Page 93 of Triumph at Pemberley

Where was he? All he could see behind her was a ceiling and a vast quantity of black dragon. At least Gentiane was here.

“Jack, are you there? Do you know who I am?” Mrs. Hartung asked urgently, her face pale.

“Of course.” His voice rasped as if he had not used it in days, and his dry mouth tasted foul.

“Good. The last two days you did not. You were lost in the land.” Her voice hitched. “I asked Gentiane to restore your portrait to you. I did not know if it would work.”

He had never been lost so long before. A terrifying thought. “You may well have saved my life.” He tried to sit up, and his head spun dizzyingly.

She pushed him back with a firm hand, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Not yet. You have eaten nothing for nearly a week.”

“A week?” Good God, what had happened? The last thing he remembered was… “Richard. Did he make it?” It was more of a prayer than a question.

“Alive, and on his way to Pemberley to be healed by Coquelicot. From what I saw, she seemed his only chance. We think you exhausted yourself to keep him from dying.”

“Thank God.” He remembered all too well, how he had thrown himself over Richard to protect him from the dragonfire, and his horror at his cousin’s charred arms and face afterwards. He had poured every bit of healing he could into him, but it was still a miracle he was not dead. “What of the soldiers?”

Gentiane growled, “There were no other survivors. I found you and brought you here.”

No survivors. The ache stabbed deep inside him. And where was here? This time he only raised his head, and that cautiously. “Darcy House?” The ceiling and walls looked like the parlor, but all the furniture had been removed, no doubt to make room for Gentiane.

Mrs. Hartung said, “If I lift your shoulders, could you drink a little sugared tea?”

He must indeed have been starved, since sugared tea sounded like heaven. This time he let her do the work of sliding her arm under him and propping him up until he could hold the teacup in his trembling hands.

“Not too much,” she cautioned. “You can have more in a few minutes.”

It was almost embarrassing how comforting he found it to have her fuss over him. He had missed her these last weeks in Kent. And he needed her attention; he felt disconnected from everything except her face.

Disconnected. That was it. “The Bond!”

“What of it?”

He could not sense the earth.

It had to be there. He reached out again. At first he felt nothing, but slowly, the land spoke to him. Not with words, but with the image of a seed, resting under the soil, absorbing the rain, but not yet ready to take root. Then it pushed him away.

His Bond was waiting for him, but he needed to recover first. Except for one thing. “The French. Did they land? What are they doing? And those dragons?”

Mrs. Hartung looked up at Gentiane. Finally she said in a low voice, “Napoleon himself landed right after the dragon attack. He had his dragons flame Dover Castle, and then he took over the town. Beyond that, we have only rumors. There are reports of dragonfire in Kent, and companies of French soldiers marching towards London.”

Jack’s skin tingled, indicating a sending, but no one else was there, just the three of them. He looked from Mrs. Hartung to Gentiane. “You seem to have become acquainted.” Mrs. Hartung had known about Gentiane from the first, but he had never introduced them.

Gentiane said aloud, “I needed her assistance.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at Mrs. Hartung.

She shrugged helplessly, turning her eyes up to the black dragon.

“She wrote and sent a letter for me,” Gentiane grumbled. Almost reluctantly, he added, “She did well, though I bound her not to speak of it.”

“A letter?”

The dragon spoke in his mind, clearly not wanting to be overheard. I needed to warn the Nests of what I learned.

What did you learn? Gah, even the briefest sending exhausted him!

The dragon’s aura exuded dread. I will permit the woman to tell you. He reached out and touched his talon briefly to Mrs. Hartung’s cheek, and then transformed into a black falcon. Mrs. Hartung opened the window into the back garden for him.