Page 44 of Triumph at Pemberley

She opened the bag and poured some of its contents into her hand. Crumbled plum cake, if she was not mistaken, and none too clean. What a pity Cerridwen was not there! The dragon loved plum cake. She gave a shaky laugh. What was wrong with her, to be thinking of a dragon to share food that she would ordinarily have sent back to the kitchen as inedible?

Duty. This was what she had to be do when she overextended her Talent. Reluctantly she put a chunk of cake in her mouth and began to chew. She needed to recover her powers so she could reach out to Quickthorn and tell her she was safe. Not being able to talk to her dragon was like having her sight suddenly cut off. It was a good thing Roderick had no idea what she was up to, or he would be frantic.

She stayed there in the tent for what felt like hours. Not by her own choice; Wilson would not permit her to leave. And she needed the rest.

But she jumped to her feet when the tent flaps opened and four disheveled soldiers carried in a limp Jack and set him on the cot. “What happened to him?” she demanded. His chest was moving, so he must still be breathing.

“No idea, ma’am,” said the tallest soldier. “He was just standing there, staring off into nothing the way he’d been doing all day, and then he collapsed. Surgeon said he couldn’t do anything for him, since he had no wounds.”

Had Jack become lost in the land again, or was this magical exhaustion? It usually did not happen to land mages, but the King’s Bond might be different. If only one of the dragons were here, they might be able to help. But she still lacked the power to send to them.

She touched his hand and extended her senses. She had little healing ability and no strength in reserve, but there was no one else. Jack was in there, she could tell that much.

Back when he first felt the Bond, he had spent days sitting on the ground. Perhaps that helped. “Pray move him to the ground, where he can feel the earth. That is where he gets his strength.” It could not hurt.

They looked at her strangely, but obeyed.

Gentiane’s voice spoke in her head. Get them out of there so I can come in.

She thought quickly. “A healer is coming, but he needs to be alone with Captain Jack. He says the captain will need sugary tea to recover. I need you to find some.” That would likely take a while in the encampment. “And what has happened in the battle?”

They broke into grins. “We won!” the tall soldier cried. “We actually won! No enemy left, not one. Captain Jack did it!”

Frederica had never seen Gentiane’s bird form, but who else could this black falcon be? Not to mention that he stood on Jack’s chest. “Will he live?” she asked hesitantly. If she had overextended, Jack had done ten times more.

“There is nothing wrong with him except exhaustion.” The crackling voice sounded like Gentiane, too, distorted by the beak. “I cannot channel to him in this form, but he will recover.”

She released the breath she had been holding. “I also overused my Talent and cannot send to Quickthorn. Would you be so generous as to let her know I am alive?” Gentiane was not the friendliest of dragons, though Jack claimed he had been different before his Nest had been destroyed.

“She would know if you were dead.” But he must have done something, for he added, “I told her you are well. Send to her when you can.”

“I will.” If she ever made it through this endless day.

Chapter 18

Georgiana shifted from one foot to the other in Lady Amelia’s sitting room. The old woman had told her many times to call her Granny, but it still felt like a dangerous presumption. Still, there was no one else she could turn to today. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”

Lady Amelia sighed, seeming to shake herself out of a reverie. “Not at all. I was simply missing my home in Wales. I had been packed up to leave when Lizzy disappeared, but I cannot go until we know what happened.”

Awkwardly Georgiana said, “It must be hard to be so far from the rest of your family.” She stepped forward and held out this letter. “I found this on my pillow. It purports to be from my brother.”

Lady Amelia snatched at it. “How did it get there?”

“No one knows. One of the High King’s lesser fae could have slipped past the wards. My fae servants are scouring the house for any trace of one.”

“Is it in your brother’s hand?”

Was this supposed to be an interrogation? “It appears to be.”

Lady Amelia’s lips pursed. “I can sense no magic on it.”

“Nor can my lesser fae, but I would like to ask one of the dragons. They might see something we do not.” Making such a demand made her feel a bit wobbly, so she pretended she was speaking to one of her fae. They liked it when she seemed strong and in charge, and it was gradually becoming more natural and less like play-acting.

The older woman nodded. “A good idea. I have asked Sycamore to join us. What do you plan to do about it?”

“I must go, obviously, but I want to be prepared. At least with some ideas of what to do.”

“Why?” The question snapped out, unexpectedly sharp.