“The mages are saying they must have expended too much effort doing magic over water. Whatever their reasons, I am grateful for it. At least, we have a moment to recuperate and re-organize. Hopefully, when they attack again, we won’t be taken by surprise.”
Elizabeth snorted. “If there is anything I am sure of, it is that they will find a way to surprise us.”
“We can only do our best,” said the colonel. “Unfortunately, right now, all the mages are too drained to rebuild our defenses, so I’m just grateful for the reprieve.”
A bleak expression crossed his face, but he quickly hid it and put his hand out to her.
“If you have the strength to get up and lean on me, I will take you to Darcy. He is in the fort, recuperating, but at least you will be there when he awakens.”
As they walked up to the beach to Dymchurch Redoubt, Elizabeth looked around for the other mages. “Where is everyone?”
“Either wounded or tending to the wounded,” said the colonel. “My father was injured when he overused his magic. His hands are badly burnt, and he has lost his ability to do magic.”
She was dismayed. “Permanently?”
“It is too soon to know, but he has taken it very much to heart.”
A large tent had been set up in the central parade. Beds had been brought down, but mostly the injured were on blankets on the floor. Miss Bingley, who was the only Healer they had, was moving from one patient to another.
As she passed the first bed, Elizabeth looked at the occupant. He had a bandage wrapped around his whole face, including his eyes. It took her a moment to register that it was her father.
“Papa!” Shocked, she sat on the edge of the bed. “Papa, what happened!”
“I was foolish enough to slip and fall, and part of the ice wall fell onto my face,” he rasped, his voice sounding like a growl. “I think my nose is broken.”
It did not explain why his eyes were covering. He was trying to play down the injury.
“Oh, Papa!” Cautiously, she touched his arm. “Are you in pain?”
“Miss Bingley controlled the pain, and one of the local Healers did the bandaging,” he gasped. “She has been working hard.”
“Don’t try to talk, Papa.”
With a quick nod, he turned his head away. “See to the others,” he wheezed. “Matlock.”
She stood up, trying not to give in to dejection. Colonel Fitzwilliam was leaning against a wall, waiting for her. He pointed at a bed in the far corner.
“Darcy’s there, behind that column. Let me know if you need anything.”
He bowed and left her to make her way through the wounded.
Darcy awoke with his lungs raw and his throat thick with salt, but his body was pulsating with a strange warmth. Healing magic. He turned his head to find Elizabeth and his cousin Richard standing over him.
“You’re awake!” Her hand moved across his brow in a caress, her smile broad. “How are you feeling?”
“Too much salt,” he said. “I feel like I’ve been salted and hung like a ham.” He wanted to be light-hearted, but no one laughed.
“It will take some time for the healing to take hold,” said Richard, “but you should make a full recovery.”
Then he remembered why his mouth was foul with salt water. “And Lady Alice?”
“We did not find her,” said Elizabeth. “Redmond is heartbroken.”
A lump rose up in Darcy’s throat. She had been a difficult person, but he still felt her loss.
Darcy looked around the tent. “Why is everyone here? Why are we not fighting the French? I must return to the beach.”
He swung his legs over the side of the bed.
