Page 6 of Triumph at Pemberley

He would swallow his pride and do the training. If his brother Jack could take on learning to handle a much vaster magical power, Darcy would do his part, too.

He gazed over at Elizabeth, letting his mind fill with thoughts of their coming together, of her fiery kisses kindling his body and spirit. Doing that intensified his magic because of their entwined Talents, even if he could only draw a little from her when she was not carrying his child.

Thinking of their passion had the side benefit of improving his mood, too.

With that thought, he flicked his hand and cast fire onto the wet grass.

Roaring flames leapt as high as his head, giving off unnatural, burning heat. Hurriedly he jumped back. Good Lord! It was not a normal fire, either. The heart of the blaze was blue, not yellow or orange.

How had he created such a bonfire?

Elizabeth was rubbing her arms, looking worried. “What did you do?” she asked in a small voice.

“I cast a flame, just like always.” But this was not what usually happened.

She shook her head. “Usually you gaze at the firewood and the fire starts from within it. This time something came from your hand, and it made my skin tingle, like it does during a thunderstorm.”

“It looked almost like a tiny bolt of lightning," Granny said slowly. “Not just a series of sparks. And that fire is hotter than any normal blaze.”

Darcy examined his hand. It looked completely unscathed. But the bonfire was burning even more fiercely, sending sparks towards the nearby trees. Hurriedly he sent his power into the earth and asked it to surround and bury the flames.

The ground under it sank by perhaps an inch or two, but no more. That would do nothing to contain it. Perhaps he should make it rain again. He gathered energy from the air to tug at a nearby cloud, but the power came to him only sluggishly.

Then Granny lifted her hand, and the fire went out as surely as if it had been smothered by wet blankets.

Of course it would be easy for her.

How could so much Talent be packed into the tiny body of a woman of ninety-four? No matter what he did, he would never match her abilities. He doubted anyone could. She seemed to have endless energy, too, while the magic he had just done left him with exhaustion prickling at his body.

“Well,” the old lady pronounced. “We will have to see what else this new Talent of yours can do. Could it damage metal or stone, do you suppose?”

He could not think clearly enough to respond.

Elizabeth came forward and took his arm. “That is quite enough use of your Talent for one day,” she said determinedly. “Even you have a point where you can overdraw your power.”

He had an odd desire to laugh. Of course, he was giddy. The classic sign of overusing his magic.

She was right; he had done too much. “I hate sugared tea,” he said. The standard remedy for magical exhaustion.

“Too bad. You will drink it anyway.” But she said it with such arch sweetness that he knew he would do it just to make her smile.

Elizabeth stepped carefully into the new Pemberley Nest. The carved cavern was more decorated now than on her first visit, with several sculptures and new mosaics paving the floor. It was still nothing to the elaborate artworks covering every surface at the centuries-old Dark Peak Nest, but the dragons were clearly taking the first steps to make this their home.

She followed Cerridwen deeper in, through the large chamber with decorated doors, and into a smaller one where she could already sense draconic impatience surging from Rana Akshaya. The ancient, powerful dragon from India who had established this Nest was waiting for them.

Elizabeth smothered a smile. Rana Akshaya’s autocratic ways were hardly surprising, after centuries of being the absolute ruler of her land in India, but it did not stop Elizabeth from being amused by her. Respectfully she inclined her head. “Eldest.”

“Companion Elizabeth.” Rana Akshaya gestured to a stone arch leading into an unadorned cave full of shadows. “I have built this archway for the Gate. You will open it here.” A typical absence of small talk, going straight to commands.

Elizabeth eyed the arch. “Here? Would not the empty moor be safer? If it goes wrong, this entire Nest could be destroyed.” Including all three of them, but that would be true on the moor, too.

Rana Akshaya stared down her enormous snout at Elizabeth. “It must be in a Nest. I have examined the foundations. Every Gate is in a Nest and tied into that Nest’s anchor. As for the arch, you said your book by the first Gate-opener mentioned an arch, and magic often follows form.”

“Iorweth also talked about using an Artifact, which is apparently long lost.” Elizabeth did not know why she bothered explaining it yet again, since dragons never forgot anything. Iorweth the Bold never said in his diaries what he used his special Artifact for, just that it helped him. For all she knew, it might have made it easier to herd sheep. Still, the rough drawing of it had shown an arch, so perhaps arches were somehow important.

It could not hurt to try. Nothing else had worked, after all. And she was not even certain she wanted to succeed.

But she had to make the attempt because of Cerridwen’s foresight. If Cerridwen said opening a Gate was the only way to prevent a massacre of mortals and dragons, she had little choice. Even if the last person who had opened a Gate had not survived the effort, nor had anyone within miles of him.