“And Captain Wickham,” she began.
Darcy began to shake his head before the name had fully left her lips, an instinctual rejection hardening his features. “Elizabeth, no.”
“…his magic is largely untrained, like mine. But he possesses — ”
“Surely not,” he cut in, his voice tight with the history of animosity. “To entrust him with even a fraction of this responsibility would be an act of lunacy.”
“I beg you will grant me a moment longer, William.” The request was quiet, yet it halted him. He stopped, his nostrilsflared. The silence in the room was charged as he waited for her to conclude her thought.
“Captain Wickham possesses an intrinsic connection with the land, and a meaningful knowledge of the Blight’s corruptions. He could be a valuable asset.”
Darcy expelled an incredulous breath. “You speak of his knowledge of darkness as if it were a virtue. His character is fundamentally unsuited to such a cause. He acts only from self-interest and cannot be trusted.”
She met his argument without flinching. “Then explain to me why he is still in Newcastle. If he were the man you believe him to be, the man who acts only for himself, would he not have fled this blighted city weeks ago? Would he not have abandoned his regiment, abandoned Georgiana, and sought his own safety and comfort elsewhere? Instead, he remained. And when he saw there was no hope left, he went to Pemberley and threw himself upon your mercy — a thing I know must have been immensely galling to him — all to plead for aid for this city.”
“Every action you have described serves his own purpose. You are well aware of my suspicions.”
“I have not forgotten your warning, nor the reasons for it,” she said earnestly, “But that is not what I saw tonight. You see artifice in his actions, but I believe we have both also seen a man changed by circumstance. Tonight, I saw a man who spoke of his past with regret.”
“A practiced performance, Elizabeth. Nothing more.”
“Then you must tell me how I am to distinguish his performance from your own,” she replied, “for I confess I heard the same note of regret in both your voices.”
Darcy set his jaw grimly and looked away.
“And there is another point. In our last confrontation with the Blight, when I drew upon the magic of the land…”
Elizabeth watched as a shadow passed through his eyes, the agony and terror of the Blight’s chokehold. When his eyes met hers again, the bitter disbelief was gone, replaced by the memory of shared peril.
“I recall it well,” he said, in a gentler tone.
“That power I touched was a primal, earthen thing,” she pressed, “And the Blight is a sickness of the land. You yourself have said Captain Wickham possesses a strong natural affinity for earth magic, a connection stronger and more instinctual than my own. Would that not be an invaluable asset?”
When he still hesitated, his expression fraught with years of old grievances and deeply held reservations, she made her final appeal. “Your caution towards Captain Wickham is based on justified animosity and suspicion, and I cannot argue against it with rationality. Yet my senses tell me a different truth. Georgiana’s heart tells her the same. I am asking you to set aside what you know, and trust what we feel. He is essential to this fight.”
“You ask me to set aside my misgivings and place my trust in Wickham,” he said at last, the argument in his voice finally giving way to weariness, “That is no small thing to ask.”
“I know it is a great deal to ask, William, but every part of my being tells me this is the way. To defeat the Blight, we need more than just our sheer power. We need healing. And we need the land on our side. Our magic presently lacks these key elements.”
There was a long silence as he considered her words.
“Am I to understand,” he said finally, “that you propose not merely that they fight alongside us, but that we might somehow integrate their power with our own? While the strategic merit of such a force is undeniable, the concept itself is impossible. It stands in direct opposition to all we know of arcane law. One cannot wield another’s power. The only reason I can...thatwecan...is the Concordance. The binding ritual created a conduitbetween us that defies all known principles. What is it you propose we do? Hold another such ceremony?” A bitter humour touched his lips. “I must confess, I have little appetite for the notion of being magically wed to Wickham. Or, indeed, to my own sister. I believe the Arcane Office would have apoplexy.”
Elizabeth huffed, a small sound of exasperation that was both fond and impatient. “Do not be so preposterous. I am not suggesting we wed everyone.” She leaned forward, her expression earnest. “But you have apprehended my meaning correctly; it is my belief that our success depends upon our ability to truly unite our strengths.”
“And by what mechanism do you propose such a unification? The Concordance is the instrument that allows me to perceive your power and wield it as an extension of my own. That connection does not extend to my sister, nor, I assure you, to Wickham.”
“You insist you cannot wield their power, and perhaps that is so. But are you certain you have never influenced it, however unconsciously?” she said.
He looked at her, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“Think back to your childhood. When Captain Wickham was building his... his ‘fungal growths’ of mud. You told us your frost stabilised them. Was that a conscious act of magical assistance, a deliberate choice to use ice to engage with his efforts?”
“It was,” said Darcy, and then he frowned, thinking.
“Or was it an unconscious reaction? Perhaps your own innate sense of disciplined magic instinctively reaching to contain his, even then?”
“I suppose I never examined the impulse carefully,” he said quietly, “I cannot be certain of the particulars.”
