Page 123 of Triumph at Pemberley

“Not for long.” He pulled a pistol from his belt, cocked it, and pointed it at her.

Then, with a look of shock, he dropped it, shaking his hand vigorously as if it had burnt him.

Darcy must have used his Talent to create a sensory illusion that the gun was hot, using the technique she had taught him from her Arabic books.

“Kill her,” Napoleon told the guard almost negligently.

A sharp weapon slammed into Elizabeth’s back, forcing a cry from her lips. The ground seemed to move underfoot, and she staggered. And something was suddenly burning in her side.

Then the knife struck her again, and she fell into the Gate.

Chapter 46

“Kill her.”

Darcy went cold at Napoleon’s words. Elizabeth’s body hid whatever weapon the guard had drawn, and he could not heat something he was unable to see. Desperate, he reached into the earth and made it roll under the soldier’s feet, making the man stagger.

Elizabeth arched forward with a guttural cry of pain.

No! Not his Elizabeth! His gut clenched as she staggered and stumbled.

Coquelicot! he cried in silent agony. Can you heal her?

Once I can reach her, but the mad dragon would stop me now.

And Elizabeth disappeared.

Darcy’s heart seemed to stop. Then, with a shock of relief, he realized Granny must have cast one of her illusions again, just as she had earlier. Someone would be able to tend to Elizabeth. He could only hope it would be enough. It had to be.

Part of him longed to run to where he had seen her last, but she would want him to keep fighting, no matter what. He steeled himself to put his feelings aside.

To make sure Napoleon suffered for what he had done to Elizabeth. Even if all their plans had failed, collapsing before his eyes. None of their remaining weapons could stop a mad dragon.

But he would try.

The guard strode to stand in front of Napoleon, his face white but his stance that of a man ready to fight to the death.

A dagger whistled past Darcy’s ear and buried itself in the soldier’s throat. The man grasped at it, and then he fell, gurgling, blood spouting out of his wound.

Darcy’s gorge rose as a vicious satisfaction filled him. The man deserved to die for what he had done to Elizabeth. One enemy down.

The French emperor drew his sword defensively, his gaze moving rapidly around the circle - more at the mortals than the dragons, if Darcy was not mistaken. The air suddenly grew heavy with magic, but nothing seemed to happen.

And then those terrifying, changeable eyes fixed on him. “Ah,” Napoleon said silkily. “You again. That explains a great deal.”

Suddenly all Darcy’s fear was gone, and all his uncertainty. Napoleon was here, and he would take care of everything. Darcy picked up his foot to step towards the emperor. To help him. To support him, as he should have all along.

No! roared Coquelicot inside his mind, and he felt her frantic appeal. Look at me instead!

Darcy halted, confused. His dragon needed him, so he turned to her, but Napoleon’s hold on his mind still dragged at him. He had to go to the emperor, yet he still wanted to care for Coquelicot. There was a way out of this entanglement; he remembered that.

And then he remembered what it was.

He drew invisibility upon himself, his earliest mage skill and still his best. Suddenly his mind was his own again – along with panic.

Which of the other humans was in his thrall now? Jasper? Granny? Frederica? Any of them could suddenly transform into Darcy’s enemy, and he would have no idea until a dagger sprouted from his throat.

They were doomed, all of them.