Page 79 of Triumph at Pemberley

Lady Anne’s face seemed graven in stone. “Then, when I was seven and you were ten, it all changed. One day you were playing with me and helping me with my embroidery. Then you talked to our father about something. What did he say to you? You ran off into the woods afterwards, and when you came back, you had lost all interest in me.”

Lady Catherine’s brilliant smile dimmed, and anger flashed in her eyes. “He laughed at me. I asked to be sent off to school like George was. I was smarter than him and worked harder. I was going to be a mage, and I needed an education. He told me he had already arranged my marriage, and my husband-to-be did not want my mage powers developed, lest he have repulsion to me. I was worth nothing to our father except as a carrier of mage blood and the royal dowry he would receive for it. The only thing I needed to learn was how to run a household. Then he told me to go play with my dolls. When I shouted at him, he beat me with his cane. To teach me respect and obedience, he said.”

Displeasure twisted Lady Anne’s mouth. “And that was why you decided to be cruel, to kill all the mage children, to force your way into the royal family, even at the price of my sanity.”

“Only the part about becoming queen,” Lady Catherine said, as if this were a perfectly normal thing. “I did the rest because of my friend.”

“Your…friend?”

“My friend in the woods. I told you about him, long before that, and how he could do incredible magic.”

Lady Anne stilled. “I thought you were telling a story,” she said softly.

“No, he was my best friend. When I ran to him that day, miserable and aching from the beating, he listened to me. He could do nothing about going to school, but he promised to make me a mage. And he did.”

Lady Anne’s tongue touched her top lip. “How?”

Her sister sat up straight with a proud smile. “He awoke my mage powers, right then and there, earlier than anyone else’s. He gave me a special book about how to use my powers and showed me a place inside a tree to hide it, so no one could take it from me. And he took away my pain.”

Ice began to run down Darcy’s spine. He knew what must be coming.

“From the beating?” Lady Anne asked.

“Yes, that, and the shame, guilt, and fear. They were standing in my way, and he said I would be happier without them. Why should I try to be a good daughter or a well-behaved child when it would make no difference to my future? Arguing back only earned me a caning.”

For the first time Darcy spoke. “What did he ask in return?”

Lady Catherine laughed delightedly. “Why, nothing, except to let him take away the pain. He could not stand to see me miserable and afraid. He was my friend.”

Darcy glanced at his mother, but clearly she was beyond the ability to do anything apart from staying on her feet, and even then, she was swaying. He helped her into the small chair, the one she had refused at the beginning, before turning back to Lady Catherine.

“Did he ask you to kill the mage children?”

“No, he simply warned me about them. That each one, when they were old enough to come into their Talent, would drain my power. There is only so much Talent available, you see, so the more people who share it, the less any of us have. But I let you live, Annie, even though you stole some of my Talent, because I loved you.”

Did she expect thanks for sparing his mother? He dared not look at her, not when there was one more thing they had to know. “Your friend – what did he look like?”

Her eyes took on a misty look. “He was very tall and slender, with emerald green eyes. So very handsome! And he had a pet lynx.”

There truly could be no question, but he had to be certain. “Like this?” And he cast an illusion of the face of the High King of Faerie.

Her face lit up. “Oh, are you a friend of his, too? How lovely!”

Afterwards, Darcy could not have said how he had ended the conversation and helped his mother out of the room. But no sooner had the door closed behind them than his mother collapsed into his arms. His mother, who had barely touched him in all his life, who so rarely showed any emotion.

All because of Lady Catherine – and the Wicked King. Was there no end to the damage he caused? And he remained untouchable, no matter what horror he created. The dragons were right to curse his name every time they spoke it.

He held Lady Anne carefully, as if she might break if he pressed too hard. As if she had already broken, which just might be true. He asked the servant who had led them, “Is there a place where my mother could rest for a few minutes? We have had something of a shock.”

“Of course. This way.” He led them back into the highly decorated dragon section, down a corridor lined by complex mosaics and liquid silver sculptures of animal faces, through twists and turns.

Darcy’s mother stumbled despite his supporting arm. He was about to ask if there was nowhere nearer when they entered a vast chamber, one which he recalled well from his first, memorable visit to this Nest. It was the home of the Eldest.

The massive copper dragon crouched at the end of it, her enormous golden eyes fixed upon them. Her powerful aura carried concern.

The servant pulled up a chair, the same remarkable silver structure Darcy had once sat on, elaborately sculpted with tiny faces of animals and fae.

Darcy helped his mother lower herself into it, then turned back to the Eldest. “Forgive us. She has had an unpleasant shock.”