Page 33 of Triumph at Pemberley

The membrane lowered over her gold-circled eyes, making them blur. “To the place where she left us, yes, but I could not see the tower. If it is invisible to you, there will be nothing but an empty moor.”

“Nevertheless, I wish to go.” It was the only lead he had, and somehow, some way, he had to get Elizabeth back.

The dragon turned her head away, avoiding his gaze. “You are not supposed to leave Pemberley,” she said miserably. “It is not safe. We could not have brought you to the Nest today without two dragons, and that was on our territory.”

“Do you think I care about French assassins when Elizabeth is in danger?” he demanded.

“Elizabeth cares about your safety,” Cerridwen said softly. “She would not want you to risk yourself.”

“She is not here to stop me!”

A coil of magic roiled around him. “But I am, and I know what she would expect me to do. I want her back, too, so I will help you reach her – but only if you take appropriate precautions. Otherwise I will stop you.”

His temper, so barely held in check, began to snap. “She could be dying at this minute, her life blood spilling out!”

“Do you think I do not know it?” Cerridwen’s raised voice rang off the walls of the Nest, echoing and re-echoing, shaking with agony. Smoke rose from her nostrils, and flame flickered between her pointed teeth. “Or that it was my fault? If the vision had not come to me, she never would have gone there!”

Darcy’s ears rang, his body reverberating with the sound. He had never heard a dragon shout before. It was a thing to make a man stop and listen. “I must go to her,” he said urgently.

“Then plan the precautions you know she would want you to take!”

Fine. He had to go back to Pemberley for food and supplies anyway. And then he would go after Elizabeth.

The last of the daylight had disappeared from the window slit some time ago, leaving Elizabeth in the dark with no sense of time passing. She had settled herself in the middle chamber because it had both a window and an intact roof, though wind sometimes whistled down the circular stairs from the upper chamber. With no furniture, she sat on the cold stone floor, bunching her skirts under her as a cushion. Why should she care if an invisible fae guard saw her ankles?

There was nothing to distract her from her fear, the chill in the air, and the increasing hollow emptiness in her stomach. She had eaten nothing since breakfast. How long did they plan to keep her here without feeding?

There was nothing left to lose. “I am hungry,” she said aloud. “Is it possible to have food?”

“I have no instructions to feed you,” a scratchy voice said.

What could convince the fae? “Mortals cannot survive without food. I will be no use to you if I am dead from hunger.” Perhaps the fae might not know it would take many days to starve.

This was met only by silence. Elizabeth laid her head back against the wall, the edges of the stone digging into her scalp.

“Have you anything to trade for food?” the fae asked.

Of course she did not; she had left with nothing. Her only jewelry was her wedding band, which she would never give up. She had trained briefly with Rana Akshaya that morning before they left for the Nest, and she could not wear anything but pure gold or silver for her practice, so her usual jewelry stayed at Pemberley.

That was also why she had chosen this dress with mother-of-pearl buttons, since it required no pins to stay closed. At first she had fought the modiste who insisted that buttons for ladies were all the fashion now. Elizabeth had never seen a dress with buttons in Meryton. They had all done perfectly well without them, whatever the style might be in London, but at least the style had proved useful for her training.

Buttons. Georgiana had said once that her lesser fae were fascinated by the seashell collection in the library.

It was worth a try. She touched the circular shape on her chest. “I have a button made from the shell of a strange sea creature from the South Seas, on the other side of the world, but that is worth more than mere food. It shimmers with all colors of the rainbow when the light falls upon it.”

Was she actually daring to bargain with a fae?

“Show it to me.” A greenish light, no larger than an apple, floated in the air before her, making her blink, and a small female lesser fae shimmered into view behind it. No more than three feet tall and spindly, in a long brown tunic tied with a surprisingly elaborate purple and silver sash. A mark of working in the royal household? Her clothes were not tattered like Georgiana’s lesser fae, but she looked hungrier.

Elizabeth snapped off the button and held it out on her open palm, trying not to tremble.

The fae leaned forward to examine it, head tilting from side to side. A pointed fingernail that extended a good inch beyond the spindly finger flipped over the button to show the other side. “What would you take for it?”

She thought quickly, back to the old stories about fae trickery. “Mortal food and drink enough for three days, produced by mortal hands in the mortal world, containing no poisons, spells, or magic. A blanket large enough to wrap myself in to stay warm, also not bespelled, and water enough for me to wash in, also not bespelled.” Had she covered all the possibilities for tricks? Was three days enough? If only she were not so tired and afraid!

“A fair trade. Bide a time.” And the fae shimmered out of view, followed by the greenish light.

Elizabeth closed her hand over the button, sending thoughts of gratitude to the modiste who had insisted upon them. And she had two more still sewn on that she could trade if necessary. With food and a blanket to keep her warm, she could hold on until help came.