Page 130 of Triumph at Pemberley

Darcy focused on the center of the fire. Could it destroy the heart which had been impervious to Jasper’s weapons? The flames were already dying down, turning first to red, then the usual yellow flickers. Then they faded completely.

Leaving a pile of glowing cinders.

A dozen fae voices cried desperately, “Scatter the ashes! Scatter the ashes! Now!”

Darcy looked down at his gloveless hands. The remains of the fire were still smoking. “A shovel! I need a shovel!” he shouted.

Frederica said briskly, “This is mine to fix, I think.” She cast a whirlwind towards Darcy, a fierce wind that tore at his sleeves and hair as it sucked up the scant remains of the Wicked King’s heart.

Then the whirlwind floated up, still spinning, and disappeared over the treetops, winding its way over the woods of Pemberley.

“Thank you,” he said through a dry mouth. “Your control was astonishing.”

Frederica nodded an acknowledgment. “Glad to help, though I hope I never see another lynx attack.” She jerked her chin towards the Gate. “And look at that! Ick!”

The bloody remains of the Wicked King’s body were melting away into a fleshy crimson puddle.

Darcy had eyes only for Elizabeth. “Are you well?” he asked urgently. “Did I draw too much power from you?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. It came easily.”

Around them, lesser fae were popping into sight, all shapes and sizes of strange creatures. They fell to their knees in a ring around Georgiana, many of them touching their foreheads to the ground. Their cheers were in some strange language, a chant that vibrated and harmonized until it became a song of triumph.

The Wicked King’s soldiers now stood at attention in a semi-circle behind Georgiana like an honor guard. A High Fae knight, his hand on the hilt of his sword, was at her shoulder, and Darcy recognized Lyren of Everdale, the fae who had sworn loyalty to Georgiana after being defeated by Jasper.

Georgiana’s gaze was fixed on Darcy, her expression pained. Of course she must be distressed; she had stabbed someone. Georgiana, who had always been shy and gentle before the fae and the dragons had come into her life.

He ought to go to her, but something held him back, something in her look. It was strange; she almost seemed taller than before. Were her cheeks thinner, too?

And her ears were elongating and growing pointed.

Before his eyes, Georgiana was slowly shifting from the sister he knew into a strange creature, her eyes brightening to an inhuman emerald green. Her hair was changing, too, from her well-arranged knot into golden curls hanging down to her waist. She twitched her hand, and her human clothes were gone, replaced by a sparkling silver sheath in an unknown style. And the two ruby-collared lynxes took guard positions in front of her, just as they had with the Wicked King.

But there was something of his sister about her – the shape of her lips was unchanged, as was that slight twitch of her eyebrows when she was worried. And she still wore the little silver locket he had given her for her sixteenth birthday, even if it was half-hidden under a heavy jeweled chain.

She turned to her cheering fae, speaking to them in a language he could not understand. Her voice had altered, too, bell-like and with a commanding resonance. Yet he could still hear the familiar rhythm of her speech, even in this strange tongue.

Several of her lesser fae went scurrying off in different directions, and then they all scattered, leaving her standing there alone. The two collared lynxes settled in beside her.

Fire Eyes sat beside Darcy, carefully licking his paw and washing the Wicked King’s blood from his face.

Elizabeth's hand wrapped around his. “Is that Georgiana?” she whispered. “Or should we flee?”

“I wish I knew.” Bile rose in his throat. Georgiana had said she had a fae form when she visited Faerie, but he had never seen it.

But if there was even a chance she was still his sister, he would support her. He forced himself to step towards her, stopping just a few feet in front of her. Behind him, Elizabeth gasped.

“Fitzwilliam,” the fae Georgiana said.

Surely no other High Fae would ever call him that. His heart wanted to knock out of his chest. “Who are you?” he asked. And could he trust her answer?

She gave a sad smile. “I was your sister Georgiana, but once the High King died by my hand, I succeeded to his power. It destroyed my mortal body, leaving only my fae self.” There was a note of apology in her voice, a touch of the sister he had known. “I am now the High Queen of Faerie.”

He forced an answer out past the pain. “Does that mean you are no longer my sister?”

“I have her memories, and sworn vows of blood brotherhood cannot so easily be disposed of. Still, I can never return to Pemberley, nor live in the mortal world. I must take my throne in Faerie.”

“Will I ever see you again?” He did not want to lose her.