifice his own will. He would despise this union, but he would not defy a duty to his country.
