The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Smugglers. A kidnapping. A fire-breathing fairy dragon? The Blue Order is falling apart at the seams.

After months in Bath mentoring Dragon Keepers and Friends, Dragon Sage Elizabeth Darcy actually anticipates traveling to London for the Keeper’s Cotillion. Which says a great deal considering the she-dragons who make up the Cotillion board would very much like to show the Sage her proper place.

The she-dragons, though, are no match for what Sir Fitzwilliam Darcy finds waiting for him in London. Threats to the Order on every side, and Lord Matlock demands he keep them secret from Elizabeth. No one keeps secrets from Elizabeth.

In the meantime, Anne and Frederick Wentworth arrive in London with hopes of finally being accepted in good Blue Order society, unaware of the burgeoning maelstrom about to engulf them.

Darcy manages to keep matters under control until a fairy-dragon’s prank unleashes sinister forces who perpetrate an unthinkable crime that could spell the end of the Pendragon Accords and usher in a new age of dragon war.

Can Elizabeth and Darcy, with the Wentworths’ help, restore balance to the Blue Order before the dragons decide to take matters into their own talons and right the wrongs themselves?

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A heavy, warm hand weighed on her shoulder, shaking her firmly enough to dislodge the fading dream from her head. Botheration! That one seemed worth remembering.

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Vaguely warm, rosy streaks of morning sunlight slipped past the drawn burgundy velvet curtains to play across the plush dark leather squabs as the coach rocked and bounced over the road in time with the horses’ clip-clop.

Oh, yes, the carriage. They had left the inn at dawn—it must be at least nine o’clock, now. So, they should be in London.

Darcy had insisted they not push through last night, but rather turn in early and get a solid night’s rest before arriving in town. At least as solid a night’s rest as one got whilst traveling with an infant, who still was not apt to sleep through the night. And a very young tatzelwurm, who had only recently conquered her extended hatching hunger.

Thank heavens for Nanny, whose need for uninterrupted sleep was far less than her own. Even so, after the last several months in Bath, the dear drake might yet decide to hibernate for six months to catch up on her rest. No one would blame her.

Elizabeth pushed herself upright. Everything smelt of Darcy’s sandalwood soap and shaving oil. Of course it did. She had been lying—quite comfortably—with her head in his lap. “How long?”

Stiff neck, shoulders, back, everything, despite the excellent springs and generous squabs. Precisely why Papa detested travel even when his health had permitted it.

Darcy slid the curtains open several inches. She blinked against the morning brightness and shivered. Even with the sun through the side glass, the coach was a touch cold, especially after having been cuddled up close to him.

The white ironwork fairy dragon ‘cage,’ mostly covered by its blue quilted cozy, swung gently on the hook opposite the door. April balanced on the swing, twittering. “Perhaps you will now believe us when we insist you have been working too hard.” She fluttered out and perched on Elizabeth’s knees, scratchy toes piercing the grey-blue wool of her pelisse.

A sunbeam caught the tiny fairy dragon’s blue feather-scales just so. She sparkled like a little gem as she presented her chin for a scratch. Her soft hide was still vaguely warm from her hot-brick-heated ‘cage.’

“I seem to remember you singing a great deal. Perhaps that might have had something to do with my excessive slumber.” Elizabeth yawned into her hands.

“You slept, he did not.” April pointed her wing at Darcy. “What does that tell you?”

“There was a very great deal to be done, what with Twelfth Night and trying to take leave of Bath.”

“Every dragon there must have called upon you, twice.” Darcy’s lips pressed into that hard, straight line that was not a frown but might as well be.

“Cornwall is quite the exception to the rule. He will always resent the part you played in denying him the gold that Kellynch purloined from the Merchant Royal.”

“Thankfully, the rest of the Blue Order Council and even the Brenin himself are satisfied with the outcome of the court proceedings. Cornwall was in violation of so many laws, it could have gone very badly against him.” She stretched to dissipate a shudder that would have disturbed April.

Just how narrowly had they averted disaster at that special court? Best not dwell on it just now.

“Not to minimize your outstanding success, my dear, but I hope our stay in London is not nearly so interesting.” Darcy shook his head a bit, his dark hair falling just a bit into his face. Now they were back in town, he would need to see his favorite barber soon. The man he saw in Bath had hardly deserved the title of barber.

“On that we shall agree. I hope to apply myself to sleeping late, eating biscuits, and attending teas and parties with the other ladies of my rank.”

“There are no other ladies of your rank,” April murmured under her breath as she cleaned between her long toes.

While that was only true in part, the isolation it suggested was not pleasant to consider.

“Has there been any word from Nanny’s coach?” Elizabeth pulled the curtains fully open and peered through the side glass, catching a glimpse of the black carriage, curtains tightly drawn, following close behind them.

“Your hatchling seems very happy to travel with the little wyrmling. It is as though her purr is as soporific as my song.”

“Junior keeper, if you please.” Darcy cleared his throat and covered his ears lest April’s ear nip catch him unawares. He had acquired that habit very soon after coming into April’s acquaintance. “I confess, I find it odd that our daughter, not even walking yet, travels with not one, but two companion dragons. You must grant it is very unconventional.”

“I am convinced children would come into their hearing sooner if exposed to dragons at an earlier age.” Elizabeth harrumphed, her hackles rising. Had they not settled this matter months ago?

“The Order might have a point, though. Children do pose a great risk of exposing the Order, especially if one is not certain whether they can hear or not.”

“The Gardiner children have been well-versed in the dangers of exposing the secrets of dragonkind.”

“But they are considerably older than Anne, and were identified as hearing before they were regularly exposed to dragons. Rustle avoided their company until it had been established.”

“I do not question your decisions regarding our daughter. There is no doubt she is as exceptional as her mother. But I fear the ladies of the Order might not be as open to such ideas.” He ran his fist along the edge of his jaw.

“They will just have to harden themselves to the idea that they do not know everything—”

Why did he have to bring her up? She was nearly as exasperating as her husband’s sister, the honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh! That name, that family still left her clenching her teeth and biting her tongue. “And what do I care for her opinions? She is not an officer of the Order.”

“Some courtesy is required, as her husband is Chancellor of the Order, to whom even you have to answer. Not to mention Cownt Matlock is, technically, her Dragon Mate. And he has done us a great favor by walking Pemberley back to London for us.”

Botheration! He was right. Mama had taught her better manners than to even permit such untoward thoughts.

“Forgive me. I am a bit out of temper this morning. Perhaps I am in need of a bit of rest.” She closed her eyes and leaned back into the soft squabs. A touch of a headache pulsed just behind her eyes.

So many hours spent reading and writing late into the night. So many dragons to meet. So many questions from Keeper and dragon and Friend alike, all needing answers. Even at the inns they stayed in, all run by members of the Order, minor dragons and their Friends had all but lined up to greet them and seek her advice.

Most of the questions had been simple, even banal: advice for talon rot, bad teeth and scale mites; the management of pucks’ hoards; territorial disputes between fairy dragon harems; hunting rights, rights of way. But there were just so many of them.

All the more reason to get those monographs written and distributed into the hands of Dragon Friends as soon as possible.

“You are working again.” Darcy tapped her knee with his fingertips, his voice low and thoughtful.

“Have you considered my suggestion? Apply to the Order for a secretary to assist you. I know there are several apprentice scribes, human and drake, that Lady Astrid has deemed ready to become journeymen.”

“I just prefer to do things myself.” She leaned back and sighed. “I suppose I now know why Father fought so long against such help.”

April twittered something disagreeable and Darcy muttered a dissenting sound. He knew better than to actually form words—those she could always hear.

“But I shall learn from Papa’s stubbornness. After we have recovered from this journey, I will speak to our esteemed Scribe myself.”

He offered a warm nod of approval that ended well short of gloating at his success. At least he was not insufferable when he was right.

The coach stopped in the mews behind the Darcy House, near the little walled garden just beyond the terrace house’s back door. Shadows still covered nearly all of the mews’ space—the sun only reached there after noon. Still, the private stillness of the familiar carriage house and small courtyard welcomed her.

The driver let down the steps with an echoing, metallic clank and opened the door. Crisp air flooded in, carrying with it all the unique London scents: coal smoke, the Thames, a particular mix of dragon musk different to that in the country. In a few days it would all fade into the background, but for now, each breeze would remind her they were in the city now.

He would be conducting a sweep of the area, checking for anything that did not meet with his approval. How protective he had become towards Elizabeth, Anne, April and even little Pemberley, and even more so since May had hatched. He and the wyrmling were inexplicably close—an odd pair to be certain, but May adored her curmudgeonly cockatrice uncle. And he tolerated familiarities from her that none other would dare. Who else would dare lick his feather-scales, attempting to groom him?

She stretched, careful not to dislodge April from her shoulder, adjusting to the intrusive, even overwhelming, sounds of the city. Even so early, how noisy it was. Carriages with horses on the street beyond the mews; peddlers calling out about their wares; a tatzelwurm chasing a rat—and catching it; a puck arguing with it over the catch. Not entirely unlike Bath.

Knee-high minor drakes, Slate and Amber, the Darcy family livery badge emblazoned on green baize vests buttoned across their chests, bounded out to meet them, with toothy draconic smiles. No doubt the housekeeper had fashioned those to help keep them warm in the chill weather. There was a reason Elizabeth liked the woman.

“Lady Sage, Vicontes Pemberley arrived a few hours ago. She is sleeping in her nest in the cellar. I expect she might sleep for a day or more.” Amber’s deep yellow-orange eyes glittered in the sun; her well-oiled dark-green hide spoke of the excellent care the staff dragons enjoyed. It was good to see that continued without their presence in the house.

“Cownt Matlock suggested he might sleep for a week,” Slate added with an almost mischievous grin.

Nanny approached from the second carriage. More blue than green in the morning light, Nanny walked on hind feet with Anne cradled in her front legs. She moved like a tall, slender schoolmistress, posture perfect, each step purposeful and sure. May, the little black tatzelwurmling with tufted ears too big for her face, spring-hopped to keep up with Nanny’s long strides.

“Mrrrow?” May skidded to a stop, staring at Slate and Amber with startled, wide, golden eyes. They were not the first drakes she had ever seen. Perhaps she had forgotten Elizabeth’s reminder they would be present.

Elizabeth stepped close to May, crouching to stroke the back of her neck. “Slate, Amber, may I present our new Friend, May.”

The lithe wyrmling stretched out her front paws and touched her chin to the ground. Slate and Amber licked the top of her head with their very long tongues. May looked up at them and licked their cheeks. Not the greeting she had been taught, but it worked. The drakes made a happy little warble in the back of their throats.

Elizabeth stood, knees still stiff and sore. “Show May around the house, then make up a warm basket for her in the nursery.”

“The nursery, Lady Sage?” Amber cocked her long head so far it was almost upside down.

“Yes, she is to stay with Junior Keeper as much as possible. Slate, attend Nanny and help her with whatever she needs.”

“Yes, Sage.” They dipped in a small bow—or was it more of a curtsey?—and hurried off after Nanny.

Darcy followed Nanny into the house with his gaze. “Cats are generally not allowed in nurseries. Do you think…”

“Absolutely. Surely you have noticed, Anne sleeps so much better when May is with her. That alone should convince you! Besides, true cats do not harm babies, much less tatzelwurms–who have far more sense than the typical cat. If that is not sufficient, Nanny will be there watching over them all. I know you trust her.”

Yes, there had been an impatient note in her voice, and no, he probably did not deserve it. She kneaded the back of her neck. Would it be wrong to go directly to bed now?

Walker swooped down from the roof and back-winged as his feet touched the ground. “The Matlocks approach.”

“You cannot imagine your arrival has gone unnoticed. I expect the call is not purely social.” Walker raked his talons against the cobblestones. What was he worried about?

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose and wrinkled his forehead as though hoping to stave off a headache. “Lovely, just lovely.”

April squawked a discordant note. Elizabeth winced before she could stop herself.

“Do you wish to be home to her?” Darcy muttered through clenched teeth. His Aunt Matlock was too much like his Aunt Catherine for anyone’s liking.

“Much as I would defer the honor of her presence, it seems that pleasure would come at a high price. Perhaps we can manage a cup of tea before they arrive?” Elizabeth dragged herself toward the door and certain vexation, April twittering a soft, soothing trill in her ear.

A quarter of an hour later, the housekeeper brought the tea service into the morning room, a lovely, snug room with dark furniture, a round table that could seat six, and bright white walls hung with drawings done by Lady Anne Darcy. The sort of place one wanted to linger and breathe in the fragrance of peace and rest.

Five minutes later, before the tea was even poured, the butler announced the Matlocks’ arrival. The earl and his wife swept into the room, wearing their rank like court robes.

He was tall and looked like nothing so much as an older version of his son Richard, though his nose was a mite sharper, more aquiline, and his hazel eyes narrower. She was short and plump and proud; her double chin lifted a mite too high, so her beady dark eyes seemed to be staring down at everyone.

“Uncle, Aunt, a pleasure to see you this morning.” The way Darcy emphasized the final word reminded all that it was too early for a polite morning call.

“Lord Matlock, Lady Matlock.” Elizabeth curtsied despite her knees’ protest.

“Darcy, Lady Elizabeth. Oh yes, and April, too.” Matlock looked straight at Darcy. It did not seem an insult so much as preoccupation. That probably was not a good sign.

Lady Matlock grimaced just a little. She did not approve of Elizabeth having a title in her own right, or so the fairy dragon gossip suggested. A title so newly created would never have the weight of one properly inherited so was hardly worth having at all.

“Pray forgive our call on the heels of your arrival, but there are matters that just cannot wait. I would see you in your study, Darcy.” Lord Matlock turned for the doorway.

April squawked softly as Elizabeth bit her tongue. No point in reminding either of them that it might be wise to include her. Whatever the issue, if it concerned her, she would find out, likely straight from the dragon’s mouth, as it were. Why was it so difficult to convince the men of the Council that things often went better when she was brought into a concern earlier rather than later?

“Would you care for some tea, Lady Matlock?” Elizabeth gestured Lady Matlock to a place at the table.

“What kind is it?” April hopped across the table and landed on the edge of a dainty china saucer covered with tiny yellow roses, one intentionally set for her, which looked lovely against her bright turquoise feather-scales.

“Earl Grey.” Elizabeth suppressed her smile. April had just recently developed a decided preference for the bergamot-infused beverage. She had refused to try it until she learned it was flavored with a fruit, then suddenly she was quite enamored with it.

“I would like some, with honey.” April hopped from one foot to the other. It was entirely possible the tea was simply an excuse to drink honey.

Lady Matlock stared at April. Not pleasantly, but in the way one glared at a disobedient child or a clumsy servant. Of course. Dragons at the breakfast table were not covered in etiquette manuals, not even ones published by the Blue Order.

“Ah, well, yes, please.” Her face said she was only taking the tea to humor Elizabeth, but at least she was attempting to be polite.

Elizabeth poured the tea, sweetened April’s with a shocking amount of honey, and sat down.

“How is Cownt Matlock after his journey? It was very kind of him to walk Pemberley back to London for us.” If she wanted small talk, then it would be about dragons.

“In little humor for conversation. He had no idea how much young creatures talked nor how many questions they asked.” Lady Matlock’s features softened just a little.

“I had wondered if that would be the case. I did try to warn him, but little Pemberley gets so ill in a cart or carriage, he insisted it would be an indignity for her to be forced into such a conveyance. We are very grateful for his help.” At least she could say that with genuine enthusiasm.

“He did say you and Darcy have done well by her. She is showing signs of being an excellent young dragon, which must be considered a good thing, all told. Will you be presenting her at the Dragon Keepers’ Cotillion next month?” Lady Matlock sipped her tea, staring over the edge of the cup with an odd look of expectation.

“I think she is still full young for that. She has learned many of the proper greetings and displays when introduced to other dragons. But I do not think she is quite ready for so many people and so many dragons in company at once. Despite all she has learned, she is still a baby. It is one thing to have been forced together with many other dragons in court. It is quite another to try to manage all the trappings of a formal engagement as extensive as the Cotillion. I see no harm in waiting a year, or even two.”

“Perhaps you should see the list of presentations this year.” Lady Matlock opened her reticule and pulled out a neatly penned card. “In particular, you may want to note the ladies you are sponsoring for presentation at the ball.”

“I think not. This is the official Record and has been sent to all Keepers and other invitees.” She tapped a spot at the top of the list. “See here: Dragon Sage, Lady Elizabeth Darcy.”

“Mrs. Mary Collins, Keeper to Longbourn, and her husband? Mr. Collins will be presented to the Order? When was this decided?” And why now—but perhaps this was not the company for that question.

“You will have to ask our Historian.” Lady Matlock’s lip curled just a bit.

“Why is Father not sponsoring them? He is an officer of the Order, even if he has retired as a Keeper.”

“He is without title, Lady Elizabeth.” Lady Matlock stared directly into her eyes.

“So, he is using that as an excuse to get out of his duties now?” Elizabeth dragged her hand down her face and peered at the list again. “Miss Lydia Bennet? No one has consulted me. Have Auntie and her schoolmistress approved?”

“Pray, may I be frank with you?” Frank? A Lady of the ton wanted to be frank? What was one to make of that?

“I understand you had nothing to do with the dragons’ decision to create you as Sage or as Lady Elizabeth; and that there were no machinations on your part when you became betrothed to Darcy in front of the Conclave; and that your relationship with dragons, your knowledge of them is all hard won and comes at a cost. There are many who do not see things that way. Many who are jealous of your rather, ah, as it is called ‘fairy tale’ story.”

“That is absurd. What does that have to do with the Cotillion and sponsoring all my sisters at once?”

“Not just your sisters, but Lady Wentworth as well. She and her husband are to be presented as Keepers to Kellynch.”

“This is ridiculous! Impossible! How am I to possibly manage four presentations? Arrange for the dresses, teach them the protocols? There is so much other work to be done. The monographs alone that I need to write will require several months of effort.” She clutched the edge of the table.

Lady Matlock leaned forward on her elbows, her eyes sharp and severe. “Work that can wait until after the cotillion. You have been so busy managing dragons, I think you have forgotten there are people in the Order as well.”

“But they do require a sage to help them to understand how to take their place in Blue Order dragon society. And I do not mean only the debutantes. Perhaps you have not noticed, but not many of the Order have your ease with dragons, and it causes problems. So, if I may be so bold, Lady Sage, pause your salons and your manuscripts and attend to the rest of the Order’s members, the human ones, with as much fervor as you have the dragons. I expect your future influence depends on it.”

Darcy led the way to his study at the front of the house. That Uncle stalked behind him, not speaking, spoke volumes: the matter was serious, not frivolous; and the information not to be casually trusted to the servants, human and dragon alike.

Darcy paused at the study door to savor the image, just for a moment. His father’s impressive mahogany desk, flanked by matching bookcases near the door, a pair of leather wingback chairs, dark brown and well-worn, near the fireplace, even the scent of wood smoke and old books, felt like home.

It seemed as though nothing had been touched since he left, just the way he preferred. The blue leatherbound journal on the desk had been left open to the page he had intentionally left it on, the books beside it bore a light film of dust. No doubt the housekeeper hated that, but it was exactly what he preferred. A man’s study should not be interfered with.

Uncle Matlock closed the study door firmly, the sound like a throat-clearing introduction to an unpleasant conversation. “Walker should be privy to this discussion.” He headed toward the servants’ door, opened it and checked the passage.

Darcy opened the window and blew the brass whistle on the watch fob Walker himself had given him so many years ago, the one he could hear from miles away.

“Before I forget,” Matlock sat in one of the wingback chairs near the room’s ancient, iron dragon perch. “My wife is talking to yours about the Cotillion. Best you know now. Elizabeth has been assigned to present your sister, both of hers, and Lady Wentworth at the affair.”

“Nonsense! Who could have planned such a thing?” Darcy slapped the top edge of the chair. “She is already overburdened. Someone else will have to handle the matter. Aunt can present Georgiana, and her father—”

“I attempted to argue the same thing. But it seems there are those who would be happy to take the Sage down a peg or two by allowing her to falter in her social duties.”

“How could you have permitted such a thing? After the affairs of Bath—you know how hard she has worked. How could you sanction—”

“The invitations have been sent. To alter the arrangement now would only be to her detriment. The matters were established whilst I was in Bath, and there was little I could do once we returned. Besides, these affairs are overseen by the Cotillion Board, not the Council. I could hardly interfere.”

Uncle shrugged and flipped his hand, the same way he had dismissed Darcy when he was a boy. “Frankly, there are much more significant matters that require my attention right now. The details of a ball are the least of my worries.”

Walker swooped in and landed gracefully on the wrought-iron perch. He pointed at the empty chair with his wing and squawked.

“Thank you for attending us Walker. It is only right that you understand the full breadth of what is happening.”

“What indeed?” Walker hissed, focusing his piercing predator’s gaze on Uncle Matlock.

“What I am about to tell you has not even been officially shared with the Council yet. I will be meeting with them directly after I leave here. Best close the window, now that I think of it. We do not need help from the local fairy dragons.” Matlock marched to the window, closing it himself.

Back in his seat, Matlock rubbed his hands along his thighs. “On the basis of bits and pieces of fairy dragon gossip that have been picked up here and there, I took a circuitous route home from Bath, visiting a number of less appealing establishments, and some rather dissolute dragon Friends along the way.”

“He was quite forthcoming with suggestions of those we might be interested in. No honor among that sort, to be sure.”

“His information led us to several interesting,” he cleared his throat to punctuate the word, “places and a few associates of your friend Mr. Wickham.” Matlock allowed the name to hang in the air. He had never approved of Wickham and still held a grudge against Father for having favored him.

Walker hissed and flapped. Even after all these years, that sound still raised chill-bumps on the back of Darcy’s neck.

“Dragon hearers mostly, but there were a few dragon-deaf amongst them who had been let in on the world of the Order. All are in secure custody now, of course. Some are quite ready to talk in hopes of not being eaten, or worse.”

“We are still sorting that out. I am afraid it may be some time before we can piece it all together. All we are certain of right now is there is indeed an active band of smugglers dedicated to the traffic of dragons, their eggs, and,” Uncle gulped, “even their bodies and parts.”

“Dragon’s fire!” Darcy leapt to his feet and began to pace the length of the narrow room. Anything to shed the electric energy coursing through his limbs.

“I have already sent word to Richard. He and Earl—fine young cockatrice, by the way, Walker, worthy of your line—will be working their way down from the north, looking into the matter. Several others with espionage backgrounds have also been similarly deployed. In the meantime, we must wait.”

“And watch, of course.” Matlock nodded at Walker. “It is not a stretch to see how little Pemberley, now that she is far better known than a baby firedrake might otherwise be, thanks to Elizabeth’s insistence she be part of every Blue Order activity possible—”

“Save your offense and your arguments. I am not going to fall into a debate of whether or not such risk is warranted. The point is that we know there are those connected to the smugglers who are aware of Pemberley and see her as an attractive target for their efforts.”

“Cownt Matlock and I have considered that possibility, but we agree, Darcy House in London is much more defensible than Pemberley, where the extensive grounds are much more difficult to keep watch over.”

“On the Cownt’s orders, there will be a cockatrice guard stationed on your roof. They will report directly to Walker. Several of our larger minor drakes will be assigned to your house staff for security inside. I will leave it to you to explain their presence to your wife and staff. Without revealing the true nature of our concerns.”

Walker growled. That should have caught Matlock’s attention, but he seemed to ignore it.

“I am not giving you a choice.” Matlock leaned forward, elbows on knees and glared. “She has proven herself impulsive and unpredictable—”

“In critical dragon matters, yet. But the situation right now requires a delicate diplomatic hand. That is not her long suit.”

“You do not understand. One does not keep secrets from her. She will find out; the dragons will tell her everything. I know you will order them not to, but you do not understand the power my wife has with them. They will tell her. Nothing I say or do will make a difference.”

“The Order’s members will obey my commands. You will obey me. Both of you.”

Walker shrieked softly, enough to raise the hairs on the back of Uncle’s neck if the way he rubbed at it was any indication. “Darcy is right. No dragon bent on her protection will fail to inform her of the truth. We are forthright creatures by nature, not deceptive ones. It is not our nature to conceal. Something she knows, and you do not appear to understand.” The statement ended with an angry hiss.

Had Walker really just told the Chancellor of the Order that he was refusing a command?

Uncle muttered and grumbled under his breath. “Then it is on your heads to see that she does not interfere with our operations in any way. I did not want to mention this, but we have concerns for baby Anne as well. Apparently, she is as well-known as Pemberley and an equally attractive target—”

Matlock avoided Darcy’s gaze. “—it is critical that she not leave Darcy House for any reason. We need a better understanding of what we are facing. Nanny will, of course, need to be brought in on our concerns and security measures. An additional drake and cockatrice will be assigned to their protection at all times. And I suggest you avoid admitting any persons into your home who are not vetted members of the Order.”

And all this he thought should be accomplished without informing Elizabeth? How had Matlock’s judgment become so impaired? “I will inform the butler. The Cotillion then? Will that not be cancelled?”

“I have taken the liberty of assigning cockatrice patrols to discreetly watch over Georgiana, Mrs. Collins and Miss Bennet’s travels here. They are not nearly so well known, nor likely to be of great interest to smugglers. But just in case.”

Uncle rolled his eyes, closed them and shook his head, sighing. “If you cannot keep her to Darcy House, she should travel via the dragon tunnels at all times, with a guard, never, never alone.”

T he sun hung midway between dawn and noon, steadfastly refusing to deliver enough warmth to vanquish the prevailing chill. Anne rubbed her gloved hands over the arms of her navy-blue wool pelisse and pulled the heavy basket closer to her chest.

Would she ever become accustomed to the near-constant sea breeze buffeting her every time she visited Kellynch’s lair? Probably no sooner than she became accustomed to being addressed as Lady Wentworth—it was still difficult not to look for some dowager lurking in the shadows when she heard the name.

Perhaps Kellynch was right; using the dragon tunnels from the house to the lair would be more comfortable. If only they did not remind her of the dark alley behind the Bath Assembly rooms—and Mr. Elliot.

She sucked in cold, salt-tinged air as she looked over her shoulder and across the open—empty— meadow. Mr. Elliot and his cockatrice Friend Jet were safely ensconced in a Blue Order prison. Even if they managed to escape, Kellynch would not tolerate them anywhere near Lyme. With as many friends as Kellynch had made among the local minor dragons, and one other major dragon in the vicinity, Mr. Elliot could not possibly conceal himself anywhere near Lyme.

She smoothed the prickled hair on the back of her neck. An assault to one’s person was not easily dismissed, even when one had been rescued by the man she loved. Yes, that was the part of the story she should dwell upon.

“Kellynch? Kellynch?” She stepped into the dim stony lair, dank and smelling of dragon musk. How much warmer it seemed now out of the wind.

“Come in.” The space filled with the sound of scales scraping stone. “Have you brought their majesties, my wyrmlings?”

“Of course I have. They would not miss a chance to visit with you.” She set the basket on the floor. Corn, the black and white tatzelwurmling with white tufty ears and blue eyes, and Wall with the black nose and green eyes, tumbled onto the dusty limestone floor. They bounded down the tunnel, chirruping with glee as Kellynch’s long, toothy grey-green head came into view.

He rumbled something almost like a great purr, which she felt in her chest more than heard. The wyrmlings pounced on him, licking his face and climbing onto the ridges above his eyes. Not the way one was supposed to greet their laird, but as long as they were all happy with it, what harm could it do?

“When will you allow them to visit me on their own? I do not get to see them often enough.” Kellynch muttered, slithering closer, careful not to dislodge Corn and Wall.

She crouched to scratch the itchy spot between his eyes, just able to make out his pout in the meager light. “They are still small enough to be carried away by the local predatory birds. When they are big enough to no longer be prey, then they can visit whenever you and they wish.”

“Not until I am certain they will not lose their way. They are still very silly little babies and have occasionally lost their way in the house.” She ruffled Corn’s ears. Wall nudged her hands with his nose and demanded the same.

“Besides, you visit with them in the cellar nearly every day. You cannot be that lonely.”

“It is not the same as having them in my lair with me. I have been alone so long—”

She sat tailor-style on the floor beside him, her hand on his scaly snout. “I know you have. In fact, that is what I need to talk to you about. Are you certain about us traveling to London, and you remaining here, alone?”

Kellynch grumbled, his lips working in little waves that rippled along his jaw. “Not really.”

Finally, he confessed to the obvious truth. “Then we will inform the Order that we will take the house that boasts a lair with tunnel access to the Thames. That way you will be able to join us easily.”

One brow ridge rose. “Wentworth says the house is not as pleasant as the other you were considering.”

“It is a little enough thing to part with in the interest of your comfort.” She scratched the ridges along his snout as he snuffled appreciative sounds.

“Is it true that I might attend the Cotillion whilst in London? I have never been to the primary Blue Order office.”

“Indeed. The official invitation includes dragons with new Keepers. The three of us are expected to be presented at the Cotillion.”

Presented by the Dragon Sage. She swallowed hard. Was it a privilege or a punishment to have such a prestigious sponsor? Certainly, the expectations of society upon her would be higher because of it. Father would approve, if he were not banned from all Blue Order society events.

Was Lady Elizabeth trying to mitigate the repercussions of Father’s ignominy by her show of support? If only she and not Lady Matlock had written to her to tell her of it, it would be easier to judge what to make of it all.

If only Father had seen fit to have her come out to the Order when she began to hear and allowed her to attend a Keepers’ Cotillion as a young woman. At least she would know firsthand what to expect now. If only he had not fallen from Blue Order society in disgrace, she would not be establishing herself while trying to overcome the huge hurdle he had raised before her. Yet more ways in which she was still paying for Father’s failures.

Kellynch nudged her with his snout and trained a piercing look upon her. Could he tell what she was thinking or only how she felt about it? Who would have guessed he was such a perceptive creature?

“I should like to see such an event, if it would not be burdensome on you.” How polite he was trying to be even though his longing to attend shone clear. He would love the attention and notoriety it would bring him. So like a true Elliot he was.

Kellynch rumbled happily. Corn and Wall purred along with him, though they had little understanding of why. His pleasure was enough to make them happy.

“You will bring their majesties?” He crossed his eyes trying to focus on the wyrmlings perched on his nose.

“Good, good. I shall go out and have a good feed now so I need not worry about fishing rights whilst I am there.”

How much had Kellynch changed since that day in court? He seemed like an utterly different dragon to the angry, hibernating, threatening sea serpent he had been.

“That seems a sound plan. I am sure Wentworth will agree. I will take their majesties back to the house now and get them ready for traveling in the morning.” She called Corn and Wall back to their basket. Though they lingered in their goodbyes to Kellynch, they did as they were bid. Someday, when they were grown, they would—hopefully—have the good sense of their sire, Laconia. But for now, they were silly, shatter-brained—if very dear — little creatures.

Despite the wind, she took the long way home. Kellynch-by-the-Sea was so different to Kellynch where she had grown up. How could she not miss the spreading old trees, the farmlands, the fields of sheep? The coast was not without its beauties—and it made Kellynch and Wentworth so very happy—but sometimes it still caught her off guard not to see her mother’s gardens, or Lady Russell’s.

A dozen, no there were more than that, small and moderate-sized white rent cottages lined the main road from the manor to Lyme Regis. Several more were set back from the road with small lanes or footpaths leading to them. So many people looked to her as the mistress of Kellynch-by-the-Sea. It could be daunting some days, more so than at Kellynch where she was only standing in for the mistress of the manor.

On the whole, the tenants were pleasant and good-humored, many of them dragon Friends who were quite astonished that Kellynch enjoyed the company of the minor dragons on his estate.

Despite all the new friends, Kellynch did not neglect Uppercross. Dragon tunnels linked the two estates, and they exchanged regular visits. Uppercross was developing a taste for fish, which Sister Mary definitely did not approve of—it left his breath quite frightful!

According to Lady Elizabeth’s last letter, their whole relationship was very unusual among land dragons. But perhaps not so among marine creatures? She still hoped to visit them soon and learn more about England’s only marine wyrm.

He bumped up against her leg, all three stones worth of fluffy, black tatzelwurm jolting her from her reverie. “Wentworth wonders where you have gotten to.”

“I told him I would be checking on Kellynch. Is he very worried?” She glanced past Laconia as a gust of chill air raced down the neat line of cottages.

“He is accustomed to having all his sailors at an easy distance.” Laconia glanced over his shoulder and backed up two steps, a very odd movement for a tatzelwurm.

“Come back to the house with me.” An odd note of concern tinged his voice as he turned for the manor.

“It is difficult to say. A cockatrice messenger from the Order arrived not very long ago.”

Anne stopped in the study’s doorway and stared at an unfamiliar hawk-sized cockatrice, red-brown and a bit weather-beaten, wearing a small pack embossed with the signet of the Order strapped to his back. He stood on Wentworth’s desk, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Wentworth did the same as he stood, a mite awkwardly, at the far side of the desk.

He still had not got the room quite arranged to his liking. Long and narrow, he complained there was both too much room and not enough at the same time. Too big to be compact and efficient like the accommodations on his ship, but not spacious enough for the desk that had been shoehorned in and the three leather-covered chairs that seemed to take up the remaining floor space. A bookcase lined the long wall, opposite the windows, lacking both enough books to look scholarly and sufficient bric-a-brac to appear well traveled.

He declared the entire affair felt a bit like a midshipman’s effort. At least he judged the desk chair comfortable and that sufficient sunlight streamed through the windows so reading was possible most of the day. That was something.

Someday she would have enough saved to commission a proper suite of office furniture for him. An extravagance he would never purchase himself.

Wentworth glanced up and caught Anne’s eye with a brief nod. “There now.” He opened the messenger’s pack and removed a letter bearing the Blue Order Seal.

The cockatrice shook out his compacted feather-scales and scratched behind his tiny ear with his talons, leaning back on his dusty serpentine tail for balance.

“Laconia, show our guest to the kitchen for a solid meal whilst I read this and pen a reply. The wyrmlings may accompany you as well.” That was not a suggestion, but an order.

Anne placed the basket on the floor. Corn and Wall tumbled out and led the way to the kitchen, spring-hopping with speed only the possibility of a snack could induce. The Blue Order messenger flew low behind them.

Wentworth beckoned her in, and she shut the door behind her. He closed the window that the messenger had probably entered.

“Would it be too optimistic to hope it is merely an announcement of time changes to the Cotillion?” She bit her lip and dodged around the clumsy chairs to join him near the desk.

He cracked the seal. “Considering this is written in cipher, I imagine something less mundane.” He yanked open the top drawer and removed a small red leatherbound notebook no larger than the palm of his hand. “The specific cipher was pressed into the wax seal—one that is reserved for only select operatives of the Order.”

“So definitely not good news.” She perched in the nearest chair, stiff and smelling of leather polish.

He fell into his chair. It groaned, long-suffering. “It will take me some time to sort the message out. Tell me of your visit to Kellynch whilst I work on it.”

“I still wonder that he is the same creature who threatened me in the sea cave. Though I suppose I should not be, considering what Lady Elizabeth has told me about dragons who have been wronged. They certainly take their offenses seriously.”

“If he had his druthers, I think he would take up residence in the cellar under the house. At least he would if only it were a little larger and had a proper soaking pool for him, like his lair does—apparently after all the decades without water, he is unwilling to do without again. But still, he truly hates to be alone. Can you imagine? He complained he had not seen Corn and Wall recently enough. Who would have thought he would be so fond of them? At times I wonder whether they are our Friends or his.”

“According to Laconia, they talk of Kellynch constantly, honored by the attention of a true wyrm. Shatter-brained little creatures! I half expect that the Sage will ask you to write a monograph on their relationship.” He glanced up from his work.

“I imagine you are going to tell me he has decided to accompany us to London, no?”

“He was rather considerate about it, though. He seemed concerned that the house with the lair might not be as pleasing as the other we had inquired after.”

He set down his pencil and fixed her gaze with his own. “And you are all right with the change? You are being presented into Dragon Keeping society by the Sage herself, after all. I expect we will be required to do a great deal of entertaining.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes burning just a bit. He was so considerate. “I cannot imagine a house with a dragon lair being any mean accommodation. As to it being unable to accommodate a large party—I think that is rather a good thing. Hosting small events, for now, suits me very well indeed.”

“A baronet and his lady need not be seen living as a baronet and his lady?” The corners of his lips turned up just a mite.

“I think being seen as honoring one’s dragon is living as a baronet and his family should, do you not?”

“I could not say it better myself.” He chuckled, picked up his pencil and began scratching away again.

Perhaps on the journey to London they could talk about what entertaining Blue Order society during the Cotillion season would look like. Wentworth had no experience with such things.

Would he chafe amidst the expectations of “good” society? Would he be accepted among them, or simply viewed a novelty—a Dragon Keeping naval officer who had to be tolerated and humored whilst behind his back talk would fly? How hard did he expect, or even want, to work to be accepted? How important was it to him?

His expression slowly crumpled into a deep frown. “It seems the plans you made with Kellynch are fortuitous. Lord Matlock himself requests that Kellynch remain with his Keepers in light of current events.”

He scribbled down a few more words. “Apparently, Mr. William Elliot finds his accommodations in prison rather uncomfortable—not gentleman’s lodgings, it seems. He has attempted to trade information for some favors toward himself.”

She clutched the edge of the desk. “They are not going to release him, are they?”

“No, that would be far too dangerous—for him. Kellynch will never forgive the assault on his Keeper. Not to mention Elliot is far from paying his debts to the Order. I am sure he has only bought himself a softer bed or better rations. In any case, the information suggests there are those, dragon hearers and some dragon-deaf, maybe even some members of the Order itself, who are hostile toward dragons. There are hints of schemes to profit off trading in dragons and—” he gulped, “—their body parts.”

“Gracious heavens!” The dragon scale lotion she made from the scales Uppercross happily gave her was one thing, but this? The edges of her vision fuzzed and the room spun slightly. She clutched the arms of the chair.

“At this point, there is no way of knowing the accuracy of Elliot’s information. It could have been merely a fiction traded for comfort. But then again, it might not. Matlock insists—and I agree—it must be thoroughly investigated.”

“Of course, of course it must. The possibility is too awful to take lightly!” Anne stood, knees shaking almost too hard to hold her up.

“Lord Matlock asks that we alter our travel plans. He has arranged for post horses so we do not need to stop and rest ours. He wants us to visit a list of persons and places of interest along the way to London. If we travel day and night, it will delay our arrival by a day, at most two.”

“It will be uncomfortable. At best. There will be no sleeping at inns, we will take meals in the carriage, not at proper tables. It is a form of travel to which you are not accustomed.”

“This is what we decided upon when we wed. I admit, I had not expected Order business to come up so soon, or to be so serious, but I will not back down from our commitment.” Hopefully he did not notice her fingers trembling.

“Then I will write to him straight away.” He pressed her hands to his cheek.

“I will adjust our packing in light of our new plans. Corn and Wall will need plenty of snacks and a few extra bones for teething.”

With a soft kiss on his cheek, Anne left to attend to those details she was so very good at arranging. Wentworth sighed and turned to the response he must pen for the Order. Did she have any idea what a wonder she was at —well, anything or anyone she put her mind to manage?

Several hours later, the housekeeper came to the study to announce a visitor—one heretofore unknown to Wentworth. That notwithstanding, the stranger insisted he had been sent to see Sir Frederick. It was still strange to think of himself that way.

All things considered, Wentworth would have sent him away if the man had not insisted on waiting outside, with his two, according to the dragon-hearing housekeeper, rather large Friends.

Laconia accompanied him to the gravel drive at the front of the pale brick manor house. Amidst neatly manicured shrubs, a rather imposing man, wearing a dusty greatcoat with two capes across his shoulders, waited beside a large travel coach, making no attempt to be unobtrusive.

The vehicle alone made that impossible. Despite a fresh coat of black paint and the lack of any crest or identifying markings, there was no mistaking the quality of the carriage. Far more than Wentworth could have afforded.

Beneath the man’s battered hat, grey-streaked brown hair hung limp past his jaw—no effort to style it at all. Bushy eyebrows shaded his deep-set dark eyes, sharp and glittering like a raven’s. He could have used the help of a good valet—at least a week’s worth of stubble dusted his jowls.

Two muscular drakes, standing waist high at their shoulders, sat on their haunches to either side of him. Their hides, well cared for under a coating of road dust, were dark brindle, their taloned feet broad, and their fangs imposing. They wore collars of Order-blue with embossed brass Order signets dangling beneath their jaws.

“Sir Frederick Wentworth?” The man asked, doffing his hat and bowing a bit dramatically. He wore a battered brass Order signet on his small finger. Probably real. Few would fake that much wear.

Laconia pressed against his leg, fur pouffed and eyes wide, but no amount of display would make him more formidable than the two drakes, who carefully watched the stranger.

“Me name is Alister Salt. The Order sent me and me Friends.” He reached into his worn, grey coat and pulled out a surprisingly neat, folded paper bearing the Order’s blue wax seal.

Wentworth opened the missive. How many letters had he seen in this handwriting since taking Kellynch-by-the-Sea? Regional Undersecretary Peter Wynn—always such a joy to hear from. Best not roll his eyes in front of these strangers.

Thank you for your decision to let this travel coach and hire this driver and his hounds for your journey. My associates and I are sure you will enjoy the increased measure of comfort and safety they provide on your travels.

Alister Salt grinned widely—only missing two teeth— as he looked at the two drakes and scratched behind their pointed ears. “Most people see them as German Boarhounds, don’t ya know. May I present Kingsley and Sergeant.”

The two drakes, easily twelve or fourteen stones apiece, bowed, dropping their elbows to the ground.

Wentworth held his breath. Dragon introductions were always tricky, even for minor dragons.

Laconia slither-stepped to the two drakes and sniffed their faces, jaw half-open and long forked tongue flicking. They dropped their hind ends to the ground, allowing him to smell them nose to tail. Twice. When he finished, he stood between them, the rich black fur between his shoulders standing on end, serpentine tail extended full length.

The drakes circled him, moving as a coordinated team, sniffing him nose to tail. They stared at each other over Laconia’s head for a moment, conversing in facial expressions and low guttural sounds. Finally, they nodded at each other and dropped their chins to the ground whereupon Laconia licked the tops of their heads.

Did they recognize Wentworth’s rank and impute that to Laconia? Either way, dragons did not relinquish dominance easily. That they conceded to the much smaller Laconia was significant.

No. Dragons, especially the often-communal minor drakes, were not, by their nature, deceptive creatures.

“They will do. The situation is … acceptable.” Laconia strode up to Wentworth, proud and puffed as large as he could be. “They smell … their scent is tolerable.”

Wentworth exhaled hard. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Kingsley and Sergeant.” He offered his hand, fingers curled toward himself, for a smell.

The drakes took him at his word, sniffing his hand, his boots, and as much of the rest of his person as they could reach without standing up on hind legs. Rather personal, but not unusual for dragons.

“He will do,” the slightly larger, darker Kingsley said in a deep, growly voice typical of drakes.

“We are not traveling alone. My wife and two wyrmlings sired by Laconia will be our companions.”

“Mr. Wynn warned me of that.” Alister Salt muttered, sliding his hands along the brim of his hat, his voice as gruff as either of the drakes’. “Be there some way you can dissuade your missus from going with? It won’t be no easy journey as I been told it.”

If only he could. “She needs must be in London soon. I expect this was arranged for her comfort.”

“Thought as much, but it don’t hurt to ask, you know.” Alister Salt shrugged. “It be difficult to make a long, fast journey comfortable for ladies, you know.”

“Yes, yes I do.” Nothing like having one’s own sentiments held up before him.

“You should meet the final member of our merry band, then.” Salt beckoned him to the well-appointed travel carriage and rapped on the box, just below the driver’s seat.

A panel popped open, and a younger, cleaner version of Alister Salt rolled out. He bounced to his feet and bowed. “Good day, sir, me name’s Leander Salt.”

“My son, relief driver, and all-around right hand. With him about, you will always have a fresh driver.” Alister snugged his hat back on his head as though that settled the matter.

Kingsley and Sergeant pressed in on either side of Leander and leaned into him hard.

“Aye, you brutes. You’ll crush me with your antics!” He scratched behind their ears. Both tails wagged hard enough to knock a man off his feet.

“Stop your complainin’. You like it, and you know it.” Sergeant pressed in a little harder, grinning toothily.

“You see how you like it when I sit upon you some day!” He pushed the drake back and crouched, laughing. “I ‘erd you be Laconia?” He extended his hand to Laconia.

“I’ll do, you ‘erd that, dad? I’ll do!” Leander stood and the drakes laughed with him.

“An astute tatzelwurm if ever I met one.” Kingsley seemed amused, letting out a sound neither a bark, a growl nor a chuckle, but a little of each.

The drakes treated Leander like one of their own. What better testament of character could there be?

“Seriously, sir, for all their antics, I got the best damn team to get you here to there and to do it safe as can be done. With them two running beside the carriage, few have ever considered bothering me, and those that did, well, they ain’t around to regret it none now.” Something in Alister’s voice made it clear he was not exaggerating.

For all the dust and scruff that rendered them easy to overlook, this seemed like exactly the sort of crew he wanted on deck beside him.

Perhaps there was more to the adage “The Order cares for its own” than he first believed.

E lizabeth’s call on the Blue Order Matrons had been an astonishing waste of time. Short-sighted, unreasonable, dominance-seeking women! Easier to face down an angry firedrake with just her cloak and a table to stand on than deal with the likes of them.

A squadron of cockatrix—preening and squabbling and squawking—and even less reasonable!

How surprising it was that the Dragon Sage did not feel up to the task of sponsoring young ladies for the presentation. They each had several young women under their wings. Even Lady Astrid, an officer of the order herself, performed the service without complaint. It might be possible to find another sponsor at this late date, if that is what the Lady Sage truly wanted…

Elizabeth adjusted the torch in her hand to peer down the dark, damp, and dirty dragon tunnels leading from the Blue Order offices to Cheapside. How considerate of the tunnels to accurately reflect her mood.

Those matrons of the Blue Order reveled in their transparent plot to see her fail in her social duties. Horrible creatures.

But this would not be the first time she had dominated a cockatrix on her own territory. They would not best her. She shook out the folds of her blue cloak, extending them slightly. There was something satisfying about looking ‘big.’

If she could manage to mollify quarreling dragons, a gaggle of society matrons would not best her. She kicked a small rock out of her way, its sounds muffled by the soft mud that coated the tunnel floor, which smelled vaguely of the Thames.

Brutus, an imposing minor drake guard who trotted alongside, stopped and looked up at her. He wore a harness with a brass Blue Order signet and an intimidating spiked collar to assist in passing as a large black guard dog. Sharp claws and a frightening bark helped the persuasion tremendously. His record as a personal guard for important personages was unmatched. He had even guarded Princess Charlotte—a major achievement of his career. It was an honor to have him assigned as a guard.

For such an imposing figure, he really was quite personable, happy to chat about –well, nearly anything that came to mind given the opportunity. The questions he asked! Was it possible he asked more questions than Pemberley?

At least he had agreed not to tell Pemberley any more stories—liberally embellished—of his work for the Blue Order. She shuddered. No youngster, human or dragon, should be hearing those.

“Just a little farther, Lady Sage.” Brutus paused at an intersection to look and smell in all directions.

It would not be polite to remark that she knew precisely where they were and exactly how far she was from yet another conversation she dreaded.

Dear, frail, stubborn, unsympathetic, exasperating Papa. Heavens, he was very much like the Blue Order Matrons.

He had refused to attend her at Darcy House lest Mama find he had been there without her. Mama longed to visit Darcy House, he said, and wondered loudly when an invitation might be issued and how she intended to call there if Elizabeth would simply send around a card noting her ‘at home’ days.

A task she would tackle as soon as she could be at home long enough to decide when she would be ‘at home.’ Not the sort of thing either Papa or Mama could understand.

Elizabeth had offered to call at Middle Set House, as Mama called the townhouse the Order had provided her, Papa, and Kitty to live in since Mary and Mr. Collins had taken over Longbourn. Situated in the middle of the street, she thought it a very clever name.

But Papa refused. He worried she might somehow disrupt the careful balance of his household. While he never came out and said it, he implied that she wreaked chaos with the dragons at any place she visited.

Thankfully, the Gardiners offered their parlor as a sort of neutral ground. They were truly the best sort of warm-bloods.

Warm-bloods? Heavens! Perhaps she had been listening to a few too many dragons recently.

“And here we are. Pray let me through the door first and ensure the way is safe for you.” Brutus trotted to the heavy iron-strapped oak door, unlocked it, and shoved it open with his shoulder. Iron hinges groaned like a wounded beast.

“Come, come, Lady Sage, all is well.” Brutus ushered her through and up several steps to the street level, walking so close that his side brushed her skirts. He locked the door behind them.

She blinked hard, the sunlight burning her eyes as the alleyway beside Gardiner’s warehouse came into focus. Such a shame that the tunnels did not extend all the way to Uncle Gardiner’s house, but the expense to dig the additional tunnels was not warranted even by her position.

Brutus pressed against her side and encouraged her to take hold of the handle on his harness. Just for show and utterly unable to restrain Brutus should he need to move suddenly, it served as costuming to assist in the persuasion that he was really just a large, and possibly formidable, dog in the company of his mistress. Other pedestrians gave them a wide berth as they briskly made their way to the mews behind the Gardiner house.

Yes, it was more proper to enter through the front door. But going by way of the mews was far less likely to draw notice—or at least that was Brutus’ reasoning.

With carriage houses at the end of the mews and four-story town homes to either side, the effect was snug and shadowed, a little like a dragon lair, with a stripe of sunlight running down the middle.

Children’s shrieks and giggles filtered through the narrow way. Was that little Daniel Gardiner’s voice among them? Aunt had not mentioned he was still home on school holidays.

“Those are the Gardiner children I told you about. There is no need for concern.” She laid her hand on Brutus’ tense, muscled shoulder.

Her cousins bounded up, full of energy and mischief. Anna and Samuel, the littlest, had lost their babyish faces since their last visit. Joshua, the next, must have grown a full handspan and Daniel, the eldest, looked so like his father now! How could he have become a young man so quickly?

Aunt Gardiner followed, not far behind. She had not changed at all—why was that such a relief? A few curls escaped her stylish mobcap, but that was the only homage she seemed to pay to the energy and activity of her lively family. A fashionable green gown with matching velvet pelisse accented her trim figure and lively steps.

Rustle, the Gardiners’ Friend cockatrice, cawed from the rooftop. Like Walker, he was keeping watch over the family. Apparently being related to the Dragon Sage was, at least at present, something of a hazard to one’s safety.

Brutus called back to him in something that sounded much like a bark, but was really a form of dragon tongue that, to date, no warm-blood could decipher. One day she would sort that out, too. Eventually.

The children stopped a polite distance from Brutus. Good, they remembered at least something of the proper protocols for meeting minor dragons.

“Aunt Gardiner, children, may I present Brutus. He works for the Blue Order. Brutus, these are my Aunt Gardiner and her children, Daniel, Anna, Joshua with Phoenix on his shoulder, and Samuel.”

“You work for the Order?” Daniel’s eyes grew wide. He was still too young to readily contain his sensibilities. “Would you, can you, tell us about it?”

Brutus looked at Elizabeth and Aunt Gardiner, head cocked, eye ridges inched high on his scaly forehead.

Denying Brutus the opportunity to do what he loved best seemed cruel, and denying the children another dragon acquaintance equally so. “With their mother’s permission, you may tell them stories I would deem appropriate for Vicontes Pemberley.”

Aunt nodded slowly. “I think they would enjoy that very much. Daniel, take your brothers and sister up to the nursery. Brutus may join you there. I will send up a tray with some nuncheon for all of you.”

Elizabeth pressed her lip. It might not be the right time to note that, apparently, she was not the only one who enabled dragon tea parties.

Joshua hung back from the others, Phoenix still on his shoulder. How much the little fairy dragon had grown. Some of his first adult feather-scales were coming in, giving him a ragged adolescent look. “Lizzy?”

He scuffed his toes along the cobblestones. “Phoenix has a new trick we want to show you before you go—please?”

Aunt Gardiner sighed as though this was not the first time she had heard this request. “Joshua, you should not bother—”

“I do not mind. Truly. I am never too busy for my cousins and their Friend fairy dragon.”

“I knew you would say yes! Nobody likes fairy dragons as well as you!” Joshua’s dark eyes twinkled with excitement and mischief. What could he have possibly taught stubborn little Phoenix?

“Go along with Brutus. I will be in shortly.” Aunt Gardiner took Elizabeth’s arm and headed toward the house.

“Joshua or Phoenix?” Aunt Gardiner chuckled as she guided Elizabeth inside through a pair of French doors.

They stepped into the main parlor that smelt of dried roses with a hint of lavender. Finished in dark wood paneling and sporting older dark oak furniture, upholstered in varying shades of burgundy, all faded with age, it welcomed Elizabeth with a warm embrace. Just as it always did, and hopefully always would. Blocks and tin soldiers lay piled in one corner and an unfinished board game took up most of the small table near the windows.

Aunt paused to straighten the striped pillows on the couch. “For all his attachment to me, Joshua and Phoenix have become as thick as thieves these last few months. Especially since Daniel left for school. You know, it was a week complete before Phoenix would speak to Daniel again after he returned from the autumn term.”

“Fairy dragons certainly can hold a large grudge, especially for ones so small.”

“Indeed. Phoenix still has not forgiven your father for his attitude toward the species as a whole.”

Elizabeth shook her head and rolled her eyes. Precisely why April had not accompanied her on this journey. Her ear-nipping would not assist a difficult conversation. “I am not at all surprised. Papa appreciates them when they are useful to his purposes, which sadly is typically not the case. He is not the only one to hold such a prejudice against them.”

“Quite the shame, really. Living with Phoenix has shown us all a very different side to fairy dragons. When you are ready, your father is waiting for you in the study.”

“Not terrible, although he did arrive by sedan chair, which you know leaves him rather out of sorts.”

“Has his condition become worse?” That would be the sort of thing he would fail to mention in his very sparse correspondence.

“I would not necessarily say worse so much as he is far more aware of his limitations now than when living at Longbourn.”

“Thomas! Look who has arrived.” Aunt Gardiner swept into the study, a smiling ray of sunshine.

Unlike Papa’s study, Uncle’s was tidy, sunny and dust-free. Neat books—including all the monographs that Elizabeth had written!—lined the bookcase behind the desk. The family-heirloom, carved dragon perch sat exactly where it always had, near the window and the door to the little closet which was Rustle’s own private dragon space.

“Good morning, Lizzy.” Papa sat in an overstuffed dark brown chair placed in a sunbeam near Uncle’s desk. He did not stand.

That was not surprising, all things considered. Sitting in the sun was usually a sign he felt particularly poorly. His face seemed a little more drawn, and his shoulders more stooped than the last time they met. How long had it been now?

Papa stared at her in that particular way, which had always made her feel judged and found wanting. “I have been meaning to speak to you about that cockatrix Viola.”

“I was not granted enough time with her. I was unable to take down a complete history. Why did you—”

“Well, she insisted on rushing back to that sanctuary of hers before I was finished. I am most put out.”

Of course, he was. How tempting it was to stand and flare out her cloak, her newest design, particularly well adapted to flaring out and holding that position. But that would hardly impress him. “What do you wish me to do about it?”

“I do not have that sort of authority! She does not answer to me but to the Blue Order Lord Physician. He is responsible for all Sanctuaries and their caretakers. Speak with him if you want to interview her or her charges. He might even be able to arrange transport for you.”

“I have no desire to travel.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Besides, your mother and Kitty should not be left to their own devices.”

Muttering under his breath, he turned his face aside. “The distractions of London are very much to their liking. Her quest to see Kitty well married means a steady presence of strangers at my table and in my drawing room. For reasons I cannot understand, your mother seems drawn to dragon-hearing families. Families whose members cannot seem to recall that half my family are dragon-deaf!”

Perhaps Mama had some residual ability to hear dragons. It would make sense, considering …

“I dare not allow your mother in company unsupervised lest something untoward is said.”

“Is not your secretary employed to assist with such things?” A very persuasive minor drake had been assigned to Papa.

“Yes, yes, Drew is helpful, essential even. But I prefer to avoid relying upon him more than necessary.”

Papa slapped the arms of the chairs hard enough that he winced. “They cannot stay with us. Absolutely not! And do not even suggest I should sponsor them for the Cotillion. It was difficult enough to manage your own Blue Order come out without drawing your mother’s attention to it. I cannot be expected to do more than that.”

“They are your sisters. I warned you there would be repercussions to your —choices. This is one of them.”

Having sisters had never been her choice! “I have an infant and responsibilities—”

“All in a household of dragon hearers. Even your servants hear dragons.” He spat the words as though it were a bad thing.

“As do yours—all provided by the Blue Order. It is your responsibility to —”

“No, absolutely not.” He stood, slowly, painfully, and looked down at her. “I am sorry you find it inconvenient.”

She rose—when had she become taller than he? “We were months in Bath managing—”

“Perhaps you should have considered that before you accepted your office. What did you think it meant to work for the Order?”

“Why do you think you can push off your responsibilities on me like you always have?”

He edged a step back, brows drawing low over his eyes, and clutched the corner of the desk as if for support. “Very well. If you refuse to sponsor your sisters, then they will simply wait until such a time as I can be certain your mother and Kitty can be sent to stay with Jane and Bingley.”

“As they could have already been? I know they were invited to visit the Bingleys for Twelfth Night. You could have easily extended the visit to accommodate the Cotillion.”

“I will not have you questioning the way I manage my family, Lizzy.” His face turned red as he ground his teeth. “It is your choice. Will you sponsor them or shall I send them back from whence they came?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” She turned on her heel hard and stormed away, allowing the door to slam behind her.

Three steps into the corridor, she stopped and leaned against the wall between two Gardiner ancestor portraits that had hung in those spots since she was a little girl.

Yes, she had been short-tempered and impatient. No, she should not have expected him to understand her situation or to be willing to go out of his way to help her.

Had he always been this way? Had there not been a time when things between them had been close and warm and happy? It seemed like there had been. And she missed it.

“I think you know why things can never again be the way they were.” Aunt tucked her hand in the crook of Elizabeth’s arm and urged her to walk toward the stairs.

“I know it is hard to be reminded of his flaws and foibles. But, for what it is worth, he is not exaggerating about your mother. Come sit with me, and I will tell you.” Aunt led Elizabeth to her personal sitting room.

Delicate flowers abounded throughout the small room, in the walls’ paper hangings, the upholstery, the curtains. Tiny and tasteful enough not to overwhelm, but enough to give the sense of sitting in a quiet, private garden. Just what she needed.

Elizabeth sat in an overstuffed bergère and pressed a plump green-striped pillow with little tassels on the corners to her chest. “I thought moving to London was going to make things easier for them, with people and events to keep Mama entertained.”

“One might say she is too well entertained.” Aunt sighed as she eased herself into the corner of the pastel floral couch. “Marrying off Kitty is her prime occupation now. More so than any of us would have imagined. She is frustrated neither you nor your father have used your connections to see Kitty well established in society. You are, after all, ‘Lady Elizabeth Darcy’ now.”

Elizabeth scrubbed her face with her palms. “You suggest I am too hard on Papa?”

“I am in no position to judge that. I only mean to suggest that there may be something quite substantial behind his complaints.”

“I do not know, but I think if he did, and they refused him, he would not be apt to own it. Most people do not like to admit to their failures.”

“How much have you corresponded with Jane since you became the Dragon Sage?” Aunt’s eyebrow arched in an expression she often used with the children.

“Not as much as I would have expected. But she has a home of her own to manage, so I expect she is busy.”

“She might not be prone to excessive displays of her feelings, but even I could detect those sentiments in her letters.”

“Why? She has a wealthy husband and home of her own. I am sure she will have a child soon enough—”

“Not your daughter, Lizzy, your title. Your mother talks of it constantly, brags on it and extols the excellency of your situation, though she understands nothing of the truth of it. She does it to your father, too. Hints constantly that he, like Sir William Lucas of Meryton, should have been titled as well. I have even heard her suggest it might be because he was too lazy to pursue such things.”

“That is brazen even for Mama.” Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.

“I know he is proud of you, do not doubt that. But it is difficult for a man when his offspring—”

“You mean his daughter. He would have had no qualms about a son moving into such a role.”

“I wish I could disagree with you. But it does not serve to dwell on such things. Though the dragons, and with them the Blue Order, might have very different notions about the female, I expect it will be quite some time before the rest of human society sees things the same way. Either way, it is difficult for him.”

Aunt leaned close and laid her hand on Elizabeth’s elbow. Warm, strong and soothing. “You could start by forgiving your father for being what and who he is. I know he is maddening and stubborn, but I cannot imagine he will ever change. Holding on to your resentment will not improve matters.”

“It would be so much easier if he did not continue to give me new things to resent.”

“Apparently the Dragon Keepers’ Cotillion is managed by a cadre of female despots much like Almack’s! Somehow they have decreed I should sponsor Georgiana because she is Darcy’s sister and Lady Wentworth because she was never properly presented to the Order and her rank demands a titled sponsor.”

Aunt frowned and chewed her upper lip. “It seems you have not made friends among the ladies of the Order.”

“I imagine being given a title and an office in the Order is among their complaints.”

“But Lady Astrid has as well, and I do not see the matrons conspiring against her.” Elizabeth shifted in her seat. “They seem to approve of her.”

“Have you noticed how she goes out of her way to socialize with those despots, as you call them?”

“I am the Dragon Sage, not the ‘Ladies with nothing better to do than manage society’ Sage.”

Aunt snickered. Thank heavens she still had a sense of humor. “I understand your frustration, truly I do. There are days I find Phoenix’s and Rustle’s squabbling far easier to manage than the machinations of the local matriarchs. Perhaps we can talk more about navigating those waters once we have survived the Cotillion. With your Uncle’s position as an Honored Friend to the Order, we have been invited to attend. Perhaps there is some way in which I might help.”

“Yes!” Elizabeth gulped a breath of cool air, her eyes burning just a bit. “Yes please, and thank you. Perhaps, do you think that you might be able to help me manage their gowns—”

“Would it help you to know that in anticipation of the event, your Uncle’s warehouse has a ready supply of Order-blue silks and muslins and satin? With ribbons and lace to match. We also have a number of gowns already made up, just in need of tailoring.”

“Gardiner’s warehouse has served the Order in this way for some time. Naturally, I only learned of it rather recently. But it seems your uncle worked with an Order-affiliated modiste on these designs. It is perhaps unconventional, but the nature of the Order Cotillion often makes it difficult for young ladies to arrange for their gowns before they come into town for the event. Order-blue is not a color easily obtained in the countryside. They often hope to have gowns made very quickly. While pre-made gowns do have their limitations, more often than not the debutantes are very pleased.”

“Mama! Lizzy!” Joshua burst breathless into the parlor, banging the door against the wall behind. “Come, you must see.”

“See what? Are your sister and brothers all right?” Aunt Gardiner jumped to her feet.

“Phoenix is ready! He says we must come to the kitchen immediately so that he can show you his trick.”

“Him and his trick! When will he give this up?” Aunt Gardiner rolled her eyes.

“He has yet to succeed, despite many attempts. I hope, if he fails in front of you that you will be able to convince him to give up this ridiculous effort,” Aunt Gardiner whispered.

Joshua led them to the tidy kitchen, dominated by a large fireplace. Aunt’s cook chopped vegetables at a table near the window overlooking the mews and a scullery maid washed pots in the far corner. That scent, almost too faint to notice? Was there a pigeon pie baking for dinner?

Phoenix hopped on the warm hearth of the fireplace. A low cooking fire glowed within.

“I brought them, just as I promised.” Joshua pulled a small, wooden stool up to the fireplace and patted it, glancing at Elizabeth.

Phoenix hopped and fluttered. “You came! You came! I know I can do it this time!”

Elizabeth blinked hard and glanced up at Aunt. “I am sure I misheard you. Breathe fire?”

Phoenix hopped and flapped hard. “I can! I promise you. I can do it. Pemberley will be so impressed.”

“I think this is not a good idea. You should not be so near the fire lest you get burned.” Elizabeth reached toward him. There was a knack to swiping up a fairy dragon who did not want to be caught.

“I can do this! Watch!” Phoenix hopped closer to the fire and held his wings wide. His throat expanded like a bright red balloon as he belched far more loudly than a creature his size should have been able to. Turning toward the flames, he hissed through his beak and a jet of flame appeared.

Brutus dashed through the kitchen and out the back door, barking and growling, all fangs and fury.

“I fear Brutus is scaring off a delivery boy, excuse me!” Aunt Gardiner ran after him.

“No other fairy dragon has ever breathed fire! But I can! Just like Pemberley.” His chest puffed, and he strutted across her palm.

No, not at all like Pemberley, but now was not the time to mention that. “How did you learn how to do this?”

“About a month ago we were in the carriage house, and he watched the horses eating straw.” Joshua stood very close and scratched under Phoenix’ chin.

“I know. I told him, too. Made him all sorts of ill and bringing up wind.” Joshua giggled.

“Of course it did, fairy dragons are not meant to eat it—I am not sure any dragons are.”

“But my wind, it makes fire!” Phoenix clung to her finger and leaned toward the fireplace. “I blew it out near a candle—”

“I discovered I have a part of my mouth that I can close up over my throat. I can hold my wind in—at least a little—until I want to spew it out! I did that today! I can make it work!”

“Clever little fellow! My Friend is the only fire-breathing fairy dragon in the world, Lizzy! I can’t believe it.” Joshua placed Phoenix on his shoulder.

“Neither can I.” She dragged her hand across her chin. “You do understand how dangerous this could be, do you not? Fire is not something to be handled lightly. Promise me, both of you, you will not do this trick again apart from your parents or Darcy or me watching over it. You could hurt yourselves badly, or even burn down the house.”

“Yes, I know you do. We will figure out a way for you to learn how to do it safely, I promise you. No one will take this from you.” Not that anyone could, regardless of what a good idea it would be. “We just cannot have you hurting yourself, or others, with this trick of yours.”

Aunt Gardiner returned. “Brutus is a most effective guard, I must say. I never did manage to catch that delivery boy. I wonder what order we will be missing.”

“I am sorry, Brutus is rather single-minded in his assignment.” Elizabeth dropped her chin to her chest and sighed. “After what we have seen here, I think, perhaps, Joshua and Phoenix should stay with Darcy and me, under Nanny’s supervision, at least until we learn more about this little trick and how to manage it safely.”

“No, certainly not. That is far too much trouble with what you have to manage already. I am sure—”

Joshua smiled at Aunt and blinked in a way he must have thought looked innocent.

“Oh, Joshua.” Aunt sighed, shaking her head. “I suppose with all the dragons in residence at Darcy House, he could be kept under better watch there. I will have the housekeeper pack your things.”

D arcy entered Darcy House’s attic nursery. Between Nanny, little Anne, May, and now Phoenix and Joshua, the plain, formerly sparse room had sprung to life. Children’s furniture and toys—some he remembered from his boyhood— had been freed from storage, dusted and polished until they looked new. The faded striped blue carpet from his nursery days still warmed the wood floor. Fresh white curtains dressed the windows and a child-sized table held books and games. A pair of soft chairs had been purloined from another room to give Nanny and Elizabeth comfortable places to cuddle with Anne and May. It was not the nursery of his childhood. Not that it had been bad, but in all ways the room was better now.

The fireplace adjacent to the windows held a cheery, crackling fire. Petite, black, and fuzzy, May curled in her generous blanket-lined basket near the fireplace, purring, whilst Phoenix in all his red scale-feathered glory perched on the edge, his wings spread in the warmth, twittering. Darcy yawned. The pair together were truly soporific.

That was probably why Anne did not awaken when he entered. A baby with preternatural hearing was a challenge indeed.

In the far corner, Nanny shared a large chair with Joshua. It should not startle him so to see a drake sitting in a chair like a lady, posture upright and perfect, but it did. She read from Tales of English Dragons: A Young Dragon’s Primer to the Pendragon Accords. The same book she had been reading to Anne since she was born.

It would probably have been better if May and Phoenix seemed to be listening as well, but no doubt Nanny would ensure they would have their lessons, too. She was nothing if not particularly suited to her unusual mix of charges.

He probably should not be so proud Pemberley had already mastered that volume and was now being tutored by Barwines Chudleigh. The elegant amphithere, her maternal nature in full bloom with her own snakeling in residence, seemed delighted to take Pemberley under her wings, figuratively and literally. The two young dragons had become fast friends.

She had made all the difference in their lives and had given him the things he treasured most today.

Joshua pushed away from Nanny and ran to him. “Are we really going to the Blue Order today? Do they really want to see Phoenix?”

“Do you recall what I told you?” Nanny strode up behind him as Phoenix landed on Joshua’s shoulder.

“Forgive me, Mr. Darcy,” Nanny laid her paw on Joshua’s unoccupied shoulder. “I am not sure this is a good idea. Both of them are full young for an audience with a major dragon, even one as even-tempered as Castordale.”

She was, of course, entirely correct. “The Order has insisted they come. Even the Dragon Sage herself has not the authority to countermand that request.”

“You must do your best to greet him properly and demonstrate proper decorum whilst you are there.” Nanny squeezed Joshua’s shoulder hard enough to make him squeak.

“Yes, Nanny,” Joshua and Phoenix chanted, though their sincerity seemed questionable.

Thankfully, all of their other guests were still occupied in the morning room. They made it to Darcy’s office undisturbed.

Joshua peered up at him as they entered the bright, tidy chamber. Hopefully this very formal, very grown-up room would set the tone for their conversation.

Phoenix perched on a neat stack of books on the desk while Joshua climbed into the large leather wing chair nearby, his feet not close to reaching the floor. “It will be good to get away from all the silly girls.” Forced lightness raised his boyish voice an octave. “Cousin Lydia is still very silly no matter what Auntie says, and Cousin Mary—”

“Stop right now.” Darcy slapped the desktop as he sat heavily, his desk chair groaning in protest.

Phoenix hopped backward, off the edge of the books. His wings beat furiously as he tried to regain his footing and his dignity.

“Miss Lydia has used her time with Auntie at the Blue Order school to her advantage. She has become a competent Dragon Friend and a more accomplished young lady.” Words Darcy had never thought he would hear himself saying, especially when Lydia still seemed so gay and frivolous. “And Mrs. Collins has risen to the challenge of Dragon Keeping under very unusual circumstances. Elizabeth and I are very proud of her. And as for Georgiana—"

He was right, and her Friend Pax was certainly the most well-behaved fairy dragon of Darcy’s acquaintance. “You will not criticize those who are more accomplished than yourself. Particularly when there is so much at risk.”

“At risk? I do not understand. Phoenix has learned a lovely trick that no fairy dragon has ever done before—even Lizzy and Uncle Bennet say that. He is very special, and I am proud of him.” Joshua stroked the back of Phoenix’s head as the fairy dragon thrust out his chest and lifted his beaky snout.

“You were not told at first because you are a child—no, do not get that look on your face. You are most certainly not a young man. Your attitudes and behavior brand you nothing more than a child.”

Joshua huffed and glowered. Phoenix tried to do the same, but only managed to look silly.

“You may stop posturing now. It only tells me I am correct.” If Darcy had ever taken that attitude with Father or Uncle Matlock, he would have been quickly acquainted with Father’s cane. “Nonetheless, serious matters are afoot, and I believe it is better for you to be aware of them before we arrive at the Order.”

Phoenix cheeped and bobbed from one leg to the other. “What? What? You think they will tell me I cannot show my new ability? I will not be stayed. Think how many I can gather to my harem this way.”

It would be years before Phoenix was ready for a harem. Foolish adolescent. “And therein lies the problem.”

“I do not understand. What is wrong with a dragon doing what he can do?” Phoenix pouffed his feather-scales and spread his wings. Trying to be big. Silly little flutter-tuft.

“All of us must live under the rule of the Blue Order.” Darcy trained his gaze on Joshua. “Your little Friend just declared he would not abide by their decisions. What do you say to that?”

“Other dragons are allowed to use their abilities. Even little Pemberley has breathed fire. It would not be fair to make Phoenix stop.”

“You realize, that makes both of you dangerous to the Order. Very dangerous.”

Joshua’s face lost a little color. “But he is a fairy dragon, and I—according to you—am only a child!”

One should not laugh at the instinctive games of dominance, even from a fairy dragon.

“I am much stronger than you believe. It is right for the Blue Order to take me—and all fairy dragons—seriously!”

Darcy gritted his teeth and counted to five. Then ten. “Phoenix, you are correct. All dragons should be taken seriously. You must realize, fire is very, very dangerous. To man and to dragons. It is not a parlor trick or a means of attracting mates. It is a very dangerous ability, a weapon even, that in the wrong hands—talons—can cause a very great deal of harm. Cownt Matlock himself has taught Pemberley both how to use her flame and the very strict rules as to when—the very few times—it can be brought to bear.”

Darcy grimaced. These were children, he was trying to reason with children. “Even if you can be trusted to do so, which is still highly questionable, there is the matter of other fairy dragons. If it becomes known that this is possible, how many others—wild fairy dragons, even—will seek to learn how to do it, too? If even a small percentage succeed, how much damage can be wrought? Remember, there is a reason that fairy dragons are not known for their wisdom or discretion.”

Phoenix pouffed even larger and chittered, hissing and flapping. Even if cute, anger was still the worst possible response.

Darcy laced his hand together and rested them on the desk. “I do not know. We will begin with a visit to Sir Edward Dressler, the Lord Physician of Dragons, and Keeper of Castordale. They will make an initial determination of whether Phoenix is unique in this ability, or it is something most or at least many other fairy dragons can do.”

“They could order you away to a Blue Order school, like Miss Lydia, with a dragon watcher assigned. Unable to leave or return home without their approval.”

“They also have the authority to sever your Friendship and send Phoenix to a Sanctuary for bird-type dragons who need careful management.”

“I could go to prison?” Phoenix squawked, eyes huge and afraid. “I will not go. I will not leave my Friends.”

“I appreciate your attachment to them, but the Blue Order does have the final say in these matters. Remember, whether or not you like it or approve of it, you are subject to their rules … and their discipline.”

“Castordale will not eat Phoenix, will he?” Joshua’s face went completely white, and all of Phoenix’s dominance shows deflated.

“That sort of punishment requires a full judicial action, even for a fairy dragon. I am certain you both can be trusted to behave properly so that such an action can be avoided.”

“Yes, sir.” Both youngsters seemed suitably subdued. Hopefully that would last.

A blue-liveried footman, tall, somber and silent, greeted them in the front hall of the Blue Order offices. Joshua stared at him, his eyes finally fixing on the Blue Order signet the footman wore on the small finger of his left hand. Joshua glanced back at Darcy’s hand, then rubbed his own, probably wishing for as much importance as full members of the Order had. Someday, he would have it, but not today.

The footman—no doubt chaperoning them for Joshua’s benefit—guided them up the long marble stairs. Portraits of past Blue Order officers, human and dragon, each with a brass nameplate, lined the staircase, reminding all who passed of the legacy that they had sworn to uphold. Thankfully Joshua and Phoenix showed the appropriate amount of awe and reverence, trying to look everywhere at once as though trying not to miss any detail. Had Elizabeth been as they when she visited the Offices for the first time?

Probably. At ten or was it twelve years old, she had been at odds with the Order over a fairy dragon as well. Pray this misadventure end as well as hers did.

They turned off the staircase at a broad landing that led into a hall wide enough for two men to walk abreast. The windows at either end of the corridor were frosted, allowing in light but not prying eyes. Strategically placed mirrors helped brighten the hallway enough to make out the faint claw marks on the worn limestone tile floors.

“What is that?” Joshua pointed at what looked more like a Pa Snake than an actual snake, curled around a tall rod, carved deep into the door, intricate and finely detailed. The orange agate dragon eyes glistened in the morning sun.

“That is a depiction of the Rod of Asclepius, the staff belonging to Asclepius, the Greek god of healing. It is usually rendered with a regular snake instead of a dragon. Done this way, it is the symbol of the Blue Order Lord Physician of Dragons.”

“No, he is a physician. He oversees the doctors, surgeons, and apothecaries who tend to dragons.”

“Most of England has no idea of their existence. Secrecy is paramount in the Order.” That was a critical lesson—if Joshua and Phoenix did not learn—well, no need to borrow trouble for now.

Sir Edward Dressler stood from behind his desk. Tall and thin, almost gaunt, the top of his head was entirely bald except for a little wisp of hair in the center that swept to the left and blended into the sparse fringe, which ran from one ear to the other. Thick wire-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose—he stared over them as often as not. Every one of his motions was calm and purposeful with an air that there was no crisis he could not manage. The sort of thing man and dragon wanted in a physician.

The room around him reflected the same calm precision. Large frosted windows poured their light into the room, reflected by mirrors on the opposite wall. Books in the three separate bookcases, all in order; Elizabeth’s monographs had their own special section. Hopefully, he could keep his pride over that display under good regulation. Two large curiosity cabinets between the bookcases held carefully organized items and artifacts, which Sir Edward could lay hands on at a moment’s notice.

The sound of many marching feet echoed from a large opening in the wall behind Sir Edward’s large oak desk.

Joshua jumped and looked around. Phoenix hovered near, scanning the room, perhaps checking for an escape route as fairy dragons often did.

“Do not fear, young man, it is only Castordale.” Sir Edward walked toward them in precise measured strides.

“I believe Nanny told you to expect that sound.” Darcy grumbled and glowered.

Joshua hung his head. Perhaps he was feeling out of his depth. That would be a good thing. A humbling thing. A very needed thing.

A very large, very blue Pa Snake slithered through the opening into the filtered light. Such a remarkable color, almost never found in nature. So blue it was almost unnatural.

Castordale stopped near Sir Edward and reared up to be the same height as his Keeper. Darcy’s arms would not have been able to span around him, had such a gesture not been entirely too intimate an action. At least ten feet of Castordale’s tail remained on the ground, making him no less than sixteen feet long. Fangs as long as Darcy’s hand protruded from his very snake-like head. They would have been frightening but for the curious and rather sympathetic expression in his glittering, jet-bead eyes.

He tasted the air with his long, forked tongue. Phoenix ducked behind Joshua, who stared slack-jawed. Darcy bowed deeply, from the waist, almost parallel with the floor and held that posture until Castordale flicked his collar with his tongue. Thankfully, he did not keep Darcy waiting.

“I understand this fairy dragon hassss appeared to breathe fire.” Castordale’s slithery-snakey voice hung heavy in the room.

“Pray, permit me to introduce the Sage’s cousin, Master Joshua Gardiner, and his Friend, Phoenix.” Darcy signaled the boy to bow. Phoenix landed on his shoulder and covered his head with his wings. Not perfect, but good enough.

“He does not really breathe fire, though.” Joshua worried his hands together. “Not like a true firedrake. It is just a trick. He is no danger—”

“We will be the ones to decide if he is a danger or not, son.” Sir Edward stared over his glasses and crossed his arms. “Tell me how he came to learn this trick.”

“Oh no, they did not know he was with us. He hid in the collar of my coat like April in Cousin Lizzy’s hood.”

“Do not implicate anyone else in your disobedience. You both knew you were going against your parents’ wishes.” Darcy barely restrained the urge to swat him.

Joshua jumped as though Darcy had. “Yes, sir. At the circus, we saw the fire eaters and watched them breathe fire like dragons!”

“And if a mere warm-blood could manage the feat, I was certain I, a proper dragon, might as well.” Phoenix puffed up.

“But we could not figure out what the fire eaters breathed out that burned, so we gave up.” Joshua turned to glare at the fairy dragon on his shoulder.

“You must believe me. I did not encourage him.” Joshua pumped his fists at his side.

Sir Edward cleared his throat and they all looked at him. “So, am I to understand you ate straw, young Phoenix?”

Joshua rocked from heel to toe and back. “The hay gave him a lot of wind. All afternoon and evening. After dinner that night, he breathed wind near a candle, and it caught flame! It was not as though we were trying to make it happen. Truly.”

Phoenix hopped into the air and hovered just in front of Joshua. “I have been working on the feat ever since.”

“With your encouragement, I imagine?” Sir Edward caught Darcy’s gaze and rolled his eyes, frowning.

“Um, ah, well, you see, sir, once a fairy dragon gets an idea in his mind—”

“Who do you think brought me the straw?” Phoenix dove for Joshua’s ear, but he covered it too quickly.

Sir Edward clapped his hands and both youngsters focused on him. “And the straw, it is what enables this act? Without it you cannot accomplish it?”

“No. Nothing else I eat makes me bring up wind that burns. I have tried with so many other things.” Phoenix landed on Sir Edward’s outstretched hand.

“It will be in your best interest.” Castordale leaned close to Phoenix, his heavy breath almost enough to knock him from his perch. “And I should like to interview the boy privately, while you —” he looked at Darcy, “—go speak with Matlock. He asked that you report to him immediately.”

“We will send for you when we need you again.” Castordale pointed toward the door with his flicking tongue.

Was this how Bennet had felt when Elizabeth was examined by the Blue Order for membership? Probably not, who could know what that man actually felt? But it was how he would feel when it was Anne’s turn.

Assuming this whole affair did not utterly poison the Order for admitting youngsters into their ranks.

Despite Elizabeth’s insistence it was a good idea, Joshua Gardiner was the epitome of why it might not be suitable for young people to be introduced to dragons. He was a good lad, to be sure, but headstrong and arrogant as children were. Not old enough to have much sense about him and for that reason easy to manipulate. The wrong influences around him could lead to disaster. Hopefully this whole affair would help Elizabeth to see that before something truly tragic occurred.

Darcy rapped at the Chancellor’s door, inlaid with an intricate replica of the Order’s crest. The primary officers of the Order needed no name placards at their doors.

The man himself flung it open and urged him inside. The door all but slammed behind him. On the ground floor, on the opposite side of the building from the Lord Physician’s office, the dimly lit, large room smelled of limestone and candle tallow. Lined with cabinets and bookshelves, it lacked all the warmth of a proper library. More like a dungeon. The Lord Chancellor’s presence seemed to fill the space with an ominous authority, a suffocating presence.

“It is about time, Darcy. I was told you arrived here nearly an hour ago.” Matlock settled into his large desk chair behind his imposing desk bearing a painted seal of the Chancellor of the Order on the front. A pair of pewter candlesticks lit a small circle around them. “Is it true about the fairy dragon?”

Darcy pulled a large blue leather wing chair closer to the desk and sat down. “After a fashion.”

Matlock raked his hair back. “Lovely. The Order does not need to be distracted by such things when there are far more important issues at hand.”

“We have reason to believe the suspected trade in dragons is in fact quite real.”

“You will like this even better. It appears there may be some Dragon Friends and previously unknown deaf-speakers involved.”

Matlock lifted an open hand. “Moreover, it seems your friend Wickham was squarely in the middle of it all.”

“But he was after a dragon to get a land grant to make him a gentleman.” Not that such a thing was less repugnant—well, no, it was less awful than trading in dragons themselves.

“No doubt he was, but like many of his ilk, he had connections, and possibly intentions, in many places. There is no telling what else he might have stooped to.”

“Obviously, the Council knows and those connected to our investigations. Beyond that, we are not sure. Richard should arrive shortly with further news from the north and Wentworth from Lyme. Expect that we will be calling upon the Knights of the Order soon, including you and the Sage.”

“The gossip will be out amongst the dragons as soon as the first fairy dragon or garden wyrm catches word of these matters, if the process has not already begun. You know that as well as I. The Dragon Sage will be necessary in calming agitated dragons and keeping them from taking matters into their own fangs and talons. We need her expertise to keep the major dragons from feeling men are a significant threat, lest they overthrow the Accords and plunge us back into the days of dragon war.”

A nne groaned and stretched most indelicately in a sliver of evening sun that fell in a single bright stripe along the center of the mews behind Thames House, their temporary London home. Save a few very brief stops to change horses and attend to essentials, this was the first time she had stopped moving in four days—or maybe five. It was difficult to tell anymore.

At least she thought that she had stopped moving. Closing her eyes, odd sensations in her limbs and head made her question whether it was true. She opened her eyes and stretched again.

The traveling coach, with Kingsley and Sergeant trotting beside, trundled down to the neat little carriage house at the end of the mews. As delightful as the plush coach had been, leaving it was far better.

Wentworth had not exaggerated the trials of their journey. Especially regarding visits to some less than savory environs. Thankfully, Kingsley’s and Sergeant’s special talents had not been required, though in more than one village, she had been glad for their presence.

Whether those stops provided what he had hoped for, he did not say—speaking of such matters where they could be overheard was both foolish and dangerous. Hopefully they could find a measure of privacy soon—away from gossipy fairy dragons and wyrms, where they might discuss oh-so-many things.

Among them, why did the Order find it necessary for Mr. Salt and his crew to continue on with them now they were in London? The convenience of a coach and driver was certainly pleasing, but such a highly trained team and luxurious conveyance seemed an unnecessary expense on the Order. At least the carriage house was included in the lease of the town house, so it would not be a hardship on the Wentworth budget.

Perhaps she watched over that a little too closely. But after living with Father, it was difficult not to. Wentworth, though, did not complain, and it put Kellynch at ease to know the privations of his past were no longer a concern. So perhaps it was not a bad thing.

She turned toward the house. Four stories tall and connected to the dragon tunnels, it resembled Camden Place in many ways, though a mite less pretentious. If it was as pleasing inside as it was outside, Thames House would suit them very well indeed.

A rather large, efficient-looking woman, probably the housekeeper, hired by the Blue Order, peeked out, flung open the back door, and headed toward them, brisk purpose in her steps.

And so it would begin, Anne’s tenure as mistress of yet another house, and her unofficial entrance into proper Dragon Keeping society. How strange and pleasing and busy it all was. Was it wrong to admit she looked forward to mingle in society that she might have something important in common with?

A great number of tasks awaited her: Kellynch’s lair to be fitted up to his satisfaction, the house to be set in order, essential entertaining to be planned, and an invitation from the Sage to be prepared for. Best begin immediately.

Anne poured chocolate from an utterly remarkable chocolate pot. Blue, red and green Eastern Dragons encircled the white china vessel with a matching cup held in its delicate trembleuse saucer. No doubt anything consumed from such a piece of art would taste remarkable.

“Are you sure you are up to this, Anne? We only arrived yesterday. You are barely unpacked.” Wentworth glanced at her over his newspaper.

The little morning room, painted a friendly pale green and overlooking the street, brimmed with the aromas of hot coffee, chocolate, and fresh Bath buns. A neat sideboard tucked into an awkward corner near the window, leaving just enough room for a round table that might seat six, if none were much larger than Anne. It seemed to suffer from the common morning room malady of being undersized and over-furnished. But somehow that just made it feel homey.

“I hardly think you would refuse an invitation from Lord Matlock because it was inconvenient.” She sat next to Wentworth and sipped her chocolate.

Heavenly, simply heavenly. Was that nutmeg and vanilla in the chocolate? And no chile, different to how she was accustomed to it, but so delightful. Hopefully the housekeeper would not insist on keeping the receipt a secret of some sort.

Wentworth, easy in his favorite marine-blue banyan, snorted. “It is an invitation to discuss our presentation, not a summons from the Order.”

Anne set her cup down very carefully. “The Dragon Sage will be presenting us at the Dragon Keepers’ Cotillion!”

“No, it is not!” She rose and gripped the edge of the table. “It is our formal introduction into Dragon Keeping Society. It is incumbent upon us to remember many in that society outrank us both, and yet will be asked to see us as desirable connections and ignore the very … unusual … circumstances of our family. Lady Elizabeth’s demonstration of support, approval, and connection to us will smooth the way with other Keepers and allow us to move in Blue Order society.” Why did her voice have to break just now? “In the Navy, your rank and connections were sufficient, but that is not the way society—particularly Dragon Keeping society—works. We need this connection and the introductions she can make for us.”

Wentworth set aside his paper and laced his still-calloused long fingers in hers, his expression somber. “I am sorry to be so insensitive.”

Dear man. The look in his eyes made it clear, the apology was sincere, but he did not really understand what she was about. He had not been raised in a baronet’s house. There was much he had no reason to understand. But he was trying.

What more could she ask? “You will see to Kellynch’s request while I am gone?”

He rolled his eyes and chuckled. “I am sure there is some connection to the Order who can be hired to clean out the tunnels between the Thames and the lair below the cellar. I cannot blame him for insisting that he should fit comfortably through the passage and not damage his scales. I took it on good faith when the solicitor said the tunnels were in good repair.”

Kellynch had lost a substantial patch of scales and several whiskers attempting to traverse those tunnels last night. “Laconia has been a dear, tending to Kellynch’s wounds and keeping him company until he can get to his lair. We must see that your Friend has his fill of cream and cod when Kellynch no longer needs his attentions. At least Kellynch did not take offense and throw a fit. That is an improvement, is it not?”

“He is in remarkable good humor, all things considered. Are you sure you want to bring Corn and Wall with you? They are such silly wyrmlings. Kellynch always appreciates their presence even more than Laconia’s.”

Kingsley trotted beside the coach on the way to Darcy House, all the other traffic giving them a wide berth. Sergeant rode inside with her. The street, they said, was not wide enough for both drakes to run alongside the coach.

Corn and Wall, who had tumbled free of their basket almost as soon as the coach door was shut, found him fascinating, sniffing him nose to tail and crawling all over him, purring and mewling. Patient, patient drake. For all his fierce looks, he seemed amused by them, though all the while never allowing his gaze to leave the side glass.

The coach stopped in front of an elegant town home in the middle of the street: Darcy House. So much grander than Thames House.

Good. She would not be expected to emulate the Darcys’ level of entertaining in her much more modest home. Strange relief that was.

She gathered the wyrmlings into their large basket. Alister Salt handed her down and helped her settle the weighty basket on her arm. Sergeant accompanied her to knock on the door with the brass drake’s-head knocker whilst Kingsley stood on the street, near the coach.

“Been ordered to see the Lady Wentworth is not left unprotected.” Sergeant stretched out his front legs in a sort of bow.

Odd, a bit insulting even. It was not as though she were showing up for a morning call and the lady of the house needed to decide if she were “in” or not. She had been invited by Lady Elizabeth.

Then again maybe not. If there were dragons in the house—not if, this was the Dragon Sage’s home, of course there were dragons—territory, dominance and proper greeting protocols would all be significant. It would not do to have unfamiliar dragons encountering one another unexpectedly.

That was the sort of thing Anne needed to keep in mind. It would probably be the norm when associating more with Blue Order society.

The door swung open revealing Lady Elizabeth, a toothy black guard drake, wearing a spiked collar, at her side. Larger and more muscular than even Kingsley, he was not a dragon to be meddled with.

“Brutus.” Sergeant extended his forelegs and lowered his head. The larger drake tapped the back of Sergeant’s head with his snout.

Brutus glanced over Sergeant’s shoulder, scanning the street behind them. “Him and Kingsley, the other drake on his team. Is Alister Salt with you?”

“Then I suppose there will be no issues.” Lady Elizabeth backed away from the door to admit them inside. “Brutus, will you introduce Sergeant and Kingsley to Walker and the rest of the household?”

Anne’s basket mewled. “Oh, gracious! Should I have brought out the wyrmlings for an introduction too?”

“Do not worry. The babies are too young to be expected to make proper greetings. May is quite excited for their visit. Pray come with me.” Lady Elizabeth led the way to a grand marble staircase with tasteful wrought-iron railings. Odd that she was doing the service herself, rather than relegating it to a servant, but perhaps that was because of the dragons, too.

Her bearing was confident, but somehow not proud. Her gown very fine, but not the sort that made one feel the difference in one’s station. She was welcoming and proper, but not familiar in an uncomfortable sort of way.

For being home to those with such a significant role in the Blue Order, Darcy House did not scream out ‘dragons’ the way it might. Since her own installation at Kellynch-by-the-Sea, Anne had been approached by many Blue Order artisans pushing their subtle and not-so-subtle wares. Everything from china settings with draconic images like the chocolate set she had drunk from this morning, to casegoods with drawer fronts and side panels inlaid with dragons of every sort, to yards and yards of fabrics from simple Order-blue to those bearing full-out dragon depictions.

Apparently dressing one’s house with dragons was a popular choice among those in the Order, though it seemed utterly at odds with the all-important need for secrecy.

The only obvious draconic influence in Darcy House were the dragons themselves. And there did seem to be plenty of them. A pair of drakes with livery badges zipped up the wide marble stairs beside them, bearing trays of dainties. Two maids followed with a full service for tea. A dark red, almost maroon, puck trotted behind the maids, with a feather duster in her mouth. Few would tolerate servants so much in the way of the family, but it did not seem to draw notice from Lady Elizabeth. More draconic influence?

They turned off at the large first-floor landing. Halfway down the spacious wood-paneled corridor, several colorful fairy dragons zipped back and forth, chittering too quickly to decipher what they were saying, but it seemed like they were excited to have spotted Anne’s arrival.

Including Corn and Wall in her basket, she had seen more than ten dragons in as many minutes. And that did not even include Nanny, little Pemberley and baby May, whom she had previously met! Gracious! Surely no other house in all of England could possibly have so great a draconic presence.

Cheery ladies’ voices filtered from an open door on the street side of the corridor. Lady Elizabeth urged her inside the large plum and gold parlor where the maids and drakes were setting up for tea.

Three ladies, all appearing younger than herself, sat on dark pink upholstered chairs and a sofa, backlit by a large window, hung with very sheer white curtains no doubt to block the view from the street. A stern-looking blue-green minor drake, lean and leggy, sat on a wooden chair behind a young woman who favored Lady Elizabeth. The drake looked exactly like a strict governess.

Bookcases, filled with books, mostly bound in Order-blue, lined the wall opposite the fireplace. Painted landscapes, probably of Pemberley, and two elegant ebony bombe chests populated the wall opposite the windows. It was difficult not to wonder what a Dragon Sage might store there.

April, Lady Elizabeth’s Friend, perched on a low gold-painted table between the chairs, with three more fairy dragons hovering near: one pink, one white, and a tiny black and red one. A fluffy black tatzelwurmling, May, sat back on her tail, her front thumbed paws on the table, watching the fairy dragons flitter.

How had Lady Elizabeth taught her so much control that she did not try and pounce on the fairy dragons? Surely Corn and Wall would not be so well behaved.

“Lady Wentworth, may I present my sisters, Mrs. Collins, Miss Darcy, and Miss Bennet.”

Mrs. Collins seemed the anthesis of Anne’s elder sister: proper, demure, with little desire to draw attention to herself. Everything about her seemed sensible, a little plain, and maybe a touch severe, except for the fluffy, pink fairy dragon who flitted to her shoulder. Probably a woman with whom Anne would have much in common.

Miss Darcy looked like Mr. Darcy in the best ways possible. Her smile was sweet, her eyes sparkling, and she looked adoringly at the brilliant white fairy dragon perched on her knee, almost blending into the white muslin of her gown.

Miss Bennet seemed very different. She resembled Lady Elizabeth, in a round, soft, youthful sort of way. All fun, frivolity, and gaiety, but perhaps little sense—that of course remained to be seen—with a tiny black and red fairy dragon chittering from her shoulder to the somber drake behind them.

“Auntie, my sister’s companion, sits behind them. You have already met April. Heather is Mrs. Collins’ pink Friend, Pax quite relies upon Miss Darcy, and I should warn you of Cosette’s temper. She quite resembles her brood mother, April, in temperament.”

Cosette zipped toward Lady Elizabeth, but little blue April cut her off mid-flight, scolding.

Anne’s basket mrowwwed. She opened the lid and two black and white furry faces appeared over the edge.

“May I introduce Corn, with the white ears and blue eyes, and Wall with the black nose and green eyes. And before you ask, Kellynch, their laird, decided upon their names.”

“May, come and meet your nestmates.” Lady Elizabeth crouched to beckon the wyrmlings.

Corn and Wall tumbled out of their basket and met May in the middle of the room, near the tea table. They wound around each other, sniffing and purring and mewling. A Gordian Knot of tatzelwurms.

“They are so dear!” Miss Darcy clasped her hands near her chest. “Do you think they will try and chase Pax though? May has tried a few times, and it upsets her so.”

“I expect they will keep each other quite entertained.” Lady Elizabeth fixed her eyes on the wyrmlings, a warning note in her voice.

All three mewed and bobbed their heads. No doubt they would obey, as long as they remembered that was what they were to do.

Lady Elizabeth gestured toward an overstuffed chair covered in pale pink roses and took a seat across the tea table from her sisters.

“You must help her learn not to be so ridiculously sensitive,” April chided, landing on the tea table near Miss Darcy. “Pax is a fairy dragon, and it is fair to say that something will always be chasing us.”

“Stay with me. I will protect you!” A brilliant red fairy dragon zoomed in and landed on the table near April.

“Lady Wentworth, this is Phoenix, Heather’s nestmate, who is staying with us for a little while.”

Phoenix puffed his chest and strutted, his bold red crest of scale-feathers flared to make him several inches taller. A male fairy dragon! So that was what the little blokes looked like!

April pounced and pecked the top of his head. “Enough of your parading. We are not your harem. You are not dominant here. I would thank you to remember that.”

Phoenix squawked and zipped out; his ego probably as bruised as his head. Poor little mite.

“Pray forgive him. Male fairy dragons can be a bit, well, full of themselves, especially with so many females about. I will have another word with him.” Lady Elizabeth extended her hand for April to perch on it and scratched her under her chin. April flitted to her shoulder, and Lady Elizabeth began to serve tea.

“I understand you are lately married, Lady Wentworth.” Mrs. Collins took a small plate and added a small cheese sandwich and several biscuits.

“My husband and I did. Kellynch insisted he should have two Keepers. Lady Elizabeth is sponsoring our presentation as Keepers at the Dragon Keepers’ Cotillion.”

“Oh, you are Keeper to Longbourn! Forgive me for not remembering that immediately. I am still sorting out all the Keepers, estates and dragons.” Hopefully she would not be the kind to take offense.

Mrs. Collins nodded, glancing at Lady Elizabeth, a little ill-ease in her look. “Yes. My husband is dragon-deaf, but the heir to the estate. He was accidentally made a deaf-speaker. Just recently, he was deemed acceptable to the Order. We will be presented at the Ball as well, though he is still at Longbourn for the moment.”

A female Keeper, with a deaf-speaker husband? What did one say to such a statement? There could be no protocol for such a thing, could there?

“Lizzy is sponsoring us, too.” Miss Bennet bounced on her seat. “Miss Darcy and I are coming out at the ball! I never expected I would have a ball at my come out. I am so excited I hardly have words. I must have a gown that matches Cosette. She is the prettiest little thing, is she not?”

Cosette landed on Miss Bennet’s outstretched hand, warbling loudly, and a bit off key.

“I am sponsoring all of you to the Order at the Cotillion. But as to your gown, no, it will not match Cosette. The Cotillion Board—” Something in the way Lady Elizabeth said that, she did not like them, or did not approve, it was difficult to say. “—have decreed that all debutantes must wear gowns of Order-blue as has been the tradition of the Order since the first Keepers’ Cotillion.”

“I see it no different to the rules of presentation to the King. And those court gowns are utterly useless for anything else. At least these we will be able to wear at other events.” Tellingly, Mrs. Collins did not look at Miss Bennet.

“Order-blue is a lovely color and will look so good on you, Miss Bennet.” Miss Darcy cringed a little as she spoke.

Lady Elizabeth nodded at Auntie, a tiny smile playing at her lips. “Tradition decrees that there is quite a bit of preparation to be done for the Keepers’ Cotillion. Unfortunately, there are not enough hours in the day for me to be able to dress and tutor each of you individually. I wish I could, but I simply cannot.”

Miss Bennet gasped and Miss Darcy looked crushed. Hopefully her own aching heart and held breath were less obvious.

Lady Elizabeth raised an open hand. How could a woman so elegant and put together look so haggard? The unruly dragons did not seem to tax her so much as her sisters. “That is not to say I will not help you, or that you will be left unprepared, only that we will have to accomplish this rather less conventionally and more efficiently than we might otherwise have expected.”

“Is there anything I might do to help?” As the eldest of those presented, it did seem the appropriate thing to say, despite having no idea what she might bring to bear. At least she could breathe again.

“I was hoping you might be of a mind to do something like that. Perhaps you and Mrs. Collins might be in charge of seeing that all of you learn the greeting protocols? I have no way of knowing which of the major dragons will be there. There are over four hundred major dragons in England alone, and it is possible that some Irish or Scottish dragons might attend as well.”

“Four hundred major dragons at the Cotillion?” Miss Darcy turned as white as her gown.

“Oh, heavens no! It would not be possible. I do not think that many large dragons could tolerate the proximity of one another!” Lady Elizabeth laughed. “But with new Keepers presented, I expect there will be more than usual. The debutantes and new Keepers will be presented to Dragon Mates and expected to greet them, dragon and human. I wish I could say we will have a list of who will attend, but even if we did, dragons can be capricious. We will not be certain until the event itself. So, you will have to be prepared, knowing all the greetings and all the Dragon Mate pairs.”

“How will they all fit in the courtroom?” Mrs. Collins’ eyebrows knit as though she were trying to work out the puzzle herself.

“There is a protocol to the greeting line. The dragons will enter by rank and line the edges of the room with sufficient space between them to prevent—ah—misunderstandings. The debutantes will begin at the highest ranked dragon and proceed around the room. When each dragon has been greeted by all the debutantes, he or she will retire and another dragon will take their place, until all dragons have been greeted.”

“I fear that is not all. There will be minor dragons present with their Friends to whom you will be introduced, as well. Though those greetings are less formal and will happen throughout the evening as the minor dragons are apt to stay for the entire affair.”

“That is why I recommend you study together. Lady Wentworth and Mrs. Collins will be able to coordinate your efforts. Together with Auntie and Nanny to assist as necessary, I am certain you will be able to help each other to manage the task. I will of course be ready to answer your questions and to test you on your learning so that you will be confident in your readiness.”

“Pray tell me there will be dancing at the ball as well. It sounds as though all we will do is curtsey to dragons.” Lydia rolled her eyes.

“There will be dancing, to be sure. The ball always begins with a traditional minuet, which you must learn. “

“A minuet!” Miss Bennet’s lip curled back. “But that is so old-fashioned. No one begins a ball with a minuet anymore.”

“The Blue Order always has and probably always will. Mr. Darcy and I will bring in a dance master to teach you. It has been so long since I did my own minuet, I cannot be certain that I even remember it properly at this point.”

“We are to have a dancing master! I have never had a proper dancing master!” Lydia squealed and bounced. “He will teach us more than a minuet, will he not?”

“I hope you will thank me when you have finished your tutelage with him. He is said to be rather exacting. But as some will be apt to judge you on your dance steps, as is the case in any society, we want to make sure you are well taught.”

“You are doing so much for us, Lady Elizabeth,” Anne said, “I do not know how to thank—”

“But what shall we wear?” Miss Bennet planted her chin on her fist, pouting.

Lady Elizabeth gritted her teeth and said nothing, probably counting to ten. “Aunt Gardiner will be arriving in just a few minutes to assist us with that point. In fact, I think I hear them now.” Lady Elizabeth opened the door. “Yes, yes, your timing is excellent, Aunt, do come in.”

A pretty, trim matron in an excellently made forest-green striped walking gown entered with three sturdy men carrying trunks and boxes. “Pray put them there, near the bookcase.”

April and Pax softly sang, “Such pretty cats and little birds in this room and dogs in the hall. Lady Elizabeth has such a fondness for her many pets.”

Each of the men patted the wyrmlings on their heads; two of them looked like they wondered why they were doing so.

“Go down to the kitchen when you have finished. Cook will provide refreshment for you.” Lady Elizabeth waved the men toward the door.

Several minutes later, they returned with more boxes, several bolts of Order-blue trims and a dressing screen they set up near the fireplace.

“As am I.” Mrs. Gardiner curtsied in return, poise and grace in her every motion.

“Lizzy said you would help us with our gowns?” Miss Bennet jumped to her feet.

“Gardiner’s warehouse has been working with the Order for years to provide garments for the Dragon Keepers’ Cotillion. Many times, gowns are needed on very short notice.”

“So, we have taken to having gowns cut and made up in preparation for the ball, so they only need to be tailored and trimmed for each debutante. Some still prefer entirely bespoke designs, but many prefer the ease our approach offers.”

“What an excellent idea.” Mrs. Collins glanced back at Miss Darcy and Miss Bennet, who looked just a little crestfallen.

“I agree entirely.” Anne said. “Have you brought some of the gowns with you?”

“Indeed, I have. Pray help me unpack them.” Mrs. Gardiner gestured at the trunk next to her and several boxes on the floor nearby.

All the ladies set to work and soon nearly a dozen gowns were laid out on the couch and the settee, and hung from the dressing screen and the top shelves of the bookcase for viewing. Mrs. Gardiner pulled several chairs close and laid out ribbons and laces, silk flowers and bows until the room resembled a linen-draper’s and modiste’s shop made into one.

Each gown was different and cleverly designed to be easily modified to fit a range of figures and tastes. The fabrics were all of excellent quality. Granted, they were rather plain, without trims, but it was easy to imagine how different lace and ribbons would enhance the gowns.

“Please, look through them. I see Lizzy—ah, Lady Elizabeth—has already had a mirror brought in. You might try on whatever you like. Several of our seamstresses will be here in an hour or so and can begin the fitting process.”

Miss Bennet squealed and dragged Miss Darcy up by the hand. “This one, this one! It is perfect for you.” She dove for a particular gown draped in layers of gauzy Order-blue muslin.

Despite her effusive enthusiasm, Miss Lydia was correct. It would suit Miss Darcy very well.

Mrs. Collins wandered toward a demure gown, with slightly longer sleeves, a modest neckline, and several rows of ruffles along the edge of the skirt. She bit her lip.

Lady Elizabeth approached, nodding. “I thought of you specifically when I saw that one.”

“It is lovely, but the estate is still paying back Longbourn for all those years of salt that were not offered him. I do not think … perhaps this is not the year to do this.”

“Mary, do not worry. Please, I want you to have this and any trim that you like for it. When I had my Cotillion, Papa found me a second-hand gown which neither fit properly, nor did I like very well at all. Uncle offered to make it better, but Papa—you can imagine. I do not want you to have the same experience. You should have something that you like, that makes you feel like a proper part of the Order.”

Anne was probably not meant to overhear that exchange. How lovely to have such a caring sister. It was good that someone did.

“Darcy has already set aside the funds for each of you. I know your taste. I do not have to worry about you exceeding my budget. Lydia, I may need to have words with. But not you.”

“If you are certain.” Mrs. Collins blinked back the brightness in her eyes. “I would like that very much.”

The door burst open. “Lizzy, Lizzy!” A little boy dashed in, hair frazzled and shirt half untucked. “Lizzy!”

“Joshua Gardiner, where are your manners!” Mrs. Gardiner trotted across the room to the boy who resembled her greatly.

“I need Lizzy. It’s Phoenix. He flew off in a huff and went to the kitchen. Now the warehouse men are there, and he is hiding from them. You know he does not like them. He likes to hide behind a loose stone he found in the fireplace, but I am afraid he will get too hot there and the heat will make him sick. Pray help me get him out.”

“Silly little creature! Forgive me, I will return in a moment.” Lady Elizabeth sighed and followed the boy out.

“Joshua and that fairy dragon have been inseparable since my eldest left home for school. They are alarmingly similar youngsters.” Mrs. Gardiner shrugged with more good humor than Anne’s sister Mary ever had about the antics of her own boys. “Mary, dear, what do you think of these trims?” She picked up some gauzy lace and two different widths of ribbon embroidered with little beaded fairy dragons and held them against the dress Mrs. Collins had been admiring.

“Get me my pins, there in the small box. Let me show you what I have in mind.” Mrs. Gardiner trimmed the sleeves, the neck and waist of the gown.

Gracious, what a difference it made! The once-plain gown became absolutely memorable. The woman was truly talented!

A piercing cockatrice shriek filled the air, sending chills down Anne’s back and a sense of dread permeating her bones. Her knees melted, and she grabbed the nearest chair for support. Feet—taloned feet— pounded up the staircase and thundered toward them. Kingsley and Sergeant burst in, with two formidable black cockatrice winging in behind them, all wearing Order insignia.

“Stay here, do not leave this room. Lady Elizabeth and the boy have been taken.”

W entworth sat at a wide stone-topped table beside Kellynch and across from Sir Carew Arnold, Minister of Keeps. The office, near the Blue Order courtroom on the lowest level of the Order offices, smelt of stone and burning torches. Their flickering light only added to the sense of a cold, dank medieval dungeon that lingering at the edges of his awareness. Happily, no iron chains hung from the walls lest he be entirely unable to escape the image.

Laconia sat on the edge of the limestone tabletop, black tufted ears pricked, curled and ready to spring. Kellynch had asked for his attendance, in support as it were. Despite Laconia’s dislike for crowds and unfamiliar major dragons, he stood by his laird, just as a good officer did his captain.

Langham, Sir Carew’s wyvern Dragon Mate, sat—no, not exactly sat, more like crouched on her two legs—how did one describe that posture?— beside her Keeper. Despite being one of the lower-ranking Blue Order officers, he enjoyed one of the largest offices, not because of prestige, but practicality. Significant space was required when one brought dragons to the table for discussion. It also explained why he was hidden away in the lowest basement—getting major dragons into the above ground levels, except perhaps for snake and wyrm-types, was hardly feasible.

Despite Sir Carew’s slow steps, hunched shoulders, and thin grey hair in something of a disarray, his mind was quick and his temper rather short. Langham, a lean, even-tempered, female wyvern, her dark hide and wing leather sporting light streaks—almost stripes, a most unusual pattern—proved an excellent foil for Sir Carew. What was more, her presence seemed to soothe Kellynch’s concerns that his voice would not be heard. No doubt that was her intended role in the affair.

While it resulted in a few cross words and demands from her that Kellynch himself might not have made, the whole process went rather more smoothly and with far greater satisfaction to Kellynch than Wentworth had expected.

All told, this experience was probably as beneficial for Laconia as it was for Kellynch. Respect among the Order for all manner of wyrms seemed, in his eyes, rather low and seeing Kellynch’s concerns taken seriously could not but raise his esteem for the Order.

“I will make arrangements for tunnel repairs immediately.” Sir Carew scrawled something in his notebook.

“While those are going on, Laird Kellynch, would you care to make use of a temporary lair here at the Order? With the Keepers’ Cotillion coming up, I am afraid there are many dragons coming and going, so you may not have the privacy you might prefer …” Langham cocked her mostly square head and lifted her brow ridge, looking for a moment so much like Anne that he held his breath not to laugh.

“Might introductions be arranged? After so much solitary hibernation, a bit of company might be an agreeable bit of variety.” Kellynch wrinkled his long grey-green toothy snout as he spoke, as though trying to remain noncommittal.

He was lying. The tiny twitch of the tip of his tail and lift of his long mustache whiskers marked him as very intrigued indeed.

“I can arrange for that. Most who come to the Order offices are not unamenable to a bit of company.” Was Langham resisting a smile?

“I think I shall remain here for a few days, then.” The fin down his back rippled, a sure sign of his good humor. “Laconia, you and their majesties will be most welcome to visit me at any time.”

Sir Carew hid a chuckle behind his hand. Word of Kellynch’s tatzelwurmling friends and his particular name for them had spread through the London Order with the speed of a scandal sheet.

“If you would follow me, I will show you the available lairs that might suit you. You may choose the one you best prefer.” Langham strode with surprising grace toward the tunnel opening. The table quivered in time with her steps.

Kellynch slithered off behind her, every inch radiating contentment with the circumstances.

“She is very good, is she not?” A wry smile lifted the corners of Sir Carew’s lips.

“I confess, I am impressed. Please convey my regards to Langham. Kellynch can be rather temperamental with regards to his comforts.”

“Indeed. And I am to meet with him immediately upon finishing here with you. So, I must bid you good day lest I incur the wrath of the man, his dragon, or both.” Wentworth rose, bowed, and left, Laconia weaving between his feet as he walked.

They climbed the multiple flights of stairs—was it three or four—at a comfortable pace. What sense in arriving flustered and breathless? No doubt this meeting would be more challenging than simply soothing wounded dragon pride. What were the chances Sir Richard brought better news than he?

They stopped on the ground floor, at a dragon-width door inlaid with an intricate rendering of the Order’s crest. Glass, stones, polished wood, even a bit of porcelain here and there created an image as clear as a painting, a masterpiece of craftsmanship.

“Mroow.” Laconia reared up on his tail, sniffing the air, and batted at the door with his oversized, thumbed paws.

Wentworth grumbled low in his throat. What was wrong with giving a man a moment to gather his thoughts?

Laconia chirruped, harsh and raspy. That was one of his warning sounds; Wentworth tensed into battle mode.

Sir Fitzwilliam—Darcy—opened the door and ushered him inside the ample room. Mirrors multiplied the light filtering in from frosted windows, providing just barely not enough light to read by. Shadows obscured the contents of the shelves at the far side of the room, lending a rather ominous air to the space.

Lord Matlock sat in his command position near the center of the room, behind his mahogany desk, which bore a masterfully painted seal of the Order. Three large chairs were arranged in front of the desk. A man with an uncanny resemblance to Lord Matlock occupied the farthest seat—Sir Richard Fitzwilliam, no doubt—a juvenile grey cockatrice perched on the back of the chair, serpentine tail snaking down to lie across his shoulder. Lacking the commanding presence of the cockatrice guard, the youngster seemed gawky and out of proportion, much like a stage all young men went through. His tail, wings and legs seemed a bit too large for his body and disheveled, ragtag feather-scales stuck out from the top of his head, bobbing as he flapped his wings and squawked.

“Laconia, Friend of Sir Frederick, may I present Earl, Friend of Sir Richard.” Darcy gestured from one dragon to the other.

Laconia slither-crept forward as Earl landed on the limestone tiles just behind Darcy. They circled Darcy, Earl’s wings spread, Laconia’s fur and body pouffed. Lovely, this would be a prolonged dance.

Just for once, it would be nice if they could simply bow to one another and be done with it.

Squawking and hissing as Laconia reared up on his tail to be as tall as Earl, the circling dance began anew. Earl lashed his powerful tail at Laconia, who caught it between his paws and bit it—just enough to break skin. Earl screamed and pulled away. He should not have challenged the older, more experienced dragon.

Laconia held on to Earl’s tail until he touched his beak to the ground and Laconia plucked a single scruffy feather-scale from the back of his neck. Earl extended his wings and allowed Laconia to thoroughly sniff him beak to tail and back again.

“I warned you not to test him.” Sir Richard extended his arm, protected in an elbow-length leather glove.

Earl hopped to his Friend’s arm, head down and grumbling, the universal expression of young lads shown their place by a grown man.

Laconia jumped to Matlock’s desk as Wentworth sat in the leftmost chair and edged it closer to Laconia.

“We came by way of Birmingham, Newmarket and Cambridge.” Certainly not a direct route by any means. “The blackguards are good at covering their tracks, that much I can say for certain.”

“Which implies you are not certain they exist, yes?” Matlock drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair.

“Oh, they exist. What traces we found are unmistakable.” Sir Richard’s shoulders twitched in a barely concealed shudder.

“What did you find?” Patience was clearly not one of Matlock’s assets. If he just held his peace and let Sir Richard speak—

“There was an apothecary shop near Newmarket that had a jar of wyvern scales for sale, marked as—what was it?” Sir Richard glanced at Earl.

“Uppercross has a family receipt for the stuff,” Laconia drummed his paws on the desk. He had always felt rather uncertain about Anne concocting the brew even after Uppercross had assured Laconia of his approval.

Sir Richard soothed the feather-scales on the back of his neck. “There is no wyvern estate within thirty miles of Newmarket. Wyverns are not known for giving away their scales readily and certainly not to one who would sell them.”

“All that tells us is some unscrupulous Keeper cleans up the lair and sells the debris. That is hardly proof of smuggling.” Matlock’s hands flexed in and out of fists.

Wentworth soothed Laconia’s raised hackles. “We saw the same between Hungerford and Pewsey and again in Ludgershall.”

“That suggests something more.” Darcy rubbed his chin. “It seems worth looking for a link between those apothecaries. It is possible a branch of that trade could be involved. It seems a most likely candidate of all the trades. Who else would be likely to use such articles?”

Laconia and Earl growled in tandem. Who could blame them? Cockatrice feathers and tatzelwurm claws were often cited in fairy stories’ magical potions. If there was a trade in wyvern scales, no doubt buyers could be found for their claws and feathers as well.

“The Dragon Sage has connections with an apothecary, Garland, whose Friend is a minor drake, Bedlow. He specializes in potions to soothe dragon ailments. We might be able to tap him for assistance.” Darcy rubbed his right knuckles into left palm.

“It might be best to see that April does not find out we also found fairy dragon enclosures at a shop in Bedford. The locks were fashioned for keys not beaks and on the outside rather than the inside.” Richard covered his ears briefly as though to dodge an ear-nip.

Wentworth’s ribs struggled to contain his heart as icy chills suffused his body. He barely ducked in time as a large cockatrice swooped to land on the corner of Lord Matlock’s desk.

Walker, easily the most spectacular cockatrice Wentworth had ever seen, made himself very big and shrieked again, flapping and rearing back on his tail. “They have been taken! They have been taken!”

“Who?” Darcy, paler than any man Wentworth had ever seen, barely forced out the word.

“Lady Elizabeth, the boy and his Friend fairy dragon! Mrs. Gardiner’s men brought the fripperies for the ladies. Sergeant found two of them in the kitchen, insensible along with the staff. The other was gone. He must have played a part in taking them.” Walker flapped, nearly slapping Matlock in the face.

“Gardiner’s men have been vetted! They would not have been allowed in the house otherwise. How is this possible?” Darcy pressed his hands into the edge of the desk, breathing hard. “Brutus—where was he?”

“Our entire guard plus the two that Lady Wentworth brought were patrolling their stations outside the house. The house was thought secure!” Walker hopped from one foot to the other.

Wentworth stood and backed away. Close proximity to a dragon that angry was neither wise nor safe.

“I have already alerted the cockatrice squadrons. They are all on wing. Brutus leads a team of drakes in search of the rented coach that took them. Rustle has been notified, and I expect Gardiner is tracing the origins of the coach and the missing man. Sergeant and Kingsley remain guarding the ladies at Darcy House.”

“Bloody hell and dragon bones.” Richard pounded the desk with his fist, exactly as his father had. “Is this enough proof for you, Father?”

Matlock glowered. “How could they have been so brazen as to take the Sage? What do they hope to gain by offending all the dragons of the Order? And why would they take the boy? The Gardiners are not nearly wealthy or influential enough—”

“They might have wanted Phoenix.” Darcy bounced his fist off his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut.

“His new trick of breathing fire, do you not recall? We have no way of knowing who may have seen those two practicing that trick at the Gardiners’ home.”

“Darcy has a point.” Sir Richard’s brow knit in a faraway look. “Those who do not know dragons well would not necessarily recognize Phoenix as a mere fairy dragon.”

“I have heard it said that if one squints and sees them from a distance, they look like tiny firedrakes.” Wentworth edged another half-step back.

“You said that Pemberley’s hatching is a widely known event.” Darcy glanced at Sir Richard as though there were more to the story than was widely known. “One who has never seen a firedrake might mistake—”

“No, Father, he is right. If Phoenix was seen to actually breathe fire, even in some very small way …”

Wentworth gasped, eyes wide. “Pendragon’s Bones! What a prize he could have appeared to be.”

“Damn, damn, damn, damn!” Matlock’s voice grew louder and deeper as he stood, fists clenched. “Of course, a worthless little flitter-bit would bring such trouble upon the Order.”

“No.” Darcy snapped with all the force of a physical blow. “Have you forgotten that the theft of Pemberley’s egg was our first suspicion of traders in dragons? For all their faults, you cannot blame the fairy dragons for this.”

Odd to hear a knight of the Order defend the lowly flutter-tufts with such vehemence.

Matlock snorted something that sounded like a surrender. “I will alert General Strickland and call in General Yates and have him recall all the Pendragon Knights. Alert your households that you will be traveling. You should take up quarters here.”

“Kellynch is staying until matters of his lair are sorted. That will leave Anne with only the tatzelwurmlings for protection. I cannot permit that.” Wentworth laid a hand on Laconia’s shoulders.

Matlock grumbled and muttered. “Very well. We will find quarters for your dependents here. We cannot have our resources spread thin protecting additional properties.”

“Your mother is a loyal member of the Order.” Matlock rounded on his son. Earl hopped to the back of Sir Richard’s chair. “She will do what needs to be done. I will ask her to make sure accommodations are appropriate for a party of ladies. And with Lady Wentworth and Mrs. Collins to chaperone, there can hardly be any further objections.” He turned to Darcy. “Pemberley should stay in the care of Barwines Chudleigh. She will be inconsolable when she learns of Elizabeth’s absence and will need full-time supervision. We cannot have her hampering our efforts and making herself vulnerable. The last thing we need is dragons—particularly young impulsive ones—taking matters into their own talons.”

“What about Longbourn?” Walker shifted his weight and resettled his wings across his back.

“I expect him to make an appearance here no later than afternoon tomorrow. Lady Elizabeth may no longer be his Keeper, but he will not tolerate this insult to her.” Walker cocked his head at Darcy, who nodded gravely.

Matlock squeezed his eyes shut, muttering. “Since Pemberley will not be using her lair, house him at Darcy House if you must. Mrs. Collins can tend to him via the dragon tunnels as needed. Who knows, we may yet have need of a major dragon’s help in these matters. It could be to our advantage to have one ready to come to our assistance.”

Darcy leaned forward on the edge of the desk, voice dangerously soft and level. “Sir, I think you underestimate Elizabeth’s position with the dragons. The problem will not be having one ready to come to our aid. I fear there will be far too many dragons ready to exact justice for this insult to the Order.”

E lizabeth swallowed back the bile and odd-tasting cotton wool coating her tongue. She wiped away a tear. How poignant and moving the tale told by the vibrant shade of blue that bobbed and wove next to her. So touching … how could she bear the anguish?

She curled into a ball and sobbed; deep, gut-wrenching sobs that had not been drawn out of her since … since … when was that? It should be clear, memorable. How could one mislay such a memory? It had such a profound taste. When was it she had tasted this before?

There had been a dragon involved, that was certain. All her most moving memories had a dragon involved. They had been the source of everything that had touched her.

There was someone else. Someones else. Someone elses? Someones elses! Why were the words not there?

Better. Yes, that was better. Some of the fog washed away in her tears and in the lulling rocking that embraced her at the pace of a familiar clop-clip in the distance. Yes, that was pleasant.

She used to be able to do that. Regularly. With ease, perhaps? Certainly, it had not always been so muzzy … had it?

There was someone, someone who smelt of sandalwood and shaving oil who could make it all stop. Yes, the memory was there.

Yes! Yes. The small one smelt of lavender and rose and dragon musk. Dragon musk?

So many dragons—small and large; very small and very large. Where were they? They should be here.

Where was he? What was his name. Sandalwood, yes, yes, sandalwood. She screwed her eyes shut and pressed her fists into them. Wisps of an image—a face. Where was Sandalwood?

He would know what to do. He always did. He was always safe, and strong, and secure. Trust, she could trust him, always.

Yes, yes, that was right. They did. And so did little Lavender-and-Rose. She trusted him, too.

Sounds and motion. Splitting pain in her head. Sounds piercing her ears. She retched, spitting bile on something—someone?

She forced her eyes open and pinpricks of light burned into her skull, rapier sharp and hot, but they did not burn her hand as she held it in front of her face. No, the light felt cold on her skin.

“I … I don’t feel right.” Sounds of retching and vomiting beside her. The voice was familiar, but not Sandalwood.

She pushed herself upright—what had she been lying upon and how did she get here? Where was here? Moving, here was moving, swaying and rocking; rhythmic clopping and crunching.

A carriage. Yes, that was it! She was in a carriage, with the familiar voice. Why? When? How had she come to be in a carriage? Where was it going?

She shook her head. Bleary, watery thoughts clung like a frantic animal. The world around her spun, flinging her retching on the hard, swaying floor.

Cool; a cool breeze filtered in with the light from somewhere. She gulped in fresh air even as it drove daggers into her lungs.

The little blue one who smelt like sweet … who? Was it … yes … April complained about the cold. She did not like it at all.

“Are you all right, Lizzy?” A boy, shirt stained, tears trickling down his cheeks, stared at her.

“Why did they take us? You and me and Phoenix? What are they going to do with us?” He pressed close to her.

“I do not know.” She blinked her eyes hard, and everything faded into focus.

They sprawled on the dusty floor of a small coach with curtains drawn on all the side glass. Slivers of light danced around the curtains, brightening the space just enough to make out four, probably two pairs, of forest wyrms, one stationed in each corner.

In most respects they were typical, square-faced, shaggy brown-green forest wyrms. Snaggle-toothed fangs hung outside their closed mouths, giving them a rather fierce countenance. But their eyes were uncommonly blue. A wide stripe of a similar shade ran under their chins to their bellies. What sort of wyrms were these? No bestiary she knew described these.

She reached out toward the nearest one, the smallest of the females, fingers curled toward herself. The wyrm cocked her head and blinked, leaning a little closer.

“No!” Phoenix—where had he been hiding?—bright red and pouffed big, hovered over her hand and pecked it hard. “Do not touch them! They poisoned you!”

The wyrm jumped, and she snatched her hand back and inched away from the wyrms. “Do you know what happened?”

Phoenix chirruped and hovered before them. “The delivery men came into the kitchen where I was—I was resting from the twittery females. I hid from them. I never liked those men to start and there was a strange one among them. I think I heard his brother worked for Gardiner’s. He came in his brother’s place as his brother was ill. He was the one who called the wyrms in—I think the wyrms made his brother ill. Then you came to get me out of the kitchen. I do not think that was part of their plan.”

“The wyrms came in, and you invited them for a scratch, but when you touched them, they poisoned you somehow and you fell, unable to move. They turned on everyone else in the room but the strange man. Rubbing against them until they fell over, insensible, too. I tried to escape, but the man had a net and caught me as well. He let two more men in. They had hidden in the coach we are now in. It has the number plate of a vetted carriage company, or so I heard. That’s why it was permitted in the mews. Another carriage tried to enter the mews and took all the attention of the house guard, and we were carried away into a coach. Now we are here.”

The largest one, a male, stared at her, bobbing and weaving as though she were prey to distract.

“A member of the Blue Order.” Elizabeth glowered at him. “Do not exaggerate.”

The largest wyrm, with a broken fang and a scar across the side of his face, exchanged glances with a smaller female at a diagonal from him. Probably his mate, and probably the leading pair of the cluster. Wyrms nearly always traveled in pairs.

The female smacked her lips, a gobbet of spittle gathering at the side of her mouth, and flicked her forked tongue. There was a small red knob atop her head, reminiscent of a mushroom cap.

“We were not to take the boy, the woman, not anyone. Only the little dragon.” The smaller male near Joshua stammered, quivering and salivating. The small spots on his underside formed a rather hypnotic pattern as he wove back and forth. “Why did they do it?”

“They must be valuable, yes? The Movers like valuables.” The smallest of the wyrms, a juvenile female, whose dull, flaky hide looked close to shedding, inched toward the small male. Probably her mate.

Wyrms often mated very early, even before they matured, and their pair bonds lasted for life. Many times, the surviving wyrm did not live long after the loss of its mate.

“Perhaps means good luck. Movers will be happy for more value.” The one with the red head knob nodded with her whole body.

“Azure is right. Our luck is good today.” The largest wyrm lisped slightly, probably from his missing fang. “Indigo, tell your mate, tell Lapis! Listen to Prussian, trust Prussian. The boy, the woman are valuable. Will be good for us. It will make the Movers happy.”

“Those are all blue pigments.” Joshua whispered. “I visited the colorman with Papa, and I heard them talking about those colors. Why would they all be named that way?”

“You are right, but I have no idea.” Not that it was particularly useful information right now, but it was good that he was thinking.

“They want the red tasty one!” Indigo, the smaller male, smacked his lips and lurched at Phoenix, who darted behind Joshua.

Indigo and Lapis wove around each other and returned to his side of the coach, entwined.

There was a reason wyrms were not typically Dragon Friends. They preferred the company of one another to that of warm-bloods. It was an offense many found difficult to overlook, putting them below even fairy dragons in the Order’s esteem. Major wyrms only fared slightly better. Right now, it was easy to see why.

“What do they want with the fairy dragon?” Elizabeth directed her question to Prussian, who was probably the most intelligent of the cluster.

“Do not try and trick me, Blue Order woman. I am not stupid. That is no fairy dragon, is a baby firedrake! It breathes fire!”

Joshua gasped and opened his mouth to speak. Elizabeth elbowed him hard and caught Phoenix in her other hand, effectively shutting his beak.

How could she use such ignorance to their advantage? Was it good she had not been their target? No way to tell right now.

“So, you know him to be a baby firedrake. We did not disguise his true nature well enough. What could you possibly want with a baby firedrake? They grow large and hungry very quickly.”

“What is that to us? Not for us. The Movers want it to move it elsewhere. Money will be moved, and we will gain.” Azure slithered toward her mate, the red knob atop her head bobbing hypnotically, and wrapped herself around him.

“Far away. There are those outside the authority of your Blue Order who think to make captives of such things.” Prussian punctuated his statement with a loud clap of his jaws.

Cold shivers, like tiny, scratchy-legged spiders, coursed down her back. “Why are you in league with them?” And perhaps more importantly, who were they in league with?

Prussian flattened his body, hissing and lashing out in feinting strikes. Azure mirrored his movements.

Elizabeth pushed Joshua back to avoid the yellowed fangs. She threw her arms wide, hissing and spitting first at Prussian then Azure. They shrank back. “We are no threat to you. You have no right to threaten us.”

“The Order has never served wyrms. We do not observe their law! Enough talk.” Prussian made an odd keening as he wove in a deliberate pattern.

All four wyrms dove for them, rubbing their blue stripes wherever they could find bare skin. Her vision wavered and faded as her limbs turned to lead.

Strange men’s voices roused her from the talking colors and sympathetic floorboards. Cold air slapped at her face, shaking away the lingering muzziness and throbbing headache.

She looked up into the painful brightness, blinking her surroundings into focus. A large, angry, very human face stared into her eyes. A man; tall and straight with glasses, a green coat, and a vague air of refinement.

She pulled her legs underneath her, but her hands had been tied behind her back. How exactly was one to gain her footing under such circumstances? Rough hands, belonging to two scruffy but silent men, caught her as she tripped, feet tangled in her skirt. The same hands hauled her down from the coach and dropped her, barely balanced, on the packed dirt.

The air tasted of salt and a gull screamed overhead. The coast—had they been unconscious that long?

The sun hung in the grey-mist sky, higher than it had been when Aunt Gardiner had arrived at Darcy House.

Traveling that many hours—she knew her English geography, truly she did. If they had gone east, they would be near Dover. West would have taken them toward Portsmouth.

She glanced about. Docks nearby, warehouses at their back, with a narrow alleyway leading probably to a main street. If she ran, could she make it to the street and find help?

She shuffled her feet and tested her bonds. Her limbs barely cooperated. Such a powerful poison. If she tried, she could never make it, and there was little telling what would happen to Joshua and Phoenix if she did.

Waves lapped the rocky beach perhaps thirty yards before them. And not another soul—man nor dragon—to be seen nor any useful signs of where they were—wait, there. On that rooftop, a weathervane in the shape of a crescent moon and eight-pointed star.

True, it made little practical difference, knowing where they were. But somehow it was comforting, grounding.

“Here’s the cage. Carefully now, get this little thing in there, but mind yourself. We don’t need no flaming!” To her left, one of the scruffy men came around the back of the coach with a boxy iron cage in his arms.

The other scruffy man, on her right, held Phoenix in a net as he shrieked and struggled. When had that happened?

“Let him go! Let him go! You have no right!” Joshua struggled in the not-gentleman’s grasp, kicking at his shins and reaching for the cage.

“You will only hurt yourself if you fight, little firedrake.” She said softly, looking at Phoenix. “Both of you. Do as you are asked and do not become injured.”

Joshua settled down and the not-gentleman set him on the ground. “What are we going to do with them? Why did you take them? This was not to be a kidnapping.”

“What is you, woman? Some kind of governess?” A fourth man climbed down from the box. Shorter than the not-gentleman, he walked with a swaggering limp—his left knee or leg had been injured. His cheeks were ruddy and weathered and his thin hair poked out in unruly wisps under his battered hat.

“I am his protector.” Elizabeth looked straight at the limping man. Something about the way the others looked to him suggested he was in charge.

Prussian slithered beside her and reared up on his tail, but did not offer any information.

“Young ones need a protector.” She flashed a warning look at Joshua, who immediately pressed his lips together. For all that he was a scamp, he also seemed to have the good sense to know when to allow a bigger dragon to manage the situation.

“Which one are you protector to?” not-gentleman asked. The glasses perched on the end of his nose hinted he had some useful knowledge about dragons and perhaps even the Order. But not enough, it seemed, to know who she was.

The limping man stood very close. Breath like a dragon and crooked front teeth. “Then if you value their hides, I suggest you start your protecting by making sure they do as they been told. We ain’t running a nursery here. The only one I know I’m gettin’ paid for is the dragon. If either of you can’t keep ‘im in line, I ain’t bothering with ya’. Yeah?”

“Understood.” Elizabeth stepped closer to Joshua. No one stopped her. Surely that had to be a good thing.

“Why did you take them, Corney, and what are you going to do with them?” Not-Gentleman stepped into Corney’s space.

“It were too easy to take ‘em, and I have a sense for what’s valuable. I be certain they’s valuable.”

“I am not. We need to wait on Scarlett. She knows these matters better than you. If she agrees, then we take them.”

“I’m not a-waitin’ on some fancy feathered female to tell me my business.” Corney shoved Not-Gentleman back. “If you don’t want a part in this, then get out now. Go!”

“You’ll be paid when I am. That were the arrangement. You ain’t gettin’ paid any sooner. Now leave or come with. The tide is shiftin’ and it’s time to go.” Corney crossed his arms and glared.

Not-Gentleman muttered something untoward and stalked toward a rowboat of some sort, pulled up on the shore.

The scruffy men roughly shoved Phoenix into the cage. Poor little mite bore the ignominy well. She cringed as the lock was set. No dragon should be kept against their will.

“Move on, move on.” The limping man called and trudged through the steady breeze to the cold stony beach.

The scruffy man who smelt like sweat grabbed her elbow and urged her and her calf’s-foot-jelly knees along. His slightly less sour-smelling companion did the same with Joshua.

Getting into a small boat, with the wind whipping her skirts and without the use of her hands, proved rather challenging, but at last, the boat was full: the captives, four Movers—Corney, the sweat-smelling one at the oars, Not-Gentleman and the other scruffy man at the rear. The four wyrms stationed themselves between the captives and the rower. Were they Friends of the Movers?

The fishy-smelling craft bounced and lunged on the choppy waters as the oars threw up cold droplets in a steady, unsympathetic rhythm.

“I do not feel well.” Joshua’s face was positively green. It was some mercy that by this time there was nothing left in his stomach to cast up.

“You will feel better after we are fed.” Elizabeth looked at the presumed leader. “You do intend on feeding us, do you not? I think it has been nearly a day since we have eaten. If the baby dragon does not have food soon, he might perish.”

“And I will not eat if they are not fed.” Phoenix twittered. Naturally, he could not give up all expression of defiance.

“Shut yer yaps, they’ll be food in good time. If you behave.” The limping man glowered at her.

The outline of a ship appeared in the misty distance. Had it always been there, and she just failed to notice? Two masts, square sails with a long bowsprit at the front. A figurehead hung below the bowsprit, the front half of a lion, the back half of a fish. A sea-lion. Reminiscent of a tatzelwurm or hippocampus, but patently wrong. Like everything else was. A creature, a situation that could not, should not exist.

Long and sleek and probably fast, the Sea Lion seemed the sort of vessel smugglers and privateers would probably favor.

Clearly this was not a crime of impulse or convenience. Some effort had been made in planning the affair. Certainly not a factor in their favor.

By the time they reached the Sea Lion, Joshua was not the only one feeling ill. Pray this sensation pass quickly.

Sailors lowered a rope ladder and the scruffy Mover from the back scampered up, the smaller wyrms, Indigo and Lapis, right behind him. How easily the wyrms navigated the coarse rope.

The task was far more difficult than it appeared, with the boat and the rope seeming to move in opposite directions, tearing at her palms, dodging out from beneath her feet. No doubt there would be little help for her if she fell.

She scrambled up over the side just as her arms and legs threatened to give way.

By comparison, Joshua made the task look easy. Not-Gentleman carried the birdcage up, his movements seeming nearly draconic.

“What trouble are a woman and a boy gonna be? At the first sign, throw ‘em over and it be done. Put ‘em all in the ‘old. What do it eat?” Corney held up the cage and poked at Phoenix.

“Small bits of meat or fish cooked in broth would be best. He cannot eat hard tack or very much bread. And he must be fed at least three times a day. Four is better. He is tiny and cannot go without very long.”

She shrugged. “Do as you will. But if you value your cargo, do as I say. I am sure a dead dragon is not worth as much as a live one.”

“And if you’re lying to me—” Little bits of spittle flew to punctuate Corney’s threat.

Finally, Corney nodded. “Take ‘em below. Tell Cooky to cook up a plate for the dragon as she says. After you see that the dragon eats, feed them.” He leaned close and wagged a finger in Elizabeth’s face. “No trouble, you hear? None. I got no patience for it.”

He handed the cage to Nickleby and turned away. Nickleby and Ayles propelled them across the undulating deck, down a ladder, and into a dark chamber, a lock clicking loudly behind them.

A small grate in the ceiling allowed just enough light to filter through. The room could not have been more than ten feet across, and maybe as many feet deep, possibly less. One corner held a pile of still sweet-smelling hay. A currently empty bucket, for the necessary no doubt, occupied the opposite corner. Rough blankets, or perhaps feed sacks, lay rumpled in the center of the room.

No furniture. No comforts of any kind. Almost like the cavern Netherfield—rather, Netherford— had hid her and Lydia in. At least here they had some light.

Joshua stumbled to her and grabbed her about the waist, holding her so tightly she could not breathe. Phoenix clung to the bars of his cage and keened—a poignant, soul-rending sound she had never heard a fairy dragon make.

How tempting to join him. But to what end? It would not return her to Darcy and Anne and April and Pemberley any sooner. No, for that she had to keep her wits about her and her sensibilities under control.

“Lizzy, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how anyone knew about Phoenix’s trick,” he whispered into her side.

“Where fairy dragons are present, there are few secrets.” She rubbed his back.

“When they open the cage to feed me, I can fly out. I can escape and seek help,” Phoenix said.

Elizabeth sat down beside the cage. Gracious, it was difficult to move about with everything rocking and swaying. “You are very brave, my little friend, but without you, we are no use to them. You heard Corney. We will be thrown overboard if you escape. Our lives depend upon you not doing that.”

“I do not like it.” Phoenix extended his wings and pouffed out his feather-scales.

“Then what shall we do, Lizzy? How shall we get home?” Joshua wrapped his arms around his knees, his voice wavering just a bit.

“I am not sure yet. But in moments like these, I have always tried to think like a dragon and act accordingly. It has worked for me in the past, and I hope it shall now.”