Page 129 of Triumph at Pemberley

Then he noticed Granny’s fingers were moving.

It was another illusion. Granny had hidden them. Bless the old lady! And Frederica was standing behind her, clearly pulling energy from the air in preparation for…something.

Darcy let out his breath. Would an illusion trick the Wicked King, or could he see through it as Napoleon had? Could a mortal mage’s efforts stand up to the King of Faerie?

With a scowl, the Wicked King snapped his fingers. The two collared lynxes showed their sharp teeth. He pointed to the spot where Georgiana had been. “Find her. Do not damage her too much yet. Just teach her a lesson.”

Lynxes hunted by scent, which no illusion could hide.

But the collared lynxes halted near where Georgiana had been, making small whining sounds and pacing back and forth. The guards moved in that direction, too, but their weapons hung loose, as if they had forgotten their duties.

A third lynx emerged from the forest and raced toward the Wicked King, no doubt to protect him while the others were preoccupied with their odd dance around Georgiana.

Then it sprang on the Faerie King, claws flashing, and tackled him to the ground. A blood-curdling scream echoed through the clearing – until it stopped abruptly as the lynx tore into his throat. Blood fountained, followed by the horrifying sound of rending flesh.

The Faerie King lay still again, but the lynx kept savaging his body with claws and teeth, tearing at his torso. A nightmarish butchering, and suddenly Darcy knew what was happening.

This lynx had no collar. It was not one of the Wicked King’s trusted guards, but Fire Eyes, his own familiar.

The Wicked King would not have perceived a threat from a charging lynx, since all of them served him. But Fire Eyes was loyal only to Darcy.

He had never seen his lynx brutally attack like this, though. But could this kill the Wicked King when an iron knife to the heart had failed?

Finally the lynx stopped his wild rampage and lifted his head, blood covering his muzzle and his paws. He held a piece of dripping meat in his mouth. Then he trotted to Darcy and placed it proudly in front of him.

It was the Wicked King’s heart, and still beating.

Jasper raced forward and stabbed at it. Or he tried to, but the point of his sword bounced off. Pulling out a knife, he hacked at it, to no avail.

Fire magic. Burn. You must destroy, the lynx said in his mind. Before he grows a new one.

The Wicked King could grow a new heart?

There must be a way to get the power he needed. He reached out to Coquelicot, but she had closed her mind. No help there.

His entwined Talent! Since Jenny was born, he could usually only get a thin trickle from Elizabeth. Could it be enough? Could he risk exhausting her store and the dangerous consequences? He stared into her beloved face. What would she want him to do?

She would tell him to do it.

Desperate, he sought out her Talent, praying he would not take too much. But she had told him stopping Napoleon was worth her life, and she despised the Wicked King equally. The risk was his, too. Overusing his magery to create fire could kill him.

It did not matter.

He could sense Elizabeth’s surprise as he tugged on her magic. No distress, though – she was pushing her Talent towards him, drawing it from the powerful earth of Pemberley. She moved forward to stand beside him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

The power began to flow into him. Not a trickle, but a flood.

Hurry! urged the lynx.

Darcy had to get this right. There would be no second chances. He had to use every tool, especially the one Granny had taught him to make his Talent more powerful. He gazed down at Elizabeth with all the love in his heart, the memories of their passionate lovemaking, the amazing child they had made together, her wit, charm, and courage. The feelings that would intensify his magic, now when he needed it the most.

Then he flicked his wrist toward the beating heart and cast.

A blinding flash of light came from his fingers, and blue-violet flames engulfed the beating heart. Darcy stepped back as the fire grew higher and sparks began to fly. If they went any further, the trees would burn.

Georgiana’s voice called out, “My fae! Do not let the fire spread!”

Dust rose from the ground just beyond the flames as invisible feet stamped out sparks and vigorously scuffed away the flammable grass, leaving a wide ring of bare dirt. Then small buckets began to float through the clearing, dumping water over the cleared earth.