Chapter 8

January 18, 1815, London Order Offices

D arcy stared into little Anne’s face as she cuddled into his chest. The dim evening light filtering through curtained windows was just enough to make out her features. The confined nursery, tucked in an awkward gable of the Blue Order offices, was quiet, so quiet this late in the evening, though the building was usually filled with the noise of too many people and dragons. It was not home, but for now, it would have to do.

She looked so much like her mother and smelt of rose and lavender. Her eyes, her smile, her laugh, her special peace and satisfaction in the presence of dragons. She was her mother’s daughter.

Emptiness opened in his chest, and he pulled her in closer. She murmured a little sigh of contentment, unaware of the storm swirling around the Order.

They would find Elizabeth. Find her and bring her home.

They would.

They had to.

“Sir Fitzwilliam?” Nanny whispered at his shoulder. Perhaps one day it would feel normal to hand his infant to a waiting, toothy drake, but even here in the Order offices, it still did not feel natural. “Perhaps I should take her to her cradle now?”

The move from Darcy House to the Blue Order offices had been difficult for Anne. It was not a building ever conceived to house an infant. Barwines Chudleigh, maternal instincts in full force, insisted on overseeing the project. In less than a day, a suitable space was identified and converted to a nursery. As astonishing feat of management as there ever was.

Unfortunately, though well away from the hustle and bustle of the Order Business on the floors below, little Anne’s preternatural hearing proved exceptionally problematic—every little sound seemed to waken her from sleep. The little mite still did not sleep through the night under the best of circumstances. Hence the use of the awkward little storage room-cum-nursery that Chudleigh was embarrassed to even suggest little Anne stay in.

Chudleigh all but come out to say that, perhaps, Anne belonged in her own lair with Pemberley and her snakeling. But even Elizabeth would have taken pause at that idea. It was unlikely the baby could sleep easily with the noises of dragons coming and going.

Elizabeth had assured him Anne’s issues would sort themselves out eventually. According to Mrs. Bennet’s reports, Elizabeth had been a difficult infant, who rarely slept and started at the slightest noise. It was not until she was at least two years old that she was not a constant disruption to the household. Hopefully it would not take so long with Anne.

Little May’s arrival had definitely improved the situation with her uncannily soothing purrs. Perhaps that was part of her appeal to Walker, who could not abide the sound of babies crying.

If only he could stay here with her. But Nanny was right.

He passed the baby to Nanny. “I will ask Georgiana to send Pax to you. April is in no condition to assist in the nursery now.”

Poor creature. It had been difficult enough when Elizabeth was taken by Netherford. This was far, far worse.

For all of them.

Nanny’s long blue-green nose wrinkled. “I am sure I can manage without Pax’s help. There is no need to separate her from her Friend. It is quite enough to have the tatzelwurm in the nursery.” Something about the way she said tatzelwurm …

“Anne’s Friend’s name is May, and I would enjoin you to use it.” Darcy glowered and dodged around a small table, Anne’s cradle, and a press to make it to the doorway. “Did not the Sage make it clear to you that family Friends were to have free access to Anne, especially the fairy dragons?”

“Yes, sir, she did, but it is most irregular. The Order does not officially support the notion that infants or children should be exposed to dragons.” It seemed Nanny missed the irony of her own statement. “And I registered my protest to her, but she insists the infant can hear dragons even though none can really be sure yet. And to expose any infant to fairy dragons! The thought! They are senseless little flutter-tufts who will only—”

“Not another word against the species or our Friends.” Darcy pulled his shoulders back and towered over Nanny just enough to remind her. “If you cannot lay your prejudice aside—”

Nanny blinked rapidly. “With respect, sir, it is hardly prejudice as you understand it. They and the tatzelwurm are prey. It is not natural—”

“Nor is it natural for human and dragon to live in peace. Yet we do. If you cannot abide by our standards, I will see that another suitable nurserymaid is found for our daughter. Feel free to give me your notice at any time. Until then, I will consider any repetition of this conversation, or one like it, to be your notice. Do I make myself clear?”

Nanny bared her teeth in a draconic frown, but lowered her head slightly. “Understood. Sir.”

“Expect Pax to be here soon. Offer her warm tea with honey when she arrives.” Nanny did not think fairy dragons had any business drinking tea or being served honey. Darcy turned on his heel and left.

Perhaps he ought to go ahead and speak to Lady Astrid about finding a new nanny in any case. If she felt so strongly about mingling with prey, her attitude was not likely to change. That was not what Anne needed to be taught, even now.

He made his way down the scantly lit, narrow staircase to the primary guest quarters on the third floor. Where Anne should have been, in a room adjoining his own. His steps echoed on the limestone tiles. Why was nothing as simple as it should have been?

Rest, he needed rest. Probably should retire for the evening.

A shadowy figure appeared before him, and Darcy stopped short.

“Darcy.” Gardiner stood, several paces away, shoulders slumped, dark rings under his eyes. He had aged ten years since Darcy had last seen him. “My wife came to call on her nieces and Miss Darcy.”

Lovely. No doubt Gardiner hoped for an invitation. Darcy was hardly fit for company.

“Come.” Darcy plodded past Gardiner and inclined his head toward an oak door carved with a fanciful depiction of a firedrake. It looked nothing like Pemberley, not even remotely. But it served as an outward sign of the sort of accommodations that could be expected behind the guest quarters door.

The invitation was neither formal nor even polite, but Gardiner was the rare and well-appreciated sort of family who would not notice such things. Today that made him tolerable.

They entered Darcy’s quarters. A low fire lit the space in a somber orange-red glow. The room was exactly as large as it should be to accommodate the four-poster bed, cabinet, dressing table, and two large chairs near the fireplace with a small table between, and no larger. Elizabeth might have described it as cozy and intimate. But without her nothing could ever seem so.

“Brandy? Port?” Darcy headed toward the decanters on the dressing table.

“Feels like the sort of situation for a great deal of cheap gin.” Gardiner snorted, grim and weary.

“I suppose. But it is all have to offer now. I have not the will to head into the parts of town where cheap gin might be acquired. Will it do?”

“Very gracious of you.” He took the offered glass, cradling it in his palms, and sank into the nearest chair. “How fares Pemberley?”

“Not well.” Which was, of course, a firedrake-sized understatement. “She is beside herself, which is only to be expected, but dragon-sized tantrums are unpleasant, nevertheless. I have never been so grateful for Barwines Chudleigh before. No one else can manage Pemberley right now. She is entirely discontented to remain here, under the protection of the Order. Somehow, she has determined that she should be allowed to search for Elizabeth. She can fly now, after all.”

“Not so very different from my children: too much ability, and too little discernment.” Gardiner took a deep draw from his brandy. “Daniel would give anything to be able to assist in the search for his brother. As would I.”

“Imagine explaining to Pemberley that Elizabeth’s abduction could easily have been intended to bring her out where she, too, might be taken. The very suggestion only makes her even more angry. How dare warm-bloods consider such a thing?”

“I imagine an angry firedrake, even a very young one, is quite formidable.”

“Doubly so when her favorite Keeper is involved.” Darcy covered his face with his hands.

Gardiner hunched over his glass, head bowed. “I am so sorry, Darcy. I feel responsible for this, you know. Those men, I thought they had been properly vetted, all their connections carefully examined. I cannot believe I allowed—”

“It was not your fault. Elizabeth would tell you the same. The men who worked for you were loyal. Even the one who sent his brother in his place. He is aghast at his brother’s betrayal. It is hard to fault them either.”

“I should not have allowed them to go to Darcy House—”

“How could you have foreseen such a thing? No one could have. No, this was not your fault. At the very least, we have found a few more avenues of investigation to follow.” Darcy swallowed a large sip of brandy, relishing the burn down the back of his throat.

“That does not bring your wife and my son back.” The words hung, threatening, dangerous, in the air.

“Not yet, but it will.” It would. Darcy’s fingers closed hard on his glass. Hopefully it would not shatter in his hand.

“Would that I had your certainty.”

“It is all I have right now.”

The crackling fireplace seemed to agree.

A fist pounded on the door. He jumped and nearly dropped his glass.

“Sir Fitzwilliam, Sir Fitzwilliam!”

Darcy dragged himself to the door—what new crisis could possibly warrant such an assault on his ears?—and yanked it open, revealing a breathless, somewhat haggard, Blue Order footman.

“Sir, you are wanted in the lairs. Urgently.”

“Pemberley?” He clenched his fist and gritted his teeth.

“No, sir, Longbourn has arrived.”

Of course he had. What joy was his. “Pray excuse me. If you wish, feel free to use my quarters until your wife completes her call.” Darcy followed the footman downstairs.

Mrs. Collins joined him at the first-floor landing. Hopefully she would be helpful. Elizabeth thought her sister was becoming a quite competent dragon Keeper, but with Longbourn’s temper, there was no way to predict the sort of tantrum to expect.

Light and warmth faded as they reached the subterranean levels, where nearly all decoration ceased and the stairs grew narrower. Flickering torches filled the air with wan, yellow light and their own peculiar scent. Two more flights of stairs down, to the lowest level, containing the guest dragon lairs.

Several steps from the bottom, Longbourn lunged to meet him face to face. Darcy stopped short, catching Mrs. Collins just before she fell headlong down the last few steps.

“It is true?” Longbourn’s booming voice echoed painfully against the stone walls.

Not a spectacular creature on the best of days, the wyvern’s hide was dull and dusty and his expression grim. Longbourn’s breath reeked and his talons were ragged.

“He did not look like that when I left him.” Mrs. Collins whispered. “He is so particular about how his person is cared for. He barely accepts ministrations from me. Mr. Collins is not permitted to touch him.”

That would have sounded like an excuse from another Dragon Keeper, but knowing Longbourn …

“We do not know where she is.” Darcy sidled in front of Mrs. Collins.

“Who has taken her?” Longbourn’s voice reverberated in Darcy’s chest.

“We do not know that either.”

“What is being done?”

“Cockatrice and drake teams are searching for her, but to little avail so far. The carriage which we thought took her has been found, but it seems that the number plates have been switched and the wrong coach was followed. That is as far as the search has taken us.” Darcy braced himself for a roar.

Mrs. Collins peeked over Darcy’s shoulder. “We have not given up though. The entire Order is determined to find her.”

“I will help. I must help.” Longbourn stomped. “What can I do?”

An excellent question that demanded, if not an excellent answer, at least some direction for something he could do.

“Gardiner’s men tell us the kidnappers used poisonous wyrms to incapacitate everyone in the kitchen. That is how they took her so quietly, without notice. Do you know anything of such wyrms?”

“Dragons were involved in her taking?” Longbourn’s tail lashed as he fanned his wings. If he could have belched fire, he probably would have. A drop of ochre venom gathered at the tip of his fang.

Darcy gulped and edged back a step. “It seems as though it may be possible.”

“What kind of wyrms?” Longbourn growled.

“The men who saw them only said they seemed to be forest wyrms, but had a blue stripe running down their bellies.”

Longbourn grumbled and growled low in his throat. A sound powerful enough to set Darcy’s ribs and the hairs on the back of his neck vibrating as well.  Longbourn sat back on his haunches, tail whipping.

“You are familiar with such wyrms?” Mrs. Collins asked.

“I have never met such a creature. But there are stories. Old stories, the kind that Bennet likes. Or perhaps the bookish woman—she might know something of them.”

Lady Astrid! She would rejoice at something productive to do.

“There is something more, I can hear it in your voice.” Mrs. Collins edged past Darcy. Perhaps it was good that she was here.

“I do not know for sure. But there are rumors.”

“Tell us.”

“No. No, it would not be good. There are matters which belong to dragons alone. Not to be shared.” Longbourn shook his head in broad sweeps.

“If it could help us get Elizabeth back, I insist you tell us.” Darcy spoke slowly. Longbourn would not respond well if he lost his own temper.

“No. Not a warm-blooded matter. I will see if the rumors are true. It might be nothing, but it is what I will do.”

“There is something you should know before you go.” A deep, slithery voice came from a dark corner far from the stairs.

Darcy and Mrs. Collins jumped.

“Why have you been listening in on our conversation?” Longbourn did not look toward the voice.

“You are in the public space between the lairs. This is not a place for secrets.” Netherford slithered closer, his blue hide dirty and his whiskers frayed.

“What are you doing here? Richard said you remained at the Netherford estate.” How long had the lindwurm been traveling alone?

“That had been our plan. But when I heard the news about the Sage, I felt compelled to offer my services.”

How quickly word had traveled!

“As what?” Longbourn looked over his shoulder as Netherford approached.

“There is a great deal of unrest among the major dragons at this news.”

“The warm-blooded segment of the Order is not exactly pleased either.” Darcy muttered.

“I think you misunderstand me, Sir Fitzwilliam.” Netherford slithered in beside Longbourn and rose up to look eye to eye with Darcy, forelegs crossed over his chest. “Word has gotten around that the Order is concerned about a possible trade in dragons and their parts and that it may be connected to the Sage’s disappearance.”

“Already? I had hoped for more time.”

“The suggestion has been made that the Pendragon Accords are not being upheld by men and a few vocal dragons are wondering what should be done about it.”

“Done about it?” Mrs. Collins clutched the banister.

“You imply the dragons are threatening to take action on Elizabeth’s behalf?” Darcy said.

“I think there are many who are beholden to her and even more who are fond of and intrigued by her, who would be happy to assist in her recovery. But those are not the voices to which I refer. No, there are those who wonder if the Blue Order has outlived its purpose and if it is time for dragons to exert their will over men again, to remind them of whom they are dealing with.”

Pendragon’s bones! Who would have conceived? “Which dragons precisely?”

“I have a complete report to deliver to Lord Matlock. Once he has heard, I am certain he will wish to inform all of you as well. In the meantime, perhaps, Laird Longbourn, it might be wise for you to delay your journey long enough for the Order to draft a statement to the major dragons. That way you might position yourself as the bearer of the Blue Order’s news and travel more freely among the dragon estates.”

Longbourn snorted and stomped and pawed at the ground.

Mrs. Collins approached Longbourn, hands held up and open. “I know you do not wish to wait, but it seems like it would improve your chances of success. And if you find that your rumors of wyrms are not useful, then at least you will have done something that Lizzy would have wanted to see done. There is that.”

Longbourn pushed his head toward Mrs. Collins, and she scratched behind his ears. “Very well, but I will not wait more than two days.”

“That is generous of you. I am certain Matlock can be made to make a decision in that length of time. If you will excuse me.” Netherford retreated through the tunnels.

January 19, 1815, London Order Offices

The mantel clock in Darcy’s guest chambers chimed nine times, morning light filtering in through the frosted windows. A few hours of sleep left him rested enough to try to do something useful, but not enough to be in a good humor about any of it.

The map he studied hung over both edges of the small table, crisscrossed with cryptic scribbling by Wentworth and Richard: their routes, their contacts, the locations where they had identified traces of dragon traffic. He penciled in the path Wickham took with Pemberley’s egg, as best he could reconstruct it from memory. He would have to check with Walker on some of the details, especially on the cavern locations he and Elizabeth had searched near Meryton. Netherford might be helpful with that, too.

Was he imagining it? His lines seemed to fit well with the others.

He fell back in his chair, raking his hair. How long ago that seemed. So much had happened.

How could he have lost her again? Acrid bile burned the back of his throat. He fought back the urge to be sick. Was this what it would always mean, their service as Dame and Knight of the Pendragon Order? Had he conceived such a thing could ever happen again, he would have forbidden her …

He chuckled darkly.

Forbidden Elizabeth. As if that were ever going to be successful.

One did not forbid the Dragon Sage. Reason with her, yes; request respectfully, definitely; but forbid? Absolutely not.

It was hardly proper, unwomanly even; how he loved that about her.

A woman who knew her own mind, had her own opinions and was not afraid to offer them. One who knew how to stand up to ridiculous dominance displays with her own. One who was not afraid to admit the rare occasions when she was wrong. One who expected him to do the same. A partner in every possible sense of the word.

And because of all the things he loved most about her, she was missing.

Would he ever see her again? How could he possibly raise Anne without her? Could he ever marry again?

Impossible. Simply impossible.

A loud rap at the door, not Richard’s, though. He knocked like he was giving an order.

But who else would dare disturb him so early in the day? He shambled to the door and pulled it open.

Bennet.

What was he doing here? How quickly could he make the Historian leave? Now was not the time he could listen to Bennet’s criticisms of Elizabeth with grace.

“May I come in?” Bennet seemed more hunched and frail than when Darcy had last seen him. A bit like Gardiner.

Perhaps …

Darcy gestured him to come inside and shut the door. He pulled two chairs closer to the fire—Elizabeth had often reminded him her father’s discomfort was lessened—and his temper improved—when he was kept warm.

Bennet slowly lowered himself into the chair as though his joints were too stiff to move any faster. “It is true then?”

“I am afraid so. She, Joshua Gardiner, and Phoenix.” Darcy steeled himself for the first bitter words.

“Longbourn came to visit me last night. He told me everything.” Bennet wrapped his arms around his waist.

“I am surprised he was allowed at Middle Set House.”

“He is not, but he came nonetheless. One cannot turn away a determined dragon.”

He was right. “Did that cause problems with your wife and daughter?”

“It does not matter.”

Since when?

Darcy sat up very straight. “I was given to understand that it mattered very, very much.”

Bennet rocked side to side ever so slowly, gazing vacantly into the fireplace. “I have made arrangements for them. I just saw them off to stay with Jane and Bingley for a visit of indefinite duration. Several eligible fellows have moved into the neighborhood. Jane wishes to make the most of the opportunity for her sister.”

“How convenient.” Would that he had made the decision sooner.

“How is April?”

“Beside herself. She has been staying with Mrs. Collins and the others in the rooms the Order has assigned them.”

“I want to help.”

“What do you mean, help?”

Bennet winced. Apparently Darcy had not concealed the snide tone in his remark as well as he hoped. “Longbourn told me about the wyrms you mentioned, that knowing more about them might be important to finding the kidnappers.”

“We do not know, but at this point, anything might be helpful.”

“I cannot be certain, but I recall something in the histories about them.”

“What do you remember?” Darcy resisted the urge to shake the words out of him.

“They are not common forest wyrms. I am certain of that. I think I saw reference to azure-striped forest wyrms in journals from two estates in the north. Farther north than Pemberley, I believe. I cannot recall the estates’ names now, but I know I read of them here, in Lady Astrid’s collections.”

“I shall inform her of that possibility immediately.” It was not much, but it was something. And that could qualify as help.

“That is not what I meant.”

“What do you mean?”

“I did not send Mrs. Bennet and Kitty away so that I could sit and stare into my own fireplaces. I intend to go to the collections myself and begin looking for those journals. Perhaps Lady Astrid and her apprentices might wish to assist, but I will do the task myself. I have brought Drew, my secretary, to help.”

“You need not trouble—”

“She is my daughter.” His voice turned frail, brittle as he gripped the arms of the chair.

“And she is my wife. I will see to it everything that can be done on her behalf is done.” Darcy sat straighter, expanding his chest.

“The last time I saw her, we did not part on good terms. I did not think it would be the last time that I saw her.” Bennet’s voice broke.

“It will not be. I am certain of it.” Sometimes it was the right thing to lie.

“So, you will permit me to help?”

“I would accept a team of fairy dragons and tatzelwurms if they thought they could be of assistance.”

The mantel clock struck twelve times, midnight, as Darcy stumbled into his chambers. Another day with no more answers than they had before. Granted, he now knew a great deal more about forest wyrms in general and how necessary they were in the management of estate lands. But nothing useful toward his most pressing concern.

Walker slipped through the open passage door, silent and dark as death. Had Darcy been prey, he would have been dead. Leaving the door to the dragon passages open was one of those little acts of trust that marked the decades of their Friendship.

Walker glided to the mantel, above the low fire. A little show of dominance that: being over Darcy’s head. Somehow it managed to be a demonstration of dominance and not at the same time. That Darcy permitted it was a statement of his esteem for Walker.

No one ever suggested having dragon Friends was simple or uncomplicated.

“I imagine this means you have no fresh news.” Darcy stalked toward the decanter of port. It was tempting to drown himself in it, but something insisted he be ready at a moment’s notice, so he merely used it to knock the razor’s edge off his anxiety.

“No, not of that sort.” Walker hissed the word, wings half-extended. “You need to talk to April.”

“I saw her just a few hours ago when I brought her a fresh jam and honey pot from Darcy House. I still do not understand why no one here deigns to provide her with sufficient sweets. It is not as though any other dragons have the penchant for them that fairy dragons do.”

“That may not be the issue.” Walker lifted his foot and picked at something between his toes. “Go talk to her. Now. She is with Lady Wentworth in the ladies’ sitting room.”

It was late, and he was tired, and hardly in the mood for company. But what sort of Friend would he be to ignore such a demand? And it might be distracting for a few moments.

He set his port aside, back and shoulders aching. Had he aged so much in the last few weeks? Gardiner and Bennet certainly had.

Darcy knocked at the ladies’ door, the inlaid agate eyes of the carved drake staring back at him. Was that disapproval in its expression?

“I am so glad to see you, Sir Fitzwilliam.” Lady Wentworth opened the door and ushered him in. Candlelight painted the otherwise domestic chamber in dramatic yellows and golds. “She will not tell me what is troubling her, but it is clear that something is, very much.”

Vague perfume, a mix of flowers, none Elizabeth’s lavender, hung in the air.

“Would it be an imposition to ask that you permit me some time alone with her?”

“I had planned on it. Corn and Wall will come with me as well. We shall be in the library if you have need of us.” She slipped past him, the two wyrmlings in her wake.

The door clicked shut behind him, and he scanned the room. Signs of Elizabeth’s sisters were strewn everywhere. A sewing basket, lying open on its side in the middle of the couch. Books, probably Georgiana’s, sitting open on a nearby chair. A half-finished board game occupying a small table near the window. And April’s fairy dragon ‘cage’ on the mantel to keep warm near the fireplace.

A little mass of blue huddled on the cage floor, shuddering.

Did fairy dragons cry?

It only took five steps to cross the length of the room. “April?”

She did not even lift her head.

“Are you well?”

“No. No, I am not.” She tucked her beaky nose under her wing.

“Pray, come out and tell me about it.” He offered his hand as a perch. “I brought the jam and honey as you requested.”

She lifted her head slightly and looked at him with one eye, evaluating, considering. Her entire being drooping, she hopped to his hand.

He pulled a chair close to the low fire and sat down, holding her close to eye level. “Pray tell me, what is wrong?”

“What is wrong? What sort of fool are you? Everything is wrong and you know it. Everything is wrong!”

He stroked the back of her neck, soothing ruffled feather-scales. “Beyond the very obvious. What is wrong?”

She rocked back and forth, keening softly. Her mournful notes raking his heart like tiny talons. “What is to become of me? What is to become of me?”

“Become of you? Whatever do you mean?”

“If … if … something happens to her? What is to become of me?”

Of course. It was so obvious now that she voiced it. But it was a good question. He drew a breath to speak, but released it in a sigh. That was not the right thing to say.

Nor was that.

Nor that.

“What do you want? That is to say, should you not be the one to decide what is to become of you?”

She looked up at him, head turned half upside down. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course I do. You know I am not apt to say what I do not mean.”

“I am to choose my own fate, my own direction?” Her eyes grew large as if surprised.

“Certainly. And in so far as I am able, I will see to it your wishes are honored. It is what Elizabeth would want.” He scratched under her chin. “I hope, though, that if such a decision does become necessary, you would choose to stay with me. I know I am not your particular Friend—”

She chirped, loud and sharp, and pecked his hand. “I have never said that.”

It was difficult not to drop her when she did that. “I would not presume—”

“You do not need to. You are my … Friend … like she is.” She ran her cheek along his hand.

Darcy swallowed back a lump in his throat. “I am honored.”

“I know. That is why you are my Friend.”

He drew her close to his chest, and she leaned into him. “Somehow, my little Friend, we will all get through this, and things will be right in the world once more. I do not know how. But they will.”

Chapter 9

January 19, 1815, London Order Offices

A nne fought the urge to pace as she awaited Lady Matlock in the small parlor on the second-floor of the Order offices. The lower walls were paneled in dark wood, the upper walls painted in soft blues and the furniture upholstered in deep gold. Wooden dragon perches were interspersed among the chairs, sofa and low table.

Ladies should not pace, so she sat, straight and proper, digging her fingernails into her palms.

Afternoon sun filtered through the frosted windows with a warm and friendly glow that released a light fragrance from a bowl of dried flowers. Perhaps one day she would become accustomed to the odd, muted light of the offices. Thankfully, she did not need the same precautions at home since her walls did not boast huge oil portraits of significant founding dragons of the Blue Order, nor were their descendants walking the halls.

The latter bit was a touch of exaggeration. Major dragons could only be found in the lower floors of the offices. Those above the ground floor generally did not have accommodations large enough for them. It seemed draconic imagery in all manner of décor took their place.

She smoothed her cream and plum striped skirts, a half-dress gown, supplied by Mrs. Gardiner just in case a meeting such as the upcoming one were necessary. She had been right; being properly garbed did help one to have the right frame of mind for such things.

In so far as it was possible.

“Lady Wentworth.” Lady Matlock swept into the parlor, her own not-quite-Order-blue gown a mite more formal than might be expected for what was essentially a morning call.

Yes, this was going to be lovely. What a way to experience her introduction to the Blue Order Cotillion Board.

Mrs. Gardiner had offered no good opinion of the group. All were peeresses: two viscountesses—granted, one was a dowager— two countesses and a baroness—and they felt their rank very deeply. They enjoyed their reign as Blue Order’s answer to the patronesses of Almack’s. In fact, two of them were patronesses of Almack’s.

Anne swallowed hard as her limbs grew cold. These women were the arbiters of Blue Order society. It was in their hands—or at least largely so— to decide whether she and Wentworth would be admitted into their good company or not.

Heavens above! She sounded like Father!

Why be so anxious? It was not as though she had cared one whit for warm-blooded society and whether she was admitted into it. Typically, such company lacked the elegance, manners, accomplishment, and understanding to be worth associating with.

Somehow, though, it seemed different for the Blue Order. Would not the good opinion of Dragon Keeping society be worth having? It surely should.

Should it not?

“Are you ready.” Lady Matlock did not ask a question. “The Board has convened downstairs in the amphithere drawing room that they favor for their meetings. I will make introductions for you.”

“Thank you, Lady Matlock.” Anne stood and curtsied, more by reflex than intent. “I do not understand why they have insisted on my presence. Do you know the business they wish to discuss?”

Something in her posture suggested she truly did not care. “I can only imagine it is in regards to the unfortunate disappearance of your sponsor before you have been properly prepared for the Cotillion.”

“Surely they are not planning to go on with the event?”

Lady Matlock’s eyes bulged as though she had just said something very stupid indeed. “Whyever not? Lady Elizabeth is not part of the planning committee. Why would her situation change anything about the Cotillion?”

Anne clamped her jaws shut. No point in saying something else equally offensive.

Lady Matlock led the way out of the parlor and to the grand stairs. Wrought-iron railings with fairy dragons supported a carved banister on either side of the polished marble steps, wide enough for four to walk abreast.

“Do not think I am unsympathetic to the plight of our Dragon Sage. She is my niece by marriage, after all. I am concerned. Truly I am. But I do not think the Cotillion would be halted by anything less than a direct threat to the Order itself.”

What exactly did they think the kidnapping of the Sage and of a dragon—even a fairy dragon—was? Oh, this meeting was going to be a joy.

Not surprisingly, a gaudy, brightly painted amphithere graced the drawing room door, which sat slightly ajar. Lady Matlock pushed it open and paused in the doorway. Was that to allow Anne to become oriented or to warn the grand ladies that someone inferior was about to enter their exalted company?

Expensive perfumes, several competing scents, vied for dominance in the large space. Five small couches, each bearing a single, finely dressed woman, ringed a low table holding tea and dainties. Tall windows with sheer curtains bestowed the ladies with lighting complimentary to their complexions. Was that why they liked this room?

It could hardly be because of the icy green walls, overpopulated with landscapes—probably all dragon estates—or the white-painted wrought-iron amphitheres which flanked the fireplace. Gracious, those were probably the ugliest things she had seen in the Order offices, yet.

Interesting, no minor dragons occupied the room. How strange that seemed. Laconia and the wyrmlings were always in their company or Kellynch’s. The Darcy ladies’ fairy dragon Friends and little May were always near their Friends. Were these ladies too good to befriend minor dragons?

Or perhaps no minor dragon would have them.

That was not the right attitude to begin this meeting on.

Each of the fine ladies, garbed in Order-blue, wore the same expression Anne had seen in the society Father most preferred. Self-important and eminently aware of their own status.

At least it was an attitude she had a great deal of experience in managing.

“Good morning,” Lady Matlock dipped the barest of curtsies. “May I present Lady Wentworth, daughter of Sir Walter Elliot, baronet, wife of Sir Frederick Wentworth, baronet. His seat is Kellynch-by-the-Sea.”

Anne curtsied until her knee nearly touched the floor. They nodded at her as a single unit.

“Lady Torrington, Lady Dunbrook, Lady Jersey, and Lady Cowper, I present Lady Wentworth. Lady Dalrymple, I believe you are already acquainted.”

Lady Dalrymple was a member of the Cotillion Board? How could she not have known that? Would having her cousin here make things easier? Likely not. She had taken great pleasure in the gossip of Father’s social demise. Surely, she would hold that against Anne.

“Pray do come in, Lady Wentworth.” Dowager Lady Dalrymple, with her deceptively pleasant expression and icy blue eyes, gestured toward a chair. A plain one. Set at an awkward distance from the other ladies. “You do understand it is not our usual way to invite nonmembers into our meetings, but as you are my cousin, we thought to make an exception.”

“I am honored by your invitation.” Anne sat in the chair indicated.

Lady Matlock backed out and shut the door. Should it be meaningful that she did not turn her back on this group? Probably.

“We understand that you, Miss Darcy, Mrs. Collins and Miss Bennet have all taken up temporary residence here at the Order offices. I hope you find your accommodations comfortable.” Lady Cowper had a youthful face and kind smile that matched her reputation as the most gracious and genuinely nice patroness at Almack’s.

“Lady Matlock has been most gracious in seeing to our comfort. We deeply appreciate her efforts.”

“Good, good. I am glad to hear that. Staying in a strange place can be most uncomfortable.”

“Especially under such circumstances as these.” Lady Jersey had that sort of long face that gave the impression that she was looking down her nose at one. If not literally true, it probably was figuratively. “These are such trying times, you know, tragic really. That our membership has been so assaulted, that one of our own has been snatched. We all quite fear for our own safety now.” She pressed her hand to her chest—probably to show off her expensive gold rings—and attempted to look aghast.

“The security at the offices is quite impressive. I am certain we have nothing more to fear. And when the Sage is returned—”

“If she is,” Lady Jersey cut in sharply. “There is no anticipating what that woman will do.”

Well, that was telling.

Lady Dunbrook, whose very blonde, nearly white curls clustered around her face suggesting a halo, cleared her throat and glared politely. “The Sage is a revered officer, for all that she might be considered unconventional. We are given to understand that her comprehension of all matters draconic is exceptional–even if incomprehensible to most of us.”

Anne pressed her lips hard. Now was not the time to contradict any of these knowledgeable ladies.

“Not that such a thing has ever happened before,” Lady Torrington, who had the unfortunate distinction of looking like the dragon she kept—an ill-tempered basilisk—muttered under her breath. The question was, did her temperament match as well?

“Yes, yes,” Lady Dunbrook pushed off their chatter with an open hand. “None of that comes to the point of our concern. The Cotillion is only six weeks away.”

That was not a question. How was she supposed to respond?

“You and Lady Elizabeth’s sisters were to have been sponsored by the Sage and without her here—”

“It is clear that you will not be ready for the Cotillion.” Lady Jersey’s eyes narrowed as she pulled herself up very straight.

She was enjoying this!

“It is such a shame. It must be very disappointing.” Lady Cowper had the decency to appear distraught.

Lady Torrington squinted her small eyes at Lady Jersey, her lip curling back just a bit. Definitely a basilisk in temperament, too. “It is just a ball. There will be another next year. I do not see why you make such an issue of it. Just tell her our decision, and be done with it.”

Lady Jersey glowered at Lady Torrington, then turned the same expression on Anne. “Yes, as to that—despite the ramifications on the Sage’s reputation, it is clear that you cannot be presented unprepared.”

Anne stood and shook out her skirts. Now was the time to be large. “I appreciate your concern, ladies. Truly I do. I know you have the best intentions and greatest concern for our reputations, but I can assure you that it is unnecessary. We can go on with our presentations as planned.”

“Excuse me?” Lady Dunbrook half rose in her seat, her very full bodice heaving. The look of utter shock on her face would be quite amusing under other circumstances. “What are you going on about? Our decision—”

“Is certainly appreciated, but unnecessary. We will be ready in time for the Cotillion.” Anne lifted her chin. She might not like playing dominance games, but that did not mean she was unprepared for it.

“How is that possible?” Lady Jersey knocked the tea table with her knee, rattling all the china.

“Our gowns are on order from Gardiner’s. They only need trimming and fitting to be ready. A dance master has already been engaged to see to our minuets—”

“I intend to introduce a quadrille to the Cotillion, just as I will introduce it at Almack’s this year.” Lady Jersey’s cheek twitched just a mite as she spoke.

“Do stop going on about that ridiculous dance,” Lady Dalrymple murmured, glancing aside, eyes rolling.

“The dance master was already made aware of your plans and has sent written confirmation that the quadrille will be included in our instruction.” That was not exactly accurate, but she would make sure that it was so.

“And you already know how to appropriately greet all the Dragon Mates at the event?” Lady Dunbrook’s lip curled back in a sneer.

“The Sage has prepared a detailed course of study for us on that subject. We have the matter very well in hand, I assure you. We are all most confident.”

“I do not like it. It is most irregular.” Lady Dalrymple never liked anything out of the ordinary under the best of circumstances. “Excuse my bluntness, cousin, but you do not come from a proper dragon Keeping family. Your father—the less said on the matter the better— he never mingled among Blue Order society. How can you be expected—”

“Your concern is most gracious. I am most indebted to you for it. Rest assured, Lady Elizabeth’s sisters and I take the standards of the Blue Order most seriously. You will not be disappointed in us.”

“I will not risk embarrassment on the Cotillion floor.” Lady Jersey stood, face flushing an uncomplimentary shade. “How can the standards here be any less than we would hold at Almack’s?” She cast a meaningful look at Lady Cowper.

“This is hardly Almack’s.” Anne looked directly at Lady Cowper, who actually appeared to be listening. “Are not all Keepers and future Keepers to be presented at the Cotillion? Even the hearing children of important Dragon Friends are presented. That is a very different standard to the one kept at Almack’s.”

Lady Torrington snickered a breathy, hissy sort of laugh. “She does have a point. If they are not presented this year, they will be admitted next.”

“But the Sage’s reputation!” Lady Jersey looked like she might stomp. “How can she sponsor them if she is not here?”

“Will it not show her to great advantage to be successful even without her direct presence? I am certain it will be an asset to her standing to permit us to attend.” Then again, that might be the wrong way to try to argue this point. “As members of the Order, I know that seeing our officers presented in the best light is important to you.”

“But the risk of failure is no less great than the reward of success. It is too much—” Lady Dunbrook glanced around the room as though looking for an escape route. So, she did not like conflict. Interesting.

“Then test us yourselves before the Cotillion. The day before the Cotillion, examine us, with your Dragon Mates if you wish, and see if we are not acceptable. Dragons are not shy to offer their opinions. If they do not believe we are sufficiently prepared, then we will stand down with no argument.”

“We cannot trouble our Dragon Mates with such trivial matters!” Lady Jersey’s eyes bulged.

It did make one wonder exactly what sort of terms she was on with her Dragon Mate.

“I do not know. Torrington might just find it amusing.” Lady Torrington chuckled behind her hand.

“I no longer have a Dragon Mate now that my son has inherited the estate,” Lady Dalrymple sounded genuinely sad. “So my voice must be somewhat muted on this matter, but it seems like an appropriate scheme.”

“But if you fail, you know the dragons will talk, and I do not think they will be kind.” Lady Cowper clasped her hands in her lap. “Would you truly wish to take that chance?”

Anne looked from one lady to the next. Their gowns and feathers and jewels, all a warm-blooded display of dominance. No, she was not going to allow them to peck the back of her neck. “I am confident in the Sage’s plans. We would be honored to be tested by your committee. I know we will make you proud.”

A quarter of an hour later, Lady Jibbering Idiot, a dramatic, tragic princess to be sure, and Countess Claptrap dismissed her from their exalted presence, after considerable debate pitting the latter against the former, with Anne’s cousin, the warm-blooded basilisk and the halo-wearing viper appearing to switch sides simply for their own amusement.

Mrs. Gardiner’s estimation of them had been kind and generous! No wonder Lady Elizabeth seemed haggard at the prospect of dealing with them.

Had she done the right thing, standing up to them and insisting their presentations go on as planned? It had seemed right at the time. Allowing the Cotillion Committee to cast aside Lady Elizabeth’s debutantes stank of the sort of games played in the ton as a whole. While the Sage was well able to manage dragons, it seemed the games of warm-bloods were more difficult for her to control. After all she had done for Kellynch, they owed her whatever assistance she could offer. Hopefully this would be looked on as assistance.

It was a risky move, though. Alienating the Cotillion Board would not be without its consequences. Such women would be masterful in their revenge. But what loyalty did she owe them?

Anne paused at the door of the suite the Sage’s sisters shared: two bedrooms, each with a dressing room, and a large sitting room between. The door carving depicted a fanciful large drake with inlaid agate eyes. She closed her eyes and listened, but there was little to hear. It was difficult to know what that might mean.

Eavesdropping was probably not a good habit to acquire in any case.

Had it been a good idea to commit all four of them to this course of action without even getting their consent? The Sage’s Bennet-blood sisters would likely support her choice—they seemed to have a great deal of the same stubbornness and cleverness that the Sage had. Mrs. Collins in particular seemed the steady, reliable sort who could be depended upon in a crisis.

But Miss Darcy might be an issue. Kind, mild, and even a bit hesitant, she might lack the boldness to be able to stand up to the likes of so many warm-blooded dragons and their Dragon Mates.

No, stop, this line of thinking was not at all helpful.

She pressed the door open and slipped inside.

Under other circumstances, the sitting room might be considered the perfect scene of domesticity, with an attractive chamber, comfortable furnishings, and sufficient dragons in the décor to mark it as a Blue Order establishment. Mrs. Collins looked up from her soft chair near the frosted windows and set aside her book; Miss Bennet and Miss Darcy abandoned their board game on the low tea table near the brown sofa and sprang to their feet.

“Dare we ask?” Mrs. Collins hurried toward her.

“Do not make us wait, tell us what they said!” Miss Bennet all but ran to her side.

Four colorful fairy dragons leapt from the table to hover in the middle of the room as Corn and Wall tumbled from their basket and wove around Anne’s ankles, purring loudly.

“Pray allow her to sit down, Lydia. Can you not see that she has had a trying time of it?” Mrs. Collins urged Anne to sit in a soft armchair near the fire.

“Thank you.” Corn and Wall sprang into her lap, pushing their furry faces into her hands.

“Were they particularly awful?” Mrs. Collins poured her a cup of tea and sweetened it to her liking. How dear that she had paid enough attention to recall Anne’s preferences.

“Nothing that I did not expect.”

“But what did they say?” Miss Bennet, standing near Anne’s seat, barely restrained herself from stomping, but Cosette hopping on her shoulder completed the image rather nicely.

Anne drew a deep sip of tea. “In short, Lady Jersey was rather convinced that we should not be presented due to the Sage’s absence.”

“This is unfortunate.” Miss Darcy, who stood at a distance from the others, hung her head. But was that a note of relief in her voice? “I suppose we will have to wait until next year.”

Miss Bennet whirled on Miss Darcy. “How can you say that! It is patently unfair! We have been accepted for presentation. We should be able to attend the Cotillion. Our father and our sister are officers of the Order! They cannot keep us away.”

Mrs. Collins waved the others into seats. “Technically, that might be true, but without our sponsor, I am afraid they can take that step. Granted, it is only a delaying tactic and would not keep us entirely out of the Order—”

“Horrid warm-bloods.” April zipped between Mrs. Collins and Anne, a bright blue blur. “Can you not see what this is?”

“I expect you will say it is a show of dominance,” Anne said quietly.

“That is exactly what it is. It is what large dragons do. They wait until the dominant among them is away from their territory, then they swoop in to try to claim some of it for themselves. The Accords have made that maneuver illegal, but it seems that only applies to dragons, not men.”

“That sounds precisely like what I saw happening.” Anne lifted her hand, inviting April to perch.

“We must defend my Friend’s territory. We cannot allow them to believe they are equal.” April buzzed in dizzying circles in the middle of the room.

“But how are we to do that? It is not as if we have any recourse to their decision.” Mrs. Collins poured jam into a saucer and lifted it toward April.

Thankfully she landed on the saucer and plunged her face into the jam. She had not been eating well since the abduction, and it seemed starvation did not agree with her temperament.

“I am glad to hear you say that.” Anne leaned back into the chair and closed her eyes. “I spoke rather boldly on our behalf. I was afraid I might have overstepped myself.”

“What did you say?” Miss Bennet bounced in her seat, sending Cosette back into the air.

Anne took another draw from her tea. Was that Earl Grey? No, it was a touch too floral, but definitely flavored with bergamot. Somehow there was strength in the warmth of that cup. “I told them about Lady Elizabeth’s excellent preparations; Mrs. Gardiner’s help with the gowns; the dance master hired; and all the study materials arranged. I argued that there is every reason to believe we will be able to make ready for the Cotillion whether she is here to prepare us or not.”

A slow smile spread across Mrs. Collins’ face.

Oh, thank heavens!

Miss Darcy gasped, and trembled as she lifted her hand to her cheek. “What did they say?”

“There was a bit of debate, to be sure, but at the end, it was agreed that we might continue our preparations for the Cotillion. They will test our readiness—much as Lady Elizabeth said she would do—before the Cotillion itself so they might be as confident in our preparations as we are.”

“You are joking! How could you?” Miss Darcy covered her mouth with her hands as soon as the words tumbled forth.

“Very easily, Miss Darcy. You do understand your sister’s reputation is at stake in a very real way?”

“It is not her fault this awful thing has happened.”

“While that is true, it does not really matter. For whatever reason, the women of the committee do not appreciate her dominance over them and are seeking whatever means they can find to usurp it.”

“That is not fair. Surely—”

April dove toward Miss Darcy, who cringed back. “No, no one will care or interfere. It is the way with dragons. The smaller and the weaker will always be overshadowed by the large and powerful. No one until Elizabeth has ever cared about the plight of us little dragons. No one else will fight the she-dragons for her sake but us.”

“Then indeed, we must stand up for her.” Mrs. Collins stood and moved to Anne’s side. “I am with you, Lady Wentworth. We will not permit Elizabeth’s territory to be lost to them.”

“What about us, what can we do?” Heather, fluffy and very pink, landed on Mrs. Collins’ shoulder. “There must be something we can do to help. Elizabeth has been so good to us, there must be some way we can help her.”

“It is not fair! They keep us little dragons away from anything important and useful.” Cosette returned to Miss Bennet’s shoulder, warbling loudly. “The cockatrice guards may go search for her. They have asked for all the cockatrice in London to be alert for signs of her. The small drakes who pass for dogs and the like have been set to look for her. But we—we have been told to stay quiet and out of the way lest we get ourselves eaten by some passing cat or hawk.”

“Indeed, indeed.” April hovered near Cosette. “They overlook us, even now—now when our abilities might be the most useful of all.”

A cold shiver slithered down Anne’s back, making it difficult not to twitch in a most unladylike manner. “Pray tell, what do you mean? I have not had the pleasure of knowing any fairy dragons, so I know nothing directly of your strengths and abilities.”

“Only that we are unreliable twitter-pates who have not a useful thought in our heads.” Pax twittered from the back of Miss Darcy’s chair.

Miss Darcy turned, slack-jawed, to stare at her Friend.

“And that we have quick tempers and nip at ears at random.” Heather mimicked ear-nipping.

“And that we are not very smart nor are our memories reliable.” Cosette was adorable in her fluffy display of offense.

“And that we are forever putting people to sleep with our songs.” Pax seemed desperate to add something less controversial to the conversation.

Anne leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Indeed, I have heard all those things. However, I also understand that the common opinion may very well be incorrect. So, tell me yourselves, what are your particular strengths?”

“Gossip.” April flitted to the arm of Anne’s chair and settled her wings back as though she were crossing her arms over her chest.

“Tell me more.”

“Our kind hear everything that is going on, nearly everywhere. People speak freely before us, as do dragons. We are too small to matter, you see, so they take no care around us.”

“And we are so small, they often do not even know we are about. There are no secrets where there are fairy dragons.” Cosette rubbed her head against Miss Bennet’s cheek.

“The cockatrice and drakes are far more obvious, and they are not adept at putting many stories together to understand a whole picture,” Heather added.

“This is something I have never heard or considered.” Nor had she heard anyone else consider it either.

“No one ever does. Granted, not all of us can do it well. But with experience, we become very good at putting together the things we hear and creating a complex understanding.” Heather looked directly at Mrs. Collins, who seemed more than a little surprised.

“Why have you never told me?” Mrs. Collins scratched under Heather’s chin.

“It never seemed important before.”

“If I am understanding you correctly, it sounds as though you wish to assist in the efforts to recover the Sage?” Was it possible? Corn and Wall purred in her lap—or was that her own blood thrumming in her ears?

“Of course we do! Why is that so difficult to conceive?” April hovered at Anne’s eye level.

“You are the smallest of dragons. Is it not said that it is important to know when to allow a bigger dragon to handle matters?”

April shrieked very much like a cockatrice as she dove for Anne’s ear. “Can none of you see what is right in front of your face? A fairy dragon is in the center of all this disruption to the Blue Order. A fairy dragon! The minorest of minor dragons, the worthless little flutter-tufts who some barely consider dragons to start with. Prey to nearly every other species of dragon! If we are found to be a danger to our kind, how do you think that bodes for our future? It is not inconceivable that we could be removed from the protection of the Order and left to fend for ourselves with the rest of the wild animals.”

“Surely not!” Anne let her hand fall from her well-nipped ear.

“What do you think will happen if it is determined that our kind brought England to the brink of dragon war and offered nothing useful?”

“Are things that bad?” Miss Darcy whispered, cuddling Pax close.

“Far more than you know,” Heather murmured. “No one has faith in our kind.”

Mrs. Collins gasped.

“Rather the same attitude most have toward young ladies in general.” Lydia tossed her head.

Anne bounced her heel against the worn carpet as she chewed her lip. “I have been told that dragons value boldness, and if ever there were a time for boldness, it is now. What is more, I think our studies in preparation for the Cotillion could offer an excellent cover for our real work.”

“What are you thinking, Lady Wentworth?” Mrs. Collins leaned in close, her voice soft and serious.

“If the Order intends to bring all its resources to bear to recover the Sage, then all the resources should be utilized. The risks are high, but you should be permitted to do what you are able to do. I say you should go out and seek whatever information you can find. Come back to us, and we will help keep track of it all and look for patterns. When we find something—” That was perhaps the boldest statement she had ever uttered. “—I will bring it to Wentworth and Sir Fitzwilliam. They will know how to present it to the Order so that it may be acted upon.”

“I do not think I can do that.” Pax trembled and cuddled into the crook of Miss Darcy’s arm.

“As I recall, Sir Fitzwilliam has asked you to spend time in the nursery with Nanny and little Anne. Your presence would be missed. It will be up to you to make sure no one notices that your friends are gone on their mission. Are you up to that?”

The little white fairy dragon’s brow knit as though she were thinking very deeply. “I think I could do that.”

“The rest of us will have to manage our Cotillion preparations while disguising the fairy dragons’ absence and recording and coordinating the information they bring back. It will be no small effort. It will require all of us to be committed to the cause. And willing to diligently guard our secret. If you are not certain of this course, you must speak up now. Too much is riding on our effort to go forth without full agreement. Even with that, I am not sure only three fairy dragons will be enough.”

“Lady Astrid will be willing to assist, I am sure. Verona is swift and smart and savvy.” April bobbed up and down. “I will approach them.”

“Are you all comfortable with that? What do you all say to this?”

“I am not willing to sit around all day being stupid. The littlest always miss out on all the fun and adventure. I will do my part.” Miss Bennet crossed her arms over her chest and nodded firmly.

“Longbourn has already gone to seek out information on the wyrms thought to have had a part in Lizzy’s abduction. We have just begun to become friends. I do not think he would forgive me if I knew there was something we could do to help Lizzy and failed to act. Heather and I are committed.”

“Miss Darcy? There is no pressure. Speak up and be honest, if you cannot, then you cannot. It will do none of us any good for you to agree to something that you cannot commit to. Will you be able to do this?”

“Will I have to lie to my brother?”

“No, you will not.” April flapped definitively. “If he finds out, he will see sense in the plan. It is the sort of thing my Friend would have approved of, so he will approve as well.”

“Very well, then, yes, I will support this effort, too.”

“What shall we do?” Wall rose up on his serpentine tail and looked up at her with big eyes.

“Yes, we want to help as well, like Laconia does.” Corn mimicked Wall’s posture. Two tatzelwurms begging? Merciful heavens.

“Perhaps you might distract visitors from asking questions about the fairy dragons in whatever way you see fit?” Mrs. Collins suggested. “They could carry messages as well?”

Those were not bad ideas.

They purred.

“We are resolved to begin immediately, then.”

Recruiting fairy dragons and baby tatzelwurms into espionage? What had she just done?

Chapter 10

January 20, 1815, London Order Offices

“T he Chancellor is not in good spirits,” Laconia muttered as he wove between Wentworth’s feet on the rapid march through the dim, rather crowded corridors to Matlock’s ground floor office.

Somber portraits of human and dragon alike stared down at them, as if to judge their errand. There were some who avoided these halls just for that reason.

People and dragons still stopped to stare at their peculiar little dance. A “kind soul” stopped to tell him, once, that being constantly seen in company with a tatzelwurm might not be the best for his image as a baronet. He returned the kindness by politely suggesting to Laconia that individuals with such opinions were definitely below his notice. One would think Order members who worked in the central office would know better than to insult a dragon, even a small one.

“How did you come by this information?”

“Quill Driver, Lady Astrid’s assistant.” Laconia growled softly. “He is reliable.”

Wentworth winced. “I did not mean to question you, old Friend, merely to get a sense of what precisely ‘not in good spirits’ might mean.”

“Perhaps the expression ‘fit to be tied’ might capture it better?” Laconia paused and looked up at Wentworth.

“What exactly did Quill Driver say?”

“’Not fit to be around other predators’ were his exact words, but that is not something that, as I understand, makes a great deal of sense in warm-blooded terms.” Laconia’s serpentine tail flicked.

“True, but it is quite a turn of phrase, is it not?”

“You might be surprised at how poetical dragons can be.” Laconia continued on. They turned the corner to the wider corridor containing Matlock’s and several other important offices.

He was probably right. Poetry, human or draconic, was not something he had ever spent a great deal of time contemplating, despite Anne’s protests that the letter he had written her was the most poetic thing she had ever read.

Those were very special circumstances.

And now look where they were. Neither of them had ever conceived of dealing with matters like these when they had agreed to take on Blue Order work. Anne was a determined and hardy soul, but this affair threatened to be beyond even her fortitude.

But she was working hard at it, dear woman. And if anyone could make a way through such circumstances, it was her. Clever, reliable, steadfast, wholly and utterly dependable. She did not always think those terms a compliment, but they were, of the highest order.

Matlock’s elaborate carved door stood ajar, so he slipped inside, pausing near the door to identify which dragons might already be within, and if introductions might be required. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the candlelight.

Heavens above, what a crowd!

Cownt Matlock, his blue-green hide darkened to something close to the twilight sky in the dim light, hunched uncomfortably in the corner farthest from the dragon tunnel entrance. What kind of information could require the cownt’s presence in an office not really large enough to accommodate him?

Laconia pouffed, his fur standing on end. The hair on the back of Wentworth’s neck did the same.

A blue lindwurm curled tightly in the opposite corner as though trying to give as much space as possible to the other occupants. His long mustache whiskers and square snout gave him a rather scholarly look. Sir Richard sat nearby with his Friend Earl perched on the back of his chair. No doubt then, the lindwurm must be Netherford.

Darcy sat near Matlock’s imposing, carved desk where the Chancellor himself sat, looking impatient at best. Walker perched on an iron dragon perch just behind and to Darcy’s right. An empty chair near a desk pillow suggested where Wentworth and Laconia should take their places.

“General Strickland will be here shortly, then we will begin.” Matlock glanced at Wentworth as he drummed his fingers on the desk.

Walker landed on the floor near Laconia. He spread his wings as Laconia reared up and puffed his body as large as he could. They danced in a circle three times around, hissing and chittering, slowly allowing the circle to close until they touched nose and beak in the center. Remarkable, a greeting of equals. How many of those had he ever seen?

Darcy and Sir Richard exchanged glances with each other and with Wentworth, eyebrows cocked in such a similar fashion that their resemblance to each other was made all the more obvious. Was it the presence of the two major dragons that kept the small ones from vying for dominance?

Sharp brisk steps came through the door and it shut hard. Laconia spring-hopped to the desk pillow as Walker landed on his perch.

Minister of Dragon Defense, General Strickland, stayed near the door, clearly awaiting introduction. Tall and thin as a whip, with tousled grey hair, and a large black patch covering what remained of his left eye. His face could have been an illustration for the word “severe” and his every movement echoed that. Responsible for domestic and international dragon defense concerns, he had earned the position through a long career in the ‘conventional’ army. There was hardly an officer, Army or Navy, who did not know his name or his reputation.

Matlock conducted the appropriate introductions and General Strickland took the remaining seat, between Darcy and Wentworth.

“Yates, Abbot and Easterly are on their way here. I expect them to arrive in the next day or two,” Strickland said, extending his hand, fingers curled toward himself, to Laconia.

Yates? They were calling in the head of the Knights of the Pendragon Order? However bad the situation had seemed, Yates being involved made it dozens of times worse.

The neat little swing-hitch in his belly turned into an ugly stopper knot.

Laconia gave Strickland a cursory smell. His hair did not stand on end. All in all, that was a good sign.

“Excellent. You are familiar with Wentworth and Fitzwilliam’s reports?” Matlock pointed to them in turn.

“I have a few questions, but those can be addressed later in light of Netherford’s new intelligence.” Strickland looked directly at the lindwurm.

Lovely, just lovely. What else was going wrong now?

Sir Richard rose and stood near Netherford. “Netherford had not planned to attend the Cotillion this year, so he remained at the estate.”

Netherford stretched a little further into the room. “But gossip reached me that was too alarming to leave lie, so I went to investigate.”

“What kind of gossip? Where did you hear it from?” Strickland’s words were clipped, like a man used to giving orders.

“The source is irrelevant as I have verified it all myself.” Netherford gestured with his right paw as if to emphasize his point.

“I do not trust gossip.” Strickland leaned back, arms crossed over his chest.

“What I bring is not gossip. I have spoken to all the original sources myself.”

“What kind of source?”

“Let the dragon speak.” Matlock slapped the desk.

Strickland’s eyes bulged. Apparently, it was acceptable to be rude, but not have the behavior returned in kind. Telling, but not surprising.

“By your leave, General,” Netherford tipped his head and waited until Strickland nodded. There was the diplomat in the room. “On the way to London, I spoke with a wyrm in the north and a wyvern between there and London who had been approached by separate major drakes, both promoting the same, rather alarming, rhetoric. They suggest that the recent kidnapping of the Sage is indicative of men losing control of the Blue Order. They are chafing against the restrictions put upon them by the Order, wondering why they should acquiesce to creatures so much less powerful than themselves.”

Dragon’s fire!

“They are younger dragons who have never experienced dragon war, clearly seen in how casually they put forth the notion that it might be worth the casualties for dragonkind to establish dragon dominance in England once again.”

Dragon war. He said dragon war.

The knots in his stomach unraveled into a twisted, tightening tangle.

Strickland drew in a deep whistle with all the force of a string of military invectives. “You spoke to the drakes as well, I imagine?”

“No, I did not.”

“How then can we be certain?”

To his credit, Netherford only blinked. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I would hardly expect such a drake to speak honestly with me, or even speak with me at all. With Sir Richard, a Knight of the Order and son of the Chancellor as my Keeper, I am hardly the sort of soul they would reveal such attitudes toward. Do you blame them? It is not difficult to imagine that I would bring such information directly here.”

“What proof do you have that the wyrm and wyvern were correct? Why should we believe them? Both dragons are of low standing, all things considered. Would it not be in their interest for them to stir up trouble for their betters?”

“That is not the way dragons would handle such matters, settling our conflicts through warm-bloods.”

“That is not what I understand.”

Netherford’s mustache twitched in time with Sir Richard’s cheek.

Oh, Strickland was a gem indeed.

“Consider, if you will, what the wyrm and wyvern have to gain by spreading such a falsehood. Even should those drakes be somehow removed, they would obtain no new territory. Similarly, their charters with their Keepers remain unchanged. No material advantage would come to them by defaming the bigger dragons. And it is a dangerous game. To speak calumny against a bigger dragon is to invite retaliation, which, in case you are not aware, is specifically allowable in the Accords. Their very lives are in danger for having spoken to me.”

“Then why would they?”

“Because in a Dragon War, smaller major dragons stand to lose a very great deal and it is in their best interest to stave off such an occurrence. Maintaining that which they already have, and would not likely be able to replace, is a strong motivation.”

Strickland grumbled something untoward under his breath. For being a member of the Order, he seemed to have little respect or appreciation for Netherford.

Perhaps it was because Netherford was French.

Matlock cleared his throat. “It is the official position of the Order that Netherford brings us notice of a credible threat to the Order, one that must be thoroughly investigated, and dealt with if necessary.”

“If I may be so bold as to suggest, the return of the Sage and appropriate punishment of the kidnappers, and the dismantling of any possible smuggling networks would go a long way to proving the men of the Order have not lost their usefulness to its dragons.” Netherford’s tone remained even and smooth, despite his eyebrows now twitching like his mustache. What a feat of self-control.

“Such a thought has not been overlooked.” Matlock rolled his eyes as though he were fed up with talk of the abducted Sage. “Strickland, we need a coordinated approach among the army, navy and Pendragon Knights. In the meantime, Richard, you and Netherford are to conduct a thorough investigation of these allegations. Immediately. Wentworth, we have received reports from the cockatrice guard that unusual activity has been identified at the port of Dover, unfamiliar ships and cargos bound for France. Take Kellynch with you and investigate what you can there. Talk to the sea dragons and see what might be learned from them.”

Laconia rose up on his tail. “You do realize, the sea dragons are not members of the Order nor have they any connection to the Sage.”

“I am sure you will find a way.” Matlock did not dignify them with a glance.

That was the military way of saying they would be expected to make something from nothing.

It would not be the first time.

Wentworth called upon Kellynch first. Not because his feelings were more important than Anne’s, but rather that they were less reliable. Anne would be supporting and comforting, supplying an abundance of good sense as she offered to manage whatever needed to be done. Laconia had gone ahead to alert her of their impending departure.

Who knew what to expect with Kellynch? Although his good days had been outnumbering the bad recently, with ongoing issues with the tunnels to the lair under the house, the situation seemed ripe for a tantrum.

Thankfully, today was a good day. He felt deeply the importance of being given a mission directly from the Chancellor of the Order. Wentworth left him happily mulling over the prospects of proving himself a valuable member of Blue Order dragon society and not the clever little thief that Cornwall had declared him to be.

Oh, how that little insult had stung his pride. But perhaps it was just the thing needed to remind Kellynch that cold-blooded dragon society would judge him just as much as warm-blooded society would judge his Keepers.

Wentworth plodded upstairs—when would they be done with climbing this presumptuous grand staircase?— to find Anne.

Knowing her, she would have his trunk packed and waiting for him.

He opened the door to their quarters, carved and painted with a garish lindwurm terrorizing a horse. Thankfully, the chambers within were not nearly so alarming. Truly, who thought that an appropriate decoration for a guest chamber door?

The rooms were finely finished, but a touch plain, quite to his taste really. Just enough furniture to be functional, but not enough to clutter. More significantly, they smelt fresh and sweet; they smelt of Anne.

That made them right.

Soft light from the window bathed her as she stood by the large press, near his battered trunk, and added a neatly folded shirt to the carefully organized contents.

He swallowed hard. Did she realize how much such gestures meant to him?

“I think this should be sufficient for your trip.” She smiled, a mix of sadness and resolve in her eyes. “You are to Dover in the morning? I took the liberty of informing Alister Salt of your impending travels. He will be ready for you at sunrise. He seemed quite pleased to be of service. I got the sense he and his team prefer to be on the road as much as possible.” She chuckled and shut the trunk.

“It would seem. Thank you.” He sat on the trunk and pulled her down beside him. “I do not know how long we will be gone.”

“I understand. We will make do, though, keeping ourselves occupied preparing for the Cotillion and showing those she-dragons that they may not exert their dominance so easily.”

Wentworth laughed. “How easily you have adopted the mentality of the dragons, my dear. Has the exposure to all those fairy dragons begun to tax your good nature?”

“About the fairy dragons.” She had that look in her eyes.

“Why do I have a sense this is only going to make life more complicated?”

“Because you have been dealing with dragons, and you know they make everything more complicated.” She leaned into his shoulder. “The Darcy contingent of fairy dragons have been very unhappy to be relegated to being decorative in the guest quarters and forbidden to do anything to assist in the Sage’s recovery.”

“I certainly can see her little blue Friend would be disturbed.” Wentworth covered his ear.

“Apparently they are certain they can be a useful resource for information. They believe themselves to be the hearers of everything useful, and not, in the Kingdom.”

“What are you telling me?” He looked deep into her very determined eyes.

Heavens, the last time she wore that expression, she was telling him she would stand with Kellynch at the Blue Order Court!

“After a long discussion with them—yes, I know, we did have a long discussion with fairy dragons! In any case, it seems prudent to have them try and seek out what information they can regarding the Sage’s disappearance.”

“But they are senseless flutter-tufts. Surely the Order cannot support this. You will get no useful information out of them. Just bits and bobs of gossip that is of no worth.”

“Perhaps that is true. That is why the Order does not need to know about it, at least right now.”

He leaned back and sighed.

“I know what you are thinking, but what if they can be helpful? Can we afford to ignore any potential resource? I have gotten a sense of the trouble that is abounding in the kingdom. Is it wise to overlook any asset we may have in this situation?”

“When you put it that way, how can I disagree? But if they discover anything, how will you—”

“All their information will filter through Mrs. Collins and me. Only that which we deem important or credible will go beyond our doors. If there is anything at all, you can be sure I will let you know. You will listen, yes? Even if it is from fairy dragons?”

How was it she made such a thing sound so reasonable, and even wise? “If your good sense deems it important, you can be certain I will listen, my dear.”

January 22,1815, Dover

Alister Salt and his team pulled away from the modest Dover Blue Order offices, the wheels crunching and clacking against the cobblestone street. Golden rays of sunrise crept down the street as though reaching out to meet them. The coach would probably arrive back in London even quicker than they had gotten him to Dover. That man and his son could change a team of horses faster than any would have believed possible. Salt and his team were at least as fast, maybe faster than the Royal Mail.

The stories he had to tell! Like listening to an old seaman, difficult to tell where the facts ended and the imagination began. But it was warm and companionable, good company around the fire at the Blue Order office last night.

Today they were both off on business once again.

Salt air, sharp breezes, sea bird calls. Familiar, oddly comforting after the bustle and confinement of London. Perhaps he could achieve what the Order demanded, after all.

Wentworth, with Laconia at his side, took out a dinghy—one with a sail— that the Order kept. He would talk to the local warm-bloods later in the day. Early morning and twilight were the best times to find sea dragons.

Morning mist, hanging low in the barely pre-dawn sky, kissed his cheeks as his limbs found the rhythm of the waves once more. Was it possible he could taste the salt in the air? Perhaps he needed the sea as much as Kellynch.

What would Anne think about purchasing a dinghy? He smiled in spite of himself. She was probably already arranging the budget for it. Dear, dear woman.

Kellynch met him in the calm, open water, far enough out that none would be able to see him rising from the surface of the ocean.

“This is entirely agreeable.” Laconia put his paws on the edge of the hull, his mouth open, tasting the air with his long, forked tongue.

Wentworth brought his little boat alongside Kellynch. It was a neat, responsive little sailboat, so satisfying. “How was your journey?”

“It has been a long time since I have made such a journey. I had almost forgotten what it was like to truly be at sea.”

“Have you missed it?”

“I am a marine wyrm, of course I have. More than I think I realized.” Kellynch bobbed in time with the waves.

“Enough to leave the land and return?”

Laconia leaned against Wentworth’s leg, purring something that was neither agreement nor dissent.

“At first, I thought so, but I suppose I have become accustomed to the ways of the land as well. I think I would miss them. So, I expect I shall be content to live at the edge of land and sea. Kellynch-by-the-Sea is right.”

“Perhaps we might find a way to sail like this together at Lyme as well.”

“That would be pleasing.” Kellynch smiled. He smiled! A toothy, terrifying expression, but it was a smile.

It should not make Wentworth so satisfied, but it did. “Are there any local sea dragon pods?”

Kellynch looked toward the open sea. “I have encountered one, and some sea-dwelling cockatrice as well.”

“Are they willing to talk with us?”

“Of that, I am not yet certain. They have agreed to meet with you, in no small part because of Laconia’s reputation, but what they will say, I cannot be certain. I expect they will have noticed your arrival and will make themselves known soon.”

Laconia chirruped and flicked his tail. He was used to being Wentworth’s liaison to the sea dragons. Kellynch was thoughtful to recognize that. “So, I suppose now we wait.”

Back on the Laconia, he had spent many an hour waiting on the sea dragons that Laconia helped him speak with. Often, waiting felt like wasted time, and sometimes it was. But often enough it proved sufficiently fruitful to make the effort worthwhile.

Lazy waves lapped at the hull as the mist gave way to a mackerel sky, golden light painting the underside of the clouds like a ceiling overhead. The sail luffed against him, resting as they waited, ready to be ordered back into service at a moment’s notice. There was no calm like a sunrise over the ocean.

The sea’s surface rippled in a deliberate, anticipatory way. He knew that look. Laconia chittered expectantly, fur pouffing and ears erect.

The first sea dragon broke the surface—a small serpent-whale, about the size of a typical horse, a sort he and Laconia had encountered often enough. Their bodies were long and bulbous, like whales, with flat tails and a prominent dorsal fin like a shark. A short, thick neck began just in front of two short limbs sporting webbed fingers or maybe toes at the ends. Their heads were thick, but narrower than their bodies, with long, toothy mouths, ending in a long snout maybe as big around as his thigh. Their bodies were more slick than scaly, some mottled grey and white, some more brown, a few nearly black.

The one who approached was female—she sported a small set of head fins near where it seemed ears should be. Males lacked the decoration. At least twelve more serpent-whales followed in her wake. In all likelihood, a dozen more individuals lurked in the depths, guards ready to come to the aid of the pod should anything go amiss.

The large female swam closer to Wentworth’s vessel and brought her head and front flippers out of the water. Kellynch rose up, his squared head above hers, flattening his scaly body to look large. She bared her teeth and screamed an otherworldly sound. Kellynch growled and shrieked, weaving back and forth, rising higher out of the water with each pass. He dove down upon her, stopping just short of her neck, and touched the back of her head with his tongue. She fell back into the water with a commensurate splash, ceding dominance to Kellynch.

After several moments underwater, she appeared once more, with head and flippers out of the water, staring at Wentworth.

“My Keeper, Wentworth, and our Friend Laconia.” Kellynch bobbed his head toward Wentworth. “The pod matriarch has a name you lack the ability to say. She has agreed to be called Dover.”

“You are gracious to permit me a name that I can pronounce.” Wentworth bowed from his shoulders. It had been sufficient when encountering other sea dragons. Hopefully it would be sufficient now.

“We have heard of you and your Friend. It is interesting that the stories are true. There is a land dragon that goes to sea. You two have a reputation for being worthwhile to deal with. Kellynch said you have something to ask of us.” Dover’s voice was high, like a fairy dragon’s, but with more squeals and clicks.

“I have come to ask you for information. One of our kind was taken, and we believe has been forced on a ship that has recently traversed these waters or might well be in them.”

“Why is this so important that you would seek us out?”

“The woman in question is very important to British dragons. She is known as the Dragon Sage and has offered great service to the British dragons.”

“The landed dragons. Of the Blue Order?” Somehow, she did not sound as though she approved. “We have heard of the Order and of the woman you seek. Why should we tell you what we know?”

“You know something of her?” Laconia leaned a little farther over the railing, purring. The sound seemed to ease Dover’s agitation.

“Why would I be here if we did not? I repeat, why should we tell you anything?”

“The Sage is very valuable. Unrest grows among the British dragons. There is growing fear that violence between men and dragons could erupt because of it. No dragon species will profit from that.”

“He speaks the truth,” Kellynch lowered himself to be closer to Dover.

“There has already been significant violence against my kind. It would be fitting for the warm-bloods to suffer for what they have done to us. We are harried by pirates, fishers and hunters. We have no legal recourse, treated like animals by the landed warm-bloods, ones who should understand and respect our true nature. Is not this conduct in opposition to your Pendragon Accords? Should we not have the same privileges as the landed dragons?”

“Those Accords were drawn up with the agreement of the landed dragons of Britain. According to our laws, they do not pertain to any dragons beyond our shores.” If only Matlock had given him something to bargain with!

“Kellynch is covered by the Blue Order.”

Damn. She was right.

“It was an illegal agreement offered by a powerful dragon who had no right to make such an agreement. The courts recently ruled to accept the agreement because it had remained unchallenged for so long, but …”

“Kellynch is a sea dragon, covered by the Pendragon accords. It does not matter to us how it happened, only that it has. If he is covered, then there is no reason why we cannot be part of them as well.”

“We lack the authority to offer such relief. With the current crisis, I do not believe the Blue Order is ready to negotiate new treaties to include dragons beyond its shores.”

“Then we do not know that we are ready to assist you in what you desire.” She slapped the water with her front limbs.

“If you will help …” Laconia leaned over the water, extending a paw.

“No, we have no reason for trust. Give us assurances that the Order will assist us first, and we will assist you.”

“Then you know where the Sage is?” Kellynch said.

“I did not say that we did. I only said we would assist you in finding her. I did not make promises as to how.” In truth, that was a more valuable promise than simply knowing where she was.

“I could offer the words you seek, but the truth is I do not have the authority to make the promises you ask for. I will not give you empty words.”

“Nor will we give you what you seek. Find one dominant enough to give us what we ask, and we will help you.”

“We may have very little time to find her safely.”

“Then I suppose you must hurry. You may contact us only if you are able to offer what we have asked. Kellynch will know how to find us, but do not attempt to unless you are ready to discuss a treaty.” Dover splashed hard with her tail and dove, the rest of the pod following.

Laconia hissed, his tail lashing hard against Wentworth’s leg.

How long would it take for a Blue Order messenger to get word to Matlock? More important, what would it take to convince him to offer the serpent-whales what they wanted?

Chapter  11  

S ometime after sundown, the storms began in earnest. Weathering a storm at sea proved so unlike doing so on land it was difficult to even think about them as similar events. One sheltered in a house, be it large or small, as the storm swirled around the structure, wreaking its havoc on the realm outside. But not so at sea.

Here, their sanctuary became part of the storm itself, swallowed by some ethereal dragon. Hemmed in, bound without escape. The sea roiled and tossed the sloop about like a child’s shuttlecock. Howling frigid winds shoved them, shrieking with glee, driving icy rain into the dark little hold. No recourse but to cling together, their shivers blending into terrified trembling.

January 22,1815, On board the Sea Lion

On what might have been their third, fourth or even fifth morning shipboard, the winds died down and the sea settled. Poor little Joshua, despite his brave face, was pale and wan, matching Phoenix’s dull and faded hide. Even the blue-striped wyrms, who now shared their dark, dank space in the hold, seemed faded and limp.

In theory, the wyrms were there to guard the captives. But snippets of conversation she heard from above suggested they had served their purpose for now and were being kept out of the way.

Did the Movers not think that the wyrms could hear them talking? Perhaps they really did not understand dragons and their capacities.

Interesting.

Heavy steps approached, the lock rattled, and the hold door swung open. Two unfamiliar men tramped in, the feeble dappled light from above painting their expressions more frightening than they probably were.

Oh, how they stank!

One strewed several pieces of hardtack on the floor near the wyrms, muttering insulting things about them under his breath. The other pressed bowls and mugs into Elizabeth’s and Joshua’s hands and dropped a whole fish, probably boiled, into Phoenix’s cage. Without words, they left.

Joshua sipped the grog, sighing, most likely with joy that his stomach had finally settled. When they got back home, he would probably ask his mother for grog. The look on her face would be memorable.

When they got back.

If they got back.

No, when.

The wyrms dove on the hardtack like starving creatures, which probably was not far from the truth. Prussian, the scar across his face pulsating, managed to get his jaws around a piece, but his small, sharply pointed teeth were no match for the biscuit. He shook his head and the hardtack flew from his mouth, landing near Elizabeth’s feet.

Prussian hissed and the others growled as they retreated and wound around each other in a writhing angry cluster.

She picked up the hardtack and dipped it in the greasy brothy soup of some form of meat and peas. Her stomach growled. It did not smell as dreadful as it looked. Darcy would be appalled at the very thought. The look on his face—how rich that would be.

What was he doing now? Was he with Anne? Did she even realize her mother was away, or perhaps Nanny and April kept her distracted so she did not yet know?

Was that a good thing?

What of Pemberley? Surely, she could not be so easily distracted. Who would comfort her, keep her from dangerous, rash choices? Chudleigh perhaps? Rosings? She dabbed her eyes with her sleeve.

The hardtack softened in the broth. She tore off a piece and threw it to Prussian. Eyes directly on her, he sniffed the hardtack, then touched it with his tongue. A moment later, he dove on it, gulping it down whole.

She tore off more and tossed pieces to the other wyrms. After gulping a large, sodden fragment, Azure tossed Elizabeth a second piece of hardtack, the red knob on her head seeming to flush. Hopefully that was a good sign. Elizabeth softened the sailor’s biscuit and tossed it to the wyrm cluster.

Azure and Lapis, the females, inched toward her, their long, forked tongues tasting the air.

She fished strands of meat from her bowl and tossed them toward the females, who slithered closer still. Soon, they were within arm’s reach, taking dainty bites directly from her hands.

“Have they not been feeding you properly?” she asked Prussian, clearly the leader of the little wyrm cluster, as she tossed him a bit of meat.

“There are many days the warm-bloods call banyan days, days without meat.” Prussian rose up high on his tail as he hissed the words.

“Have you not told them you are predators, that you need meat?”

“Why would they listen to us?” He growled and inched closer to the females.

“Have they not had your help? Are you not as much a part of the crew as they? What was your agreed-upon share?” Elizabeth spoke very softly but kept her head above his. This sort of discussion could prove volatile.

She sipped her grog. Not awful. They had even added a mite of lime juice to the water and rum. Apparently, the Movers wanted to keep them alive, for now.

Azure twined with Prussian. Somehow it was comforting to see them behaving as normal wyrms did. “You have strange ideas, Lady Warm-blood.”

Lady? Hopefully that was a good sign. “Whatever do you mean?”

“We are wyrms, the least among dragons.” Prussian wrapped his square shaggy head in front of Azure’s.

“Except for fairy dragons,” Joshua muttered.

“Indeed, he is right.” Phoenix twittered and flapped over the now bare fish bones, making sure none missed his remark.

“Perhaps. But some of you are taken as Friends, kept in warm little cages and fed all the delicacies you care to eat.” Azure rose up high on her tail, sniffing and tasting the air. She hissed toward Phoenix’s cage.

Who could blame her offense that Phoenix was given meat whilst they were not?

“I did not understand that wyrms often wanted Friends. I thought they were more content to live in their territories than in warm-blood dwellings.” Did she know anyone at all who had a full wyrm Friend?

“We would be content to be allowed that.” Lapis muttered as Indigo approached.

“I do not understand.” Elizabeth held her breath and stared hard at the wyrms, skin tingling. Something important was in the air.

Indigo entwined with Lapis, her hide dry and starting to shed, and thrust his head forward of hers, yellowed and stained fangs exposed. “According to warm-bloods, we are neither appealing nor attractive. We look like the snakes you detest. We like one another more than warm-bloods. We are ill-suited to life as Friends.”

Lapis bobbed her head hard, hitting Indigo under the chin. “It is not merely the warm-bloods—”

Prussian pounced, nearly landing on the twined smaller wyrms. “Do not tell her anything. She does not need to know. It will only bring us more trouble.”

Elizabeth bit her lips. It would be risky, but dragons valued boldness. “I am more than you think I am. I can help.”

“You are important to the Order?” Prussian growled.

“I am.” She tossed out another sliver of meat.

Azure snatched it up. Prussian allowed that—perhaps she would be clutching soon.

Indigo snarled. “The Order that has betrayed us, that cares not for our trouble.”

“I have heard nothing about it.”

“That is proof! That is proof! The Order ignores our complaints. The Pendragon Accords say that we are part, but they lie, do nothing for us.” Azure retreated behind Prussian, her red head-knob just visible behind him.

“Tell me of your complaint.”

“So that you can promise more empty words? No. Do not talk to her anymore.” Prussian hissed and feinted several strikes toward her.

Elizabeth withdrew. She would get no more, at least for now. She tossed out several more gobbets of meat, and they gobbled them up. At least that was a good sign.

Lapis slid a hardtack toward them with her tail. Joshua scooped it up and dusted it off on his shirtsleeve. He broke it and offered half to Elizabeth.

No wonder the dragons could not eat it. She could barely break it with her back teeth. She dunked it in her grog as she sat on the pile of hay near Joshua and watched the wyrms.

Strange, these creatures were very strange. Not nearly as confused and addled as most of their kind, in truth, they were more talkative and personable than most wyrms. What could have happened to them to leave them so angry and suspicious?

At least, like most wyrms, they were motivated by their stomachs. Perhaps a few more shared meals would loosen their tongues.

And if it did not, at least the cluster would not starve. That was something.

Several hours, or at least what felt like several hours later, Joshua poked her shoulder and leaned close. “I think I hear the Movers talking.” He pointed toward the ceiling, as though they were standing right above them.

How could she have missed that?

She glanced at the wyrms. They were woven into a tight cluster near the door, the females sleeping and the males keeping watch.

Elizabeth leaned back into the stale-smelling hay, her shoulder pressing into Joshua’s as she clasped her hands in her lap and closed her eyes.

“How much has the damn weather cost us?” That voice—it was the not-gentleman—Ayles, yes, he had been called Ayles.

“Two, three days, and I ‘spect there be more storms a’coming.” Corney’s coarse voice was much easier to identify.

“Our buyer is not going to be happy. It already took too long to get the bloody creature in the first place.”

“Damn him. So, he thinks there ain’t any other out there who would want a baby firedrake—a dragon fit for royalty? If he won’t pay, we just take our things and find another. We might not even have to leave Bermuda to do it. I ‘eard that there were another prince what would have a fire-breathing dragon for his court.”

“How do you propose we find such a prince?” Ayles’ feet shuffled overhead.

“The same one who lined up this affair will find ‘im.”

“What is the name of this man?”

A foot hit the deck hard, followed by several off-rhythm steps— Corney’s limp. “You don’t need to know.”

The ball of wyrms jumped and several growled, staring at the grate overhead.

“If anything happens to you, there should be someone else who can find this mysterious dragon broker.”

“Then you just best make sure that nothing happens to me, eh?” She could imagine Corney poking Ayles’ chest.

So it was true, there was no honor among thieves, and they even acknowledged it among themselves.

“What are you going to do with the boy and the woman?” Ayles asked.

Elizabeth’s heart pounded hard enough to drown out their voices. She held her breath. Joshua clutched her hand.

“Sell ‘em with the dragon as handlers, trainers, what have you. If not, the boy is not too young for work. The woman looks good enough. I reckon we can get a decent price for her one way or the other.”

Joshua squeaked and squeezed her hand harder.

“And if they do not want them? If they are not worth what you think?”

“I ain’t worried about that none ‘til we get to Bermuda and offload the dragon. I’ll figure it out then.”

Bermuda?

Bermuda. Did the Pendragon treaty extend to British territories like Bermuda? There was some statement about that in a recent paper the Minister of Foreign Dragon Affairs had written. Or was it a proposal?

“Are you certain we have the right dragon?”

“What d’ye mean?”

“Have you looked at that creature? He looks nothing like any of the bestiaries with fire-breathing dragons. You really think something that tiny is going to grow into a full-size dragon? Scarlett would have known for certain.”

Pray that Corney believed it possible.

“Them firedrakes live hundreds of years. He gots plenty of time for growing up.”

“He has done nothing to prove he’s a firedrake. Nothing but fly around in that cage and eat. Oh, and sing a bit here and there. I do not think dragons sing. Who heard of a firedrake singing? You ought to make sure you got the right scaley before you see the buyer.”

Dragon’s blood! Why did Ayles have to be talking sense right now?

“I’ve ‘ad enough of you questionin’ me. Shut your trap and get back to navigating us a course there.”

The men stomped away.

Elizabeth forced herself to breathe as she slipped her arm around Joshua’s trembling shoulders. They were not prey to these men; she had to think like a predator, like a dragon.

Several minutes later, a key rattled in the lock. Corney and Ayles tromped in.

Elizabeth jumped to her feet and met them in the middle of the room, shoulders pulled back, head high. “Where are you taking us? What is to become of us?”

“Some kind of fine lady, you are, I assume, or perhaps you used to be one.” Corney slapped her with the back of his hand.

She shrieked, staggered back, and fell. How dare he!

The wyrms stared from their huddle in the corner. Had this been anywhere else, the dragons in the room would have killed him.

Perhaps she had become too accustomed to that. She dragged herself up to her knees. Perhaps now was not the time to vie for dominance.

“You ain’t getting far with that act here, missy. I don’t care who or what you were. All we care about is whether that—” he pointed at Phoenix. “—can breathe fire.”

“Of course I can do it!” Phoenix hopped and flapped in the middle of the boxy cage.

“Then do it now.” Corney crossed his arms and limped toward Phoenix.

“Just because I can do it does not mean I am able to do it on command.” He tossed his head and turned his back on them.

“I think he is lying.” Ayles crouched to look through the bars. “No dragon so little can do such a thing.”

“I can.” Phoenix turned and pouffed.

“Then do it.” Ayles rattled the cage.

“Not now.”

Corney grabbed Elizabeth by the shoulders and shook her until the room spun. “Is this one of your friends? You wouldn’t want to see no harm come to her now, would you?”

“Do not threaten her. I will never perform if you threaten her.”

“Then perhaps we just pitch you right off this here boat, yeah?” Ayles stood and lifted Phoenix’s cage, shaking it hard. He hovered in the middle, trying to avoid being struck by the moving sides.

“Stop that!” Elizabeth staggered toward Phoenix. “We have been tossed about like a child’s toy for days in storms. He has hardly been able to keep down the little food he has eaten. He has no energy left for making fire. It is a very taxing thing for one so small.”

“You are saying the rough seas have left him unable?” Ayles snorted, lips drawing back in a sneer.

“It do make sense after a fashion, I think. Look how sick they been.” Corney pointed at Joshua and Elizabeth. He wrestled the cage from Ayles. “We invested enough in this venture, I ain’t ready to throw it all away yet. I’ll give you some time on calm seas, but I ‘spect you to spew fire soon.”

“I will. You will see.”

Corney pushed the cage at Elizabeth and turned toward the door. “See that he is ready to flame.”

Ayles opened the door.

“The wyrms, they need meat.” Elizabeth braced herself for another assault.

“What?” Corney turned on his heel and glowered.

“They cannot eat hardtack. Their teeth are not right for it. They will starve if you continue feeding them like that.”

Corney stared at the wyrms, grumbling. The wyrms bared their teeth as though to prove Elizabeth’s point.

“They will be of no use to you when they are too weak to stand guard.”

Corney rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

They left, locking the door loudly behind them.

“You will get your meat.” Elizabeth whispered. “That’s what he said under his breath.”

Prussian licked his lips.

Lapis inched a little closer. “Can the small one really breathe fire?”

Elizabeth nodded. Thankfully Joshua and Phoenix said nothing.

Chapter 12

January 23, 1815, London Order Offices

H ow could Darcy not be sentimentally fond of the Blue Order library? The main library, which took up nearly half the second floor of the building, had been the place where he had found Elizabeth while desperately searching for solutions to Pemberley’s problem. He had found those answers, and so many more that day.

Would they be as fortunate today?

Bennet sat beside him at the long table, hunched over a dusty tome, mumbling under his breath. His drake secretary, Drew, jotted quick notes in the flickering light of the pewter candelabra in the middle of the table. His crest flared in and out as he wrote.

Apparently, Drew’s hearing was particularly acute and allowed him to accurately perceive Bennet’s muttering without asking for him to speak up. They actually seemed to work well together. Who would have imagined?

Darcy stood and stretched. Three days he had been huddled here with Bennet and Lady Astrid. Even the wonderful scent of old books could not drive away the sense of being lost amidst shelves upon shelves of volumes, none offering firm answers.

On the other side of the table, Lady Astrid, quick and sharp, pointed out several more volumes for them to search. Already covered in library dust, Quill Driver, her assistant, a muscular deep-grey drake who wore glasses that matched hers, scurried away to find them.

“I have a good feeling about these next two journals. I definitely remember references to unusual forest wyrms in those Keeper’s journals.” Lady Astrid removed her glasses and rubbed her bloodshot blue eyes. Though a tiny woman, her energy seemed boundless.

She had slept very little since learning there might be something she could do to help. She and Elizabeth shared a friendship of equals, a rare thing for both women.

“I realize I am likely speaking out of turn here, but perhaps it would be helpful if there were some sort of guidance for what Keepers should be keeping track of in those journals. Perhaps even insist on an index like many ladies craft for their commonplace books?” Darcy cringed as he spoke. Perhaps so much time in the dimly lit, crowded room was affecting his judgement.

Lady Astrid laughed, something she had not done in days. “Yes, you are speaking out of place, and yes, you are right. It is a pipe dream of mine to have such directives in place. But not all Dragon Keepers are like our esteemed Historian, as I am sure you have noticed. Many barely keep records. If we were to add more demands upon them, I fear nothing would be recorded at all.”

Bennet looked up and nodded briefly, the corner of his lips pulling back in a brief, tiny smile.

Lady Astrid was one of the few officers in the Order who seemed to get on quite well with Bennet. Perhaps it was because their peculiarities and penchants aligned so closely.

“I am done with this volume, Drew.” Bennet closed the book and pushed it away.

“I will return it to the shelves.” Drew scurried away.

“I need something from that section as well. I will go with you.” Astrid followed.

Bennet hung his head, eyes closed.

“Are you unwell?” Darcy sat down beside him. The hard, slightly too short chair had grown no more comfortable in the few minutes away from it.

“Who among us is well right now?” Bennet raked his thinning hair and laced his hands behind his head. “Lizzy has always been getting herself in trouble where dragons were concerned. Did she tell you the story of how she introduced herself to a basilisk? Or how she arranged to pull Dug Bedford’s bad tooth herself, thus spawning a new call for dental surgeons among dragons?”

“I did not hear that latter bit of Dug Bedford’s story.”

“I have never really given her the credit she deserves for her service to the Order and to dragonkind.” How small his voice had become.

“Why?”

“I have always intended to, eventually. At the time, though, it had seemed inadvisable to praise her uncouth methods. And then after, it always seemed too late and rather difficult to bring up.” He shrugged, wincing. Was that the pain in his shoulders or his conscience?

“When she is returned, you must tell her. She would be happy to know of your approval.”

“I doubt it would matter to her very much. I rarely see her now. She hardly writes. I do not think my opinion is one that matters to her at all.” Bennet wrapped his arms around his waist and stared at the blank spot on the table.

“You have taken the comfortable route for a very long time. Now it sounds as though you may be having some regrets. If you have the opportunity to change that, it seems that a wise man—”

Bennet sniffed and looked aside. “How is little Anne?”

Naturally.

“Sleepless, as I understand her mother to have been at that age. But she is never happier than when in the company of dragons. Little May is at her side as much as April was … will be at Elizabeth’s.”

Bennet nodded, rocking slightly in his chair.

“She is in a nursery in the attics here. If you like, I will inform Nanny that you are welcome to visit at any time. I am sure Anne would enjoy your company.”

“That is kind of you. It sounds like she is very much like her mother.”

“I think she is.”

Bennet pursed his lips into too many expressions to clearly identify. “I had hoped Elizabeth would permit me to assist her in her duties as Sage.”

Darcy bit his tongue. Now was not the time, nor here the place—

“I have found the books!” Quill Driver staggered to the table and dropped four volumes bound in Order-blue on the table, raising a small cloud of dust with an echoing thud. “Let us each take one.” He shoved books at them, and one at Drew’s currently empty place at the table.

Darcy rubbed his gritty, dusty eyes. What was the point of yet another volume? He needed to do something, not be stuck staring at illegible script about things no one cared anything for.

“Oh, this is interesting!” When had Drew returned?

“What, what?” Lady Astrid peered over his shoulder.

“Here, look, a reference to striped forest wyrms. The Keeper calls them Azure-Striped Forest Wyrms. It says he chased them out of his territory because of their venom. It seems touching their blue skins caused paralysis and hallucinations in the farm hands, allowing the wyrms to decimate the poultry, and even a small flock of sheep.” Drew pointed at various spots on the page.

Darcy shut his volume hard and bolted up from his chair. “That aligns with the report given by Gardiner’s men. I am sure they must be one and the same. What estate is that journal from?”

Quill Driver checked the frontispiece. “Nunnington Hall. All these volumes are from there.”

“Excellent! Sir Fitzwilliam, hand me your journal. I just heard Longbourn has returned and wishes to speak with you.” Lady Astrid reached for the thick tome.

Darcy bit his tongue. Best not tempt fate by hoping aloud for good news.

So many stairs. Five flights down, each growing darker and colder as he descended. Days like today, the entire Blue Order offices seemed like they were made up of stairs.

At the lowest level, Longbourn met him in the deep shadows at the base of the stairs, pacing. He should have waited in his guest lair. Was he impatient or controlling? Difficult to tell. It was never a good sign when Longbourn paced, though. Wings and hide layered in travel dust: another not-good sign.

He leaned in, close to Darcy. “I found something.”

His voice rumbled in Darcy’s chest. Nothing like being direct. “Pray tell me.”

“The wryms you asked about, they are native to the north.”

He probably should not mention that they had found that out themselves. “How far north?”

“Old Northumbria.”

There was a lot of territory there. “Into Scotland as well?”

“Possibly, I could not trace them that far. But rumor suggests that they may be native to there, too.”

“How widespread are they? Why have we not heard more of them? They are not in any of the common bestiaries.”

Longbourn sat back on his haunches and folded his wings, like an old man preparing to tell children a tale. “In the days before men, the wyrms ate the vermin of the forest, but when men came, their livestock was easier prey. So, they have long been the bane of men. They tried to drive the wyrms out. When the wyrms appealed to the major dragons, as the Accords require, the major dragons sided with men and placed the wyrms under great restrictions. The wyrms have a great resentment against men, major dragons, and the Blue Order.”

Dragon’s blood! Another class of discontented dragons? Was the very fabric of the Order falling apart around them?

No, not now. This should be dealt with later. After. “Did you discover any specific locations where they might be found today?”

“There may be more, but Nunnington Hall and Bolton Castle were both mentioned.”

“Do I understand correctly? These wyrms have currently been found at Nunnington?”

“As I understand, there is a large cluster there that are kept in check by the dragon, Nunnington. Rumor has it several of the wyrms turned up missing in the last few months.”

“Nunnington is only thirty miles from the coast at Scarborough. That puts them in easy reach of smugglers. I need to get this information to Matlock. Thank you.” Darcy turned to leave. Wait, no. What would Elizabeth do? “Is there anything that might be done for your comfort?”

“Send my Keeper down to me. I will be in my lair.” Longbourn stood and scuffed toward the tunnel.

“I will see to it.” Darcy hurried upstairs, stopping briefly to dispatch a footman to Mrs. Collins.

Everything Longbourn had reported made perfect sense. Wyrms were by their nature stupid, resentful creatures. If they had felt themselves oppressed by man and dragon, turning to work against both with smugglers was exactly the sort of thing they would do.

While the major dragons were by far the most powerful dragons, the minor ones outnumbered them. Although the Pendragon Treaty and the Accords were almost exclusively drawn up for the interests of the major dragons, the minor dragons benefited from them, too.

But not nearly so much. Should they band together and reject the Blue Order, the result could be as calamitous as another dragon war.

Dragon war.

Those words again. His belly roiled and blood roared in his hear.

They could not let it come to that.

Matlock’s elaborately-carved door stood ajar, so Darcy paused only to knock, announcing his presence, and went directly in.

“What do you want?” Matlock snarled, barely looking up from his desk, strewn with cryptic documents.

Tall brass candelabras stood on either side of his desk, filling the room with reading light and the bacon-y odor of tallow. What was Matlock studying?

Darcy approached the desk. “I have information which may assist us in locating Elizabeth.”

“Sit, sit and out with it. I have no time for civility.”

Darcy pulled a chair near and quickly related his conclusions about the azure-striped forest wyrms.

Matlock squeezed his eyes shut, threw his head back and rolled his shoulders. “Damn. Damn. Damn and bloody hell.”

“Excuse me. I do not have the pleasure of understanding you.”

“You are off chasing forest wyrms while I have significant issues on my hands.” Matlock slapped the nearest pile of documents.

“You do not consider the implications of a minor dragon rebellion significant? Forgive me if I must differ with you on that point.”

“Wyrms are stupid and easily manipulated. A few of Gardiner’s fancy dried beetles and they will agree to do anything. You have seen that for yourself. How can they measure up to what I am dealing with now?” He gestured across the piles on his desk. “General Yates arrived earlier today with more news from the north and east.”

“Not good?” It seemed unlikely that the Grand Cross of the Blue Order Knights brought good tidings.

“Would you be surprised to learn that Pemberley is at the center of the latest unrest?”

“Pemberley? How is that possible? She has not even begun to take part in the regular activities of the Order.” Surely this was nothing more than rumor and hearsay.

“And apparently, therein lies the problem. Do you know how long it has been since a major dragon with a territory like Pemberley’s has been hatched?”

“Not precisely.”

“Let us just say, then, that it is a very infrequent occurrence and several major dragons are disgruntled that the natural order of the world has been disrupted by the Accords,” Uncle Matlock said.

“What do you mean?”

“The natural way of things, it seems, is that baby dragons hatch without territory and must fight for it, gaining it as they grow, or they are killed by their elders. The Accords did away with those ‘natural’ ways, assigning territories to each dragon and its heir in perpetuity.”

“And the dragons of England agreed to the Accords. I do not understand the problem.”

Uncle Matlock grumbled and huffed under his breath. “It seems there are those who object to the Accords now they are forced to see an infant major dragon’s interests are protected. An estate like Pemberley, territory protected only by the Accords, is not a welcome reminder of the limits placed on major dragons.”

“Are not all the major dragons served by that treaty?”

“There are those, naturally powerful and cranky, who question that Pemberley’s territory should remain unchallenged when the true way of dragonkind is to take what they can get and hold it for themselves. In short, they are intimating that the Treaty, the Accords, and the Order are not to their benefit. They cite our recent decisions against Cornwall as another disruption to the natural way of things. The biggest, most powerful dragon should always prevail. To them, Cornwall should have been permitted to slit Kellynch’s belly to retrieve any remaining gold.”

“Pendragon’s bones!” Who among the English dragons could possibly hold that such a thing would be beneficial?

“So, whilst we try to manage this nightmare, you had best give some thought to the defense of Pemberley or if it is even possible. If you have any still there who might be harmed in a hostile dragon takeover, it would be best to get them out now.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Serious enough to have a meeting scheduled with Brenin Londinium.”

“But he is old and lazy—”

“And mostly bored and self-absorbed. I am well aware. And Cornwall, the next in power, is utterly useless as well. That is why I will petition Londinium to make Cownt Matlock Grand Dug with full ministerial authority over the Conclave.”

Darcy clutched the arm of his chair and tried not to allow his jaw to gape. “That will send Cornwall into a rage. What say the other dragons of the Council—”

“They agree to the necessity of it and will support Cownt Matlock. There are few choices. If a powerful dragon does not step up to counter this threat of rebellion, the Accords will not survive.”

He was right.

“The Dragon Sage is important to this Order and to the dragons of England, but under these circumstances, I can offer no further resources toward her recovery. We must prepare for the possibility of full-scale insurrection.”

A quarter of an hour later, Darcy dragged himself from Matlock’s office, the weight of the news almost too much to carry. How was this possible? He made his way upstairs to the attics by the force of will alone.

Nanny welcomed him into the awkward little nursery, scented with lavender and rose. The white walls and mismatched furniture that definitely did not fit the space made for an odd bastion of peace.

A single glance at his face and Nanny offered to step out and allow him time alone with Anne. No telling what she inferred from his expression, but it was probably not far from the truth.

He gathered little Anne into his arms and settled into a large chair near the fireplace. She looked up at him, her eyes deep and intelligent, just like Elizabeth’s. May wound around his feet, sniffing and purring. She could probably smell his anxiety. Tatzelwurms were peculiar that way.

Pax perched on the back of his chair, turning her head this way and that, twittering softly until he scratched under her chin.

“Where is April? Have you seen Walker today?” Darcy asked.

“No. I think Walker was flying with the guard today, looking for useful information. April might have gone back to Darcy House to see the housekeeper for more honey or jam. The kitchens here do not seem willing to provide enough for her tastes. Now does not seem to be a good time to try to change her habits.” Pax twittered a soothing melody.

April needed still more honey? No, Pax must be in error.

Pax and May were lovely creatures, but they were young, and untested. They depended upon him. While he could not blame Walker or April for their absence, tonight he needed the comfort of Friends he could rely on.

It was up to him and him alone to find Elizabeth now. With so few resources to bring to bear, and orders specifically against it!

How could they refuse to protect all that was dear to him? Even Pemberley estate was in danger and they offered little. The Order was failing him. Could he just blindly allow it?

But what could he do? Richard and Netherford had already been sent off on the Order’s bidding. Wentworth was in Dover. Perhaps Longbourn could be of more assistance, if he could be trusted not to make things worse. With his temper, it was always a possibility.

But he was not even Keeper to Longbourn and had no real right to ask anything of him. At least according to the strictures of the Order.

The rather useless ones.

Father would reprove him for that sentiment and Uncle Matlock declare him seditious.

Still, without April and Walker, he only had a few young fairy dragons and tatzelwurms who might be of help to him. How was he to save his Lady with such an army at his disposal?

“Elizabeth would say ‘think like a dragon and act accordingly.’” He sighed and scratched under Pax’s chin. “But what would a dragon do in such times? And how am I to do it?”

Pax peered down at May, who nodded a mite and purred louder. What could they possibly be thinking?

Chapter 13

January 25, 1815, London Order Offices

“F ive, six, seven, eight!” Mr. Dodge, the dance master, rapped the floor with his walking stick.

Anne pressed her temples with both hands. The sound echoed off the hardwood floor that had been cleared of furniture and carpet to facilitate their dance lessons in a small second-floor sitting room. With the couch, chairs, and small tables pressed up against the walls, the pale blue room was just large enough for them to form a small dance set and for Mr. Dodge to circle them and criticize—or rather critique, that was what he called his constant barrage of corrections—their steps.

He was a short man carrying a large stick, the sort of man Wentworth had little respect for. A furry mustache perched above his upper lip like a caterpillar hemmed in by his very high, very starched collar. His tousled hair was held so strongly by some sort of pomade, it would likely have broken had it been touched. Not unlike the seams of his very tightly-fitted tailored jacket that might burst if he breathed too deeply. A Rowlandson caricature if there ever had been one.

She sniffled and rubbed her nose. Chalk dust that smelt much like the stone floors throughout the offices made them all sneezy. But it did make the floor less slippery, so it was worth tolerating, even if the dance master had complained he was a teacher, not an artist the entire time he chalked the floor. Wonder that he did not burst a seam doing that.

How kind of the Cotillion Board not to object to their use of the Blue Order offices for such mundane purposes. Not that they had any authority to object, but it was not likely to stop them, in any case.

Of course, it did not hurt that Lady Jersey had pounced on Mr. Dodge as soon as he arrived to review the quadrille steps she wanted to introduce. How lovely Lady Elizabeth’s efforts proved so convenient for Lady Jersey—not that it would ever be recognized.

“That will do, ladies, that will do. Enough of the quadrille.” He waved them off the floor.

Thank heavens! It was not enough that her calves and feet ached, but now her head throbbed in time with the dance master’s thumping.

“Your performance was not dreadful.” He said that as though it were some kind of a compliment.

If it was, it would be the first to escape his lips. According to Pax, his cockatrix Dragon Friend was every bit as ill-tempered and particular as he. But that was only a rumor. A very easily believed one.

He glanced at Anne, eyebrow raised as though he was dealing with a very stupid woman.

Honestly, she could hardly be blamed right now. How could one concentrate on dance steps when waiting, hoping for news from the patrolling fairy dragons? It seemed easy enough for Miss Bennet, who did not seem to grasp the gravity of the situation, and for Miss Darcy, whose worry was relieved when Pax had been assigned to the nursery.

That probably was not fair, not entirely. They were both full young to truly grasp the gravity of what was going on. Miss Darcy was a quiet type of woman who might not show her true sensibilities easily, like her brother.

“Now for the minuet.” The dance master clapped sharply and two eager, amiable, and eligible-looking young men appeared in the doorway. “For the minuet, one must have a partner to learn with and practice with. Here are partners. Mr. Fifett and Mr. Oakley.”

Miss Bennet bounced on her toes and all but clapped, her broad smile far more enthusiastic than any young lady should be. Miss Darcy simply blushed. She did that a great deal.

The young men stepped forward and bowed, eyes on their prospective partners.

The names were familiar from the roster of Dragon Keepers they had been studying. Mr. Gregory Fifett, too rugged to be a dandy, but too polished not to appear to be one at first glance, was the heir of Holmewood, an estate near Bradford in West Yorkshire. Holmewood was a—what was it, surely, she knew—yes, a female wyvern, one of the younger major dragons of the Blue Order.

Mr. Allen Oakley had recently inherited his family seat called Ambleside Hall, near Cumbria and Windermere, in the Lake District. Young Mr. Oakley, blonde and blue-eyed, seemed very young, and a mite too innocent, to be charged with Keeping an ill-tempered water wyrm (different from a marine wyrm!). Said wyrm was no doubt the reason for stories circulating of a monster that lived in Lake Windermere.

Both respectable gentlemen, with minor estate holdings and dragons who did not particularly stand out as important. The sort of gentlemen who could most benefit from connections to young ladies like Miss Bennet and Miss Darcy.

It was just possible some payment had exchanged hands in the selection of these dance partners. It was the sort of thing Father would have done for Elizabeth had the opportunity arisen.

“You may go.” Mr. Dodge waved Anne and Mrs. Collins toward the door. “Married ladies have no need to show their plumage with a minuet.”

“Truly? I have not heard—” Anne traded glances with Mrs. Collins. Was it married ladies in general, or those with connections to disgraced Blue Order members and the dragon-deaf? Hard to tell.

“The committee decided that years ago. It is old news. Everyone knows.” He flashed his brows.

Everyone except the Sage, it seemed. Was he in collusion with the Cotillion Board? No, that did not make sense. He could not risk his students failing at the Cotillion. But, still, something did not smell right.

She glanced at Mrs. Collins, who was already frowning. Probably sharing in the same line of thinking. Over the last few days, it happened quite often.

“My sisters need a chaperone. I will stay.” Mrs. Collins folded her arms across her chest and settled into a chair near the wall.

The dance master glared at her, but she met him with a far more powerful glower of her own. He grunted and turned to the couples.

Anne headed for a chair next to Mrs. Collins, but Corn appeared in the doorway, a demanding expression on his face. With the new responsibility they bore, the wyrmlings had matured tremendously in just several days. They were much more like their sire than she had expected.

“Go, I will keep Lydia proper, somehow,” Mrs. Collins whispered.

“You must come to the sitting room, now!” Corn’s black and white tail lashed.

The claws on his thumbed front paws tic-tac’ed on the marble steps while the scales on his serpentine tale whispered softly behind. Anne all but ran upstairs to keep up.

No, she must walk like a lady and draw no notice to herself and Corn lest anyone suspect what was really going on. It was bad enough that the fairy dragons had been awfully conspicuous by their absence. More prying eyes she could do without.

Walker stood on a small table near the sitting room windows, wings extended, game pieces and board scattered on the floor. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, keening softly while Wall licked at something between his feet.

Merciful heavens!

“Help. She needs help!” He opened his wings.

April lay in an awkward blue heap, blood marring her scale-feathers.

"Corn, find the Lord Physician, tell him I am bringing April!” How to transport her without hurting her further? Yes! She dumped Mrs. Collins’ work basket and made a little nest with a torn petticoat. “May I place you in the basket to take you to Sir Edward?”

“Yes, yes. It is … not so bad … only a little blood.” April’s tone declared her a liar.

Wall backed away and Anne cradled the broken fairy dragon in both hands.

“My wing! My wing!” Who knew fairy dragons could make such a blood-curdling sound?

Anne barely managed to nestle her into the basket without dropping her. The wing was definitely broken.

Would she ever fly again?

“I killed the hawk that had her, but not before its talons—” Walker peeked into the basket.

“She was seen! She was seen… Not east, west …” April collapsed.

Thank heavens she still breathed.

She grabbed the basket tight to her chest, and ran out, Walker winged his way ahead of her, scattering all in their path. No chance of keeping April’s injuries quiet now.

He left her at Sir Edward’s open door.

Sir Edward, already wearing a stained leather apron over his clothes, met her at the doorway. “What happened?”

“She has been careless since Lady Elizabeth’s abduction. She got caught by a hawk whilst out today.” All of that was an entirely true, if incomplete, picture of what had happened.

“This is very serious.” He took the basket and strode to a brightly lit table in the middle of the room. Multiple mirrors focused light from the frosted windows and multiple candelabras on the table, throwing the rest of the room into deep shadow. The warmth intensified the herbal perfume filling the air, rather like an apothecary’s shop.

With a touch far gentler than the size of his hands would have suggested, he removed April, still nestled in the petticoat, and peered at her. “Pray excuse me, but I must understand your injuries.”

April groaned, nodding just a bit.

He expertly turned her over, exposing the gashes to her breast and thigh. “This—the humerus is displaced from the furcula.” He pointed to her breastbone. “Hold her like this whilst I reset it. I fear this will be uncomfortable, April, but necessary.”

Anne swallowed hard. What was it about this sort of injury that always seemed to find her? She held the fairy dragon firmly.

A swift move of thumb and fingers; April screamed, panted, then sighed. “Better.”

Walker swooped in with Sir Fitzwilliam close behind. “What happened?”

“Lady Wentworth may be able to tell you how it came about, but I can tell you, she has a broken wing for certain. There are cuts and bruises as well. I do not know yet what sort of internal injuries are present. She is falling into a state of torpor, which is typical of injured fairy dragons. I hope it will work to our advantage, conserving her energies and allowing us time to treat her wounds.”

Sir Fitzwilliam peered over Anne’s shoulder. “Whatever can be done for her, do it. See that she is cared for—”

“My care has never been based on the size of the dragon, sir.” Sir Edward glowered.

“She is my wife’s Friend, and my own …”

“I understand. I will do everything possible for her. Leave and permit me to do my work. Walker can stay here with her, but you, both of you, should go.” He gestured toward the door with uncharacteristic energy.

They stepped out.

“Will you join me in the library, Lady Wentworth?” Sir Fitzwilliam’s words had the force of an order, his expression so dark it was nearly frightening.

Anne followed him upstairs and to a corner of the library, with two hard chairs and a small table. Flanked on three sides by bookshelves and the aroma of old books, they were well away from the windows, only the mirrors stationed throughout the space provided light.

He pulled a chair for her and sat down himself. “There is something you are not telling me, Lady Wentworth, and it seems rather crucial that I know.” The strain in his jaw belied the evenness in his tone.

“I suppose there is something to be said for draconic forthrightness. It does seem to save a great deal of dithering about in a conversation.” Anne tried to force her features into something pleasing, but it was difficult when she was certain he could hear her racing heart.

“It does indeed. I expect, madam, we are on the same side here. We both seek to see Elizabeth and the rest returned safely as soon as may be possible.”

“You are not satisfied with the steps the Order is taking towards their recovery.”

Sir Fitzwilliam sighed. “There are many priorities for the Order which all compete for a finite number of resources.” His lips tightened into an expression of pure frustration.

Oh, the amount he was not saying! Wentworth had intimated some of the possible priorities before he had left—none of them were good news.

“I suppose that is why your sisters, their Friends, and I have sought to devise a strategy to increase the available resources.”

Did it hurt when his eyes opened that wide? “I do not understand. What resources?”

“April and the other fairy dragons expressed deep concerns that since one of their kind is at the center of this incident, it would reflect poorly on their species. Since they are at the bottom of the dominance hierarchy, they fear it could go very poorly for them in the future if something were to happen to the Sage.”

“I would like to argue they are being silly twitter-pates, but I cannot. Once one begins listening to fairy dragons, what they say makes more and more sense. I believe the same is true of tatzelwurms, who are just above them in status. Rumblkins at Longbourn estate has found a way to be Friends with a woman who cannot even hear dragons. It is quite the relationship, to be certain. I know of no other dragon who has managed such a feat. It is worthy of respect, and understanding.”

If anyone could be trusted, it was he. She swallowed hard. “Then I am sure you will respect the fairy dragons’ insistence that they should be allowed to help in the recovery efforts. It was their belief they might be able to discover information that others could not. Their very lowness would make them privy to gossip and information others would not have.”

He braced his hands on the edges of his chair and leaned forward. “Spies? The fairy dragons decided to become spies?”

“After a fashion.”

“But they are prey! The danger—”

“Obviously, you are correct. And believe me, it was discussed. But they argued, and I believe rightly so, that they deserved the right to bring their unique skills and abilities to bear to save Lady Elizabeth, and, I believe, themselves as well.”

“Dragon bones! Who would have thought them willing, much less able—”

“April knew what she was risking and did so quite willingly. We are all fortunate Walker followed her out today and was there to rescue her.”

“Did she say anything?”

“Very little before the torpor set in. Only that Elizabeth had been seen.”

“Seen? Where? When?”

“A general direction, I think, but I do not know anything more specific.”

“Damn, damn, damn, damn!” Sir Fitzwilliam slammed his fist on the table, nearly toppling it. He fumbled to keep it upright. “Pray excuse me.”

“I am married to a sailor, sir. It will take far more than that to offend me. Unfortunately, all we can do now is to trust Sir Edward’s ministrations and wait for April to awaken and give us her news.”

“Will the other fairy dragons continue their efforts?”

“After this, I do not think they can be stopped, although I expect Walker and whomever he can recruit from among his cockatrice acquaintances will be watching over them from here on out. Unless there is anything else, I should go to your sisters and tell them what happened. I will let the other fairy dragons know as well, when they return.”

“You will keep me apprised of any news?” He stood and held her chair. Was that gratitude in his eyes?

“Absolutely. Pray excuse me.”

Mrs. Collins needed to be told of this first. Breaking the news to Miss Darcy would be difficult, she was so very sensitive. Miss Bennet would handle it much better. She was made of sterner stuff.

But perhaps—yes, that made sense.

First a letter.

Chapter 14

​ January 27, 1815, Dover

W entworth rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. The Blue Order offices in Dover provided only a single candle for his small room. Not precisely the best light for reading.

Nothing about the room was precisely the best. The bed, the chair, the press, the desk, all functional but nothing more. Not even pleasant to look at, the sort of articles that just faded into the background as they performed their purpose unremarkably.

Dover was hardly an important office, though it should have been. With access to the coast and the dragons there, and its proximity to France, it could have been an important hub of Order business.

Instead, the Regional Undersecretary for Kent was adequate to his task, visiting the Dover office precisely as often as necessary, no more. The Blue Order offices were adequate, managing the Keeps and other Blue Order business, exactly as the Accords said they should. The Dover office was adequate, providing exactly what it should, and nothing more. His room was adequate …

Damn it all, adequate was not enough! They had little to offer and little incentive to put forth more than minimal efforts.

He stared at Anne’s letter again, placed squarely in the center of the small writing desk. It smelt of her. The firm, practical loops of her handwriting managed to sound like her voice. If only she were here, too.

She was convinced there was something useful in the fairy dragons’ intelligence, even if it was incomplete and sparse at best. But fairy dragons? Truly, who could take the creatures seriously? All fluff and twitter and nary a bit of sense.

Laconia bumped his hand with his black furry head. “Mrrooow.”

Rather like the general opinion of tatzelwurms.

But Laconia was different. From the moment he cracked shell amidst those Gibraltar apes, he was different. He was thoughtful, serious, and sensible, not like those other tatzelwurms. Not even Corn and Wall had his clear-mindedness.

Then again, Anne’s letter detailed how very practical and useful the twins had become once given a purpose. Laconia had always had a purpose at sea with him.

Maybe there was something more to tatzelwurms, and to fairy dragons, than was commonly accepted.

“You are agitated. What is in that letter?” Laconia spring-hopped to the desk and put his thumbed paw on the paper.

“I do not know what to make of it. Anne tells me the fairy dragons have been seeking information on the Sage’s whereabouts.”

“That is a good thing. I do not understand why it did not happen sooner.” Laconia sat back on his tail and licked his paw.

“So, you support the notion?”

“No one minds their tongue around a fairy dragon any more than to a tatzelwurm or a servant.” He had a good point. “What did the fairy dragons say?”

“April, the Sage’s Friend, was badly injured and said little before falling into torpor. All we know is that the Sage was seen and in the west. It is very little to go on. But I have also received word from Matlock to continue our efforts here, in Dover—”

“Which is east from London.” The tip of Laconia’s serpentine tail flicked. He was annoyed.

“—and to interview the major dragons of Kent. It seems there is a great deal of unrest among them, and the Order needs to understand its extent.”

“You intend to do that?”

Wentworth stood and stretched. “Ordinarily I would. That is what an officer does. He follows orders.”

“Not when they are stupid.” Laconia licked his paw and slicked it over his face.

“Yes, even when they seem stupid, my Friend. I know you know that. More than once, you questioned, we questioned, our orders, but we followed them.”

“As Captain, you made many decisions on your own. Good decisions.”

“It is different on land.” Damn it all, everything felt different and foreign here.

“If we do not act, the Sage may be lost.”

“What is there to act upon? West? That is hardly an actionable piece of information.”

“Come.” Laconia hopped to the floor. “We must discuss this with Kellynch.” He spring-hopped for the door and slithered through.

Wentworth huffed and followed. He did not need a conference, he needed clarity, information … orders that he could follow in good conscience.

Damn.

Laconia did not look back as he led the way down the cobblestone street, to the beach, and the secluded cove where Kellynch had made a waterside lair. Wentworth fought to catch his breath, sweat trickling down the back of his neck despite the nip in the air and steady sea breeze.

Laconia was rarely in such a hurry.

Shrubs and a few small trees obscured the cliffside in the little cove, helped by the shadow of the cliff. Waves lapped on the rocky beach, giving no evidence of the extensive passageway hidden in the cliff face.

“There is news?” Kellynch slithered from the shadows, his whiskers crumpled and hide muddy. The cave there was not large enough for his comfort, but he seemed willing to endure the privation in hopes of being useful to the Order.

“After a fashion.” Wentworth quickly related the contents of the letter.

“Fairy dragons? They are silly bits of fluff.” Kellynch snorted. “Still, has any other information come forth?”

“Neither Anne nor Darcy has heard anything.”

Kellynch exchanged a conversation of glances with Laconia. “In the absence of other information, does it not make sense to pursue this?”

Truly? The dragons agreed? “How does one pursue ‘west’ as information? Besides, Cornwall’s territory is to the west and you cannot go there.”

“That is true enough, but there is a great deal west that is not his territory.” Kellynch snorted and wrinkled his snout. Cornwall would always be a very sore point with him.

“Matlock has ordered us to seek out the landed dragons in Kent, to interview them. He is concerned—”

“That there is discontent among them? I do not need to talk to them to know that is true.”

“How do you know?”

Did Kellynch just roll his eyes? Who knew dragons were capable of that expression? “The small dragons of their territory, they talk and I listen.”

“Why would they talk to a major dragon about such things?”

“Wyrms are the lowest among the major dragons. We are more approachable. All creatures appreciate being listened to. The minor dragons of the estates are supposed to be protected from me by their lairds, according to charter. So, it is safe to approach me to converse. I am sympathetic to their plight.” Kellynch bunched his length in something that looked like a shrug.

“What have they been telling you?”

“Their lairds are angry at the loss of the Sage and are losing faith in the Order and its promises.”

“Over just one woman?”

“She is not just one woman.” Laconia snarled softly.

That was unusual.

“She is the Sage. She is the first human in our recollection who thinks like a dragon and understands us, represents our interests properly. That the Order would not feel her loss as deeply as we do is an insult of the highest order.”

A chill snaked down his back. Something in Kellynch’s tone. This was deadly serious. “I had no idea. I am certain Matlock does not, either.”

Laconia made a sound deep in his throat that could have passed for muttering.

“And therein lies the problem. The warm-bloods have ignored so many draconic concerns for so long, making this final insult nigh on intolerable. If the Sage is not recovered, I am not sure the Blue Order will survive.”

“Forgive me, but you are so new to the Order yourself, how can you possibly know that?”

“Those in high places talk to the low, thinking that those below them can do or will do nothing with the information.” Kellynch seemed to shrug again.

“So, you would suggest—”

“That you ignore Matlock and think like a dragon,” Laconia hissed through his teeth.

Is that not what the Sage was said to do? “I do not know how to think like a dragon. I am new to this world myself.”

Kellynch swung his head in broad sweeps from side to side. “But I am not. I am a dragon and know how to respond. Ignore Matlock’s dithering and get us to the west. Laconia and I can begin talking to the sea-faring cockatrice. Dover’s pod are not the only sea dragons. Perhaps once we are out of their territory, we can find some who will talk to us.”

“You do realize what this means? Going against the Blue Order’s direction? Your territory can be removed from you. Your admission to the Order can be revoked.”

“So, I will go back to the sea and make my way there. There is plenty of unoccupied territory I could claim in the ocean. I fear it is you and Anne who will suffer the most if this goes badly.”

He was right. What would Anne say?

She was the one who had sent him the information.

“Laconia? You will be affected by this, too.”

His tail lashed, tossing beach rocks aside. “I have told you already. You should not waste any more time.”

Wentworth drew a deep breath. “We will head west as soon as I can arrange a small ship and dragon-hearing crew.”

Chapter 15

January 27, 1815, On board the Sea Lion

H ow many days had passed since the door locked behind them and the once-fresh bed of straw began to grow stale and musty in their shadowy, dank confines? Joshua sat near Phoenix’s cage, knees drawn to his chest, watching the cluster of guarding wyrms in the far corners, fascinated. The younger pair, Indigo and Lapis, seemed to return the sentiment, frequently staring at him as though to work out what he was about.

Elizabeth stood and stretched. Too many, far too many days here. Where was “here?” Near-constant storms had beset them. How had that affected their journey toward Bermuda?

And what would they do when they got there?

Had there been any progress made toward finding them? Darcy would move heaven and earth and the Blue Order if necessary to recover them. What was he doing now? How many dragons had come to his side to help? Perhaps this might be a rallying point that would see major dragons working together in ways they had not before?

Maybe, somehow, this would be a good thing for dragonkind…

What was she thinking? Dragons were always difficult and stubborn and often self-centered. If there were a way to make things even worse, that is what would happen.

And Darcy would have to handle it and little Anne all alone.

This was not the way it was supposed to be. They were supposed to be together, managing affairs of home and hearth and dragon side by side. He had a way of seeing, of understanding, of planning different to her own. One she needed, especially now.

Could she manage to think like him and like a dragon, too?

Darcy would want to know about Bermuda and what could be expected there. She had read something about Bermuda at one point, but what was it?

She paced the length of the hold, across the weak sunlight filtering through the grate above them. Sometime in the recent days, she had got the knack, more or less, of traversing the undulating deck.

Ground that stayed firm beneath was definitely underappreciated.

She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her temples.

Yes! Bermuda’s first local parliament sat in 1612, well after the Pendragon Treaty came into being. Self-governing, with preferential treatment toward its own citizens; that meant if any Blue Order authorities existed on the island, they would have no power to enforce the treaty. It would be difficult to find any sort of legal aid. Without identification or a male relative, a woman and a boy would likely have little standing in court. Especially with the claims that Corney would no doubt make about them.

But surely there were dragons in Bermuda. There had to be. They could be prevailed upon for aid. Surely, they would be sympathetic and helpful, would they not?

Dragons had always been so before.

A key jangled in the lock and the door groaned open. One of the two scruffy men who had transported them to Portsmouth shambled in, a tray with foodstuffs in his hands and a pail over his arm. He slipped a small fish into Phoenix’s cage, handed bowls with hardtack, some sort of stew, and grog to her and Joshua, and set the pail down in the middle of the hold as he backed out and relocked the door.

Phoenix set upon his meager rations with the ferocity of a tiny, hungry cockatrice. Semi-starvation had begun to take its toll on his color and energy.

“Do you think Mama will let me have grog when we get back? I think I have developed a taste for it.” Joshua took a sip and winked at her.

He was a good lad, a brave, sturdy one for certain. His mask of calm and bravado did an excellent job hiding the fear that only revealed itself when he muttered in his sleep.

Prussian slithered out of the corner shadows towards the dented rusty pail. He circled it, tasting the air around it with his long, forked tongue. Finally, he shoved it over, sending greasy meat scraps slopping across the floor. Azure, Indigo and Lapis, in that order, approached the puddle, waiting until Prussian took the first gobbet of meat. Then they fell into a feeding frenzy, just shy of a complete loss of control. Like Phoenix, their rations were inadequate, but it was better than hardtack.

In a very few minutes, Indigo and Lapis, the smaller wyrms, licked the floor clean as Prussian and Azure scoured the bucket. For all his ill-temper and scarred visage, Prussian was a reasonable leader, maintaining a dominance structure but ensuring the smaller members of his cluster received a fair share of their paltry provisions.

Did all clusters operate this way? Fairy dragon harems all functioned similar to one another, but drake communities varied widely. Which did forest wyrms resemble? This was the first opportunity she ever had to interact with them so closely.

Elizabeth fished meat chunks out of her stew and held them out. The two females slithered close, Azure, with her red head knob, leading Lapis to eat from Elizabeth’s hands.

“It was your doing. You made them bring meat.” Azure slipped in close against Elizabeth’s skirt, careful to make sure her blue hide did not touch bare flesh.

“When you spoke, they listened. They not listen to us.” Lapis slid in along Elizabeth’s other side.

She could not contain a sigh of contentment. For the first time since they had been forced upon this horrid vessel, something felt right.

“What means that sound?” Prussian’s missing fang left him with a peculiar lisp.

“I suppose it means I am glad to have all of you near. At home we have many house dragons, and I am used to having them close by.”

“It is true,” Joshua said. “There are Slate and Amber, Friends of the housekeeper and butler, and the maid’s puck Friend, I cannot recall her name, and April and Pax and …”

“Why you live with so many?” Azure turned her head sideways, rather like April did when she was puzzled.

Heavens, it was difficult not to scratch her under her blue-scaled chin. “I suppose because I like them.”

“No one likes wyrms.” Lapis stretched toward Joshua for a scratch.

“That is not true,” Joshua’s attempt at an authoritative tone proved more cute than convincing. “I like you very much.”

“We are only ever liked for our stripes.” Indigo muttered from near the spilt pail.

“She does not need to know that.” Prussian’s tail lashed.

“What harm is there? She got us meat.” Azure rested her head in Elizabeth’s lap.

“Getting meat is not the same thing as freeing us from the dragons.” Prussian hissed as though to punctuate his opinion. “It sounds like she is a Keeper, in league with the big ones.”

“What dragons?” The air around the wyrms seemed to crackle with the pending revelation. Something very important; surely it was. 

“The ones who kept us.” Lapis pressed into her side, making herself small.

That was a fear reaction. She scanned the wyrms’ faces. Each wore the mien of prey not predator. “What dragons do that? I have never heard of dragons keeping other dragons.”

“The Blue Order knows. We have sent word.” Prussian snarled. “Our pleas for help were ignored.”

“I do not know that they were ever heard, sometimes—”

“They were heard. The cockatrice that brought them said they were dismissed by the regional undersecretary of North Umbria.” Prussian held his nose up like a man looking down upon another.

“There is no office by that name. It is an old name, not often used anymore. Perhaps the cockatrice was not … accurate.” She meant honest, but that would not likely facilitate the conversation. “Where are you from? What territory?” Northumbria could mean Northumberland, in Ireland, or Yorkshire, Tyne or Wear, perhaps all of them. Or even none.

“Nunnington’s hold,” Azure said.

Nunnington Hall! “Sir Bellingham, the baronet and deputy lieutenant for the North Riding of Yorkshire is Keeper, is he not?” Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut. There was something about that Keep… Yes! Peter Loschy was buried in the church there as the slayer of the Loschy Dragon. That was the popular story, but it had been shaped by the Blue Order.

The grave actually belonged to Sir Walter de Teyes, the Lord of Nunnington Hall in 1300. The dragon, the ancestor of the current Nunnington, was not killed by Loschy or any other, but rather, officially agreed to a Blue Order Charter and accepted Teyes as Keeper.

The dragon slayer myth was a convenient way to explain the disappearance of the local dragon and the rise in favor Teyes appeared to enjoy.

But neither Nunnington nor the Keeper there had ever formed more than a passing acquaintance even into the current generation. They occupied separate spheres, much as men and women usually did. Which meant that it was hardly a well-managed Keep according to Blue Order standards.

“The Keeper likes his sport more than his dragon.” Azure snorted and tensed.

“His dragon likes her sport, too.” Indigo drew closer.

“Dragon sports? This is new to me. Pray tell me more.” Elizabeth laid a hand on each of the nearby females. Their rising agitation needed some soothing presence. Hopefully they would not become too distraught and bite her inadvertently.

“She is a lazy, lonely wyrm. She wants for company and for entertainment.” Azure pressed her head into Elizabeth’s hand. Frightened, definitely frightened.

Those were needs the Keeper should have been attending.

“The old Keeper wanted us gone from the land, said we ate too much from his property. Nunnington took to chasing us. Even invited other big dragons to join her hunts.” Lapis wailed into Elizabeth’s skirts.

“They tried to eat us.” Indigo shuddered.

Elizabeth gasped and pulled the wyrms in a little closer. A landed dragon was supposed to protect those in their Keep, particularly those minor dragons who had imprinted upon humans, whether or not they had Friends.

“But they did not understand our defense.” Prussian rose high on his tail and flared his head, cobra-like, reveling swaths of bright blue, otherwise hidden. “Our poison works on major dragons.”

“Not well.” Azure curled into a knot. “When they tried to swallow us, they had strange sensations. Seeing and feeling things. They no longer bored.”

“They liked us very much for that.” Lapis wrapped herself into a tight ball.

Indigo slithered closer. “We amused, they said. They collected us. Nunnington divided us among her friends. They kept us trapped in their lairs.”

Prussian rose up higher, his body puffing. “She would lick our blue when she grew bored. Wanted those sensations. Then return us to the cavern.”

“We were trapped; held captive!” Azure bolted away and twined around Prussian. “A heavy storm caused a mudslide that allowed the river into the cavern. We escaped, but there are more of us held.”

Joshua gasped and extended a protective arm around Lapis.

“Pendragon’s bones!” Elizabeth pressed her fist to her mouth. No wonder they had fallen in with the smugglers. “I had no idea! No dragon is ever to be held against their will except by official judicial action. This cannot continue. When I return to the Order, I will launch an investigation—you must tell me the names of all the major dragons involved. If I have to, I will go to those estates myself. I will see that the others are freed and those who held them are punished.”

Major dragons, like the peerage, were always wont to see how much propriety they could flout, often treating the Order’s rules as flexible according to their whims. But this? This was utterly beyond the pale.

“You can do that?” Prussian leaned closer, eyes narrowed, studying.

“She can and she will do it, too.” Joshua whispered. “She is angry now, and no one, not even dragons stand in her way when she is angry—”

“Who is Lady Warm-Blood that the Order would listen—”

The door lock rattled and they all jumped. The wyrms scattered to their corners.

Corney shambled in. Had his foot-dragging limp become more pronounced in the days since they had seen him last? Ayles, carrying himself a little less gentlemanly than before, with dirty shirt and boots, followed several steps behind. Was he angry, impatient, or simply tired? Or all three?

“Seems like you ‘et all that were put in front of ye. Now that you been fed, it be time to do what you were brought to do.” Corney pointed a scarred finger at Phoenix.

Phoenix huddled in the corner of the cage, trembling. His matted red feather-scales lay limp against his body, his eyes big and round.

“Time to breathe fire.” Ayles lifted the cage to eye level. “We will have it now.”

“Not now.” Phoenix twittered, trying to sound big, but only managing frail and hollow.

“None of that nonsense now. You gots no choice.” Corney balanced his fists on his hips.

“I am too weak.”

Ayles shook the cage, bouncing Phoenix like a stuffed doll inside.

“Stop!” Elizabeth grabbed for the cage. “He is telling you the truth. He is too weak to even fly, can you not see! He cannot breathe fire under these circumstances.”

“What circumstances exactly do you mean?” Ayles stared directly into her eyes with a cold predatory gaze.

Her breath hitched, but she forced words. “He is cold and half-starved. I was not exaggerating when I told you his kind need to eat four times a day, at least. You give him meat, but not nearly enough. He is half-starved. And he is cold! His kind hibernate in the cold. He cannot help it. He needs to be in the warmth, the sunshine.”

“It don’t bother them none.” Corney pointed at the wyrms huddling in the corner.

“They are of a different kind, who tolerate the cold better. They are as much alike as a pigeon is to a snake.”

“A dragon’s a dragon! That’s what Scarlett said.” Ayles stood so close she could feel his fetid breath on her face.

“No, they are not. No more than a horse is a whale or a boy. They are all different to one another and need different things. The wyrms are hungry, too, but do not need as much food as a … baby firedrake. They are from the north of England so tolerate the cold better. You cannot demand a performance if you do not take care of him properly.”

Corney stared at her for a long, uneasy moment. “I do not think we understand each other, missy.” He waved toward the door and Nickleby, filthy, hunched and scarred, shambled in. “Take the boy. Ayles, bring the cage.” He grabbed Elizabeth’s arm. “You come with me.”

Joshua screamed and kicked, but Nickleby tucked him up under his arm and hauled him out.

Everything in her demanded she do the same. But to what use? In the middle of a cold, unforgiving ocean, what escape could there be? None, unless she found allies. And to do that, she needed her wits, and her strength. Struggling now would provide neither.

Corney dragged her up a ladder to the deck, wrenching her shoulder in the process. Burning brightness assaulted her eyes. How long had it been since she had seen the sun full on? Though the chill wind scoured her face, the sunbeam’s warmth still penetrated.

She forced her eyes open. Sea to the horizon in every direction. Nothing else.

So very alone.

Corney forced her to the side railing, where several scraggly sailors waited. “I’m gettin’ tired of waiting on your baby scaly, missy, real tired. Ain’t gonna wait much longer.” He turned to Phoenix. “Just so you be clear at what’s what. Take her.”

The sailors grabbed her arms and legs and tossed her over the railing. She landed with a thud into a small boat tied off just a few feet below the edge.

Joshua and Phoenix screamed.

“Let her down, boys. Show ‘er what the ocean be like without our kind assistance.” Corney’s voice seemed so far away.

She scrambled to sit up as the dinghy shuddered and bumped against the hull, descending toward the lapping waves. From the corner of her eye, the garish yellow Sea Lion figurehead, horrid unnatural creature, grinned at her, as though laughing at her plight.

The dinghy smacked the water with a tooth-jarring thump. The ropes securing it to the sloop fell away and it drifted back. Only a single line, tied to the front of the dinghy, tethered it to the sloop.

So thin, so frail. If anything should happen to that line …

She held her breath against a welling scream. It would do no good. Demonstrating they could frighten her had no benefit. Shading her eyes, she peered up at the looming ship. Ayles held Phoenix’s cage up so he could see her. Joshua peeked over the railing, horror in his eyes. It seemed as though Corney were speaking, but his words were lost to the sea.

Chill winds, waves splashed, dousing her thin garments with pure cold. She huddled down as far as she could, letting the hull provide a break from the winds. How long would they leave her here? Would they cut the rope? If they did, what then?

Her teeth chattered, and she shivered, ears and nose and hands aching. A small blanket lay tucked up on one of the seats. Coarse and musty, it broke some of the chill. Perhaps there was something else…

No. No oars, no food, nothing of use.

Utterly and completely dependent on that single line to the Sea Lion. The figurehead laughed at her, mocking. So much like a dragon, but not—mythical and useless.

The boat jolted with a resounding blow against the side. She screamed and clutched the nearest seat.

A long, silvery speckled nose peeked over the side, horse-like, with large blue eyes and long lashes. A silver fin ran down its dark-streaked back like a mane. He resembled White, the Crofts hippocampus Friend.

Sea dragons!

“What are you? What are you doing here?” What an odd, watery quality to the creature’s voice.

“I am an officer of the Blue Order, the Dragon Sage. I am here as a captive, against my will. Pray, will you help me and the others who are held prisoner?”

The creature bobbed with the rough waves, blinking slowly, studying her. “Why would I meddle in the affairs of sailing men? They only bring trouble to us.”

“I am not a part of them. They are not a part of the Blue Order.”

The hippocampus whistled a sound between a nicker and a whinny. “What is the Blue Order to me? To my pod? They are nothing to us. What authority, what importance do they have here?” It pawed the water with its glistening front hooves. “None, that is the answer, none. We are many here in the ocean, and they have ignored us. Why should we do otherwise?”

Why indeed? “I will represent your cause to the Order—”

“You are adrift in a craft you cannot even move. The water is too cold for you to swim if you could even manage such a simple task—which I must strongly doubt. How precisely will you do that? What value has any promise you make now?”

How did one answer such a challenge?

“No, we have no need of you.” The creature dove, slapping a wave up over the side with its tail, catching Elizabeth in the face.

She stared into the sea, but it did not reappear.

The sea-dragon had just cut her.

That never happened.

Chapter 16

January 30, 1815, London Order Offices

T he sun rose and the world was as utterly upside down as it had been when Darcy retired the night before. He tossed the sheets and counterpane aside, resenting the bed for being empty beside him, especially when it smelt of lavender and her.

How totally unreasonable to be angry at a piece of furniture, but how could a man be reasonable under such conditions? Pacing the floor, the thin carpet, scratchy underfoot, one more detail that was simply not right.

Dragon’s fire.

His valet arrived to prepare him for the day, silently presenting him with a newspaper and a very strong cup of coffee. Both probably essential before he dare face polite company. Or in Matlock’s case, not so polite.

Truly, how could he be expected to trundle off to Pemberley when Richard and Wentworth were sent off to do something that had the potential at least for being useful in recovering Elizabeth?

From the cracked-leather wing chair near the fireplace, he scanned the newspaper for any scrap of pertinent information. It was surprising how often dragon-related articles appeared, if one knew what to look for.

Naturally there was nothing beyond what Parliament would do about the smuggled tea and silk.

He drained his coffee and banged the cup against the small table with a satisfying thud.

If only April had been able to communicate her intelligence before losing consciousness. How long would it take for her to awaken?

Or would she at all?

His throat spasmed so hard he could not draw breath. He sprang up and staggered to the window and shoved the transom open. Cold, fresh, London-smelling air poured in. Gulping and choking, he managed to draw one breath, then another. He panted, ribs aching, leaning heavily on the windowsill.

Pray, no. No more loss, not now.

Walker swooped in through the door left open to the dragons’ and servants’ corridors and landed on the back of the wing chair. “She has awoken!”

“She is well?” Darcy whirled so fast the room spun.

Walker flipped his wings neatly to his back. “It seems she will recover, but she is hardly well. Her wing will not be healed for weeks and it will be some time after that before she regains the strength to fly. If she is even able to again. She still has pain from the talon wounds and the scars could be significant.”

“But she will recover?” He balled his fists so hard they trembled.

“So it appears. She wants to talk to you.”

Darcy dashed out. He probably should have taken leave from Walker, but he would understand. His concern for April might have been greater than Darcy’s own.

He pounded down the main stairs, like a mannerless adolescent, nearly knocking over several proper folk on his way. Thankfully, Sir Edward’s Pa snake carved door was open. Good, otherwise Darcy might have torn that down to get inside.

Earthy herbal scents filled his lungs as the room’s quiet penetrated his anxious mantle. Somehow calming, reassuring, the promise of a healer who truly knew his craft.

Sir Edward met him just steps inside and led Darcy through the neat main room to a door beside a bookcase that carried all of Elizabeth’s monographs. He restrained the impulse to take one and pore over it, just to hear Elizabeth’s voice on the page.

The plain, narrow door opened to a small, warm stillroom, bundles of drying herbs hanging from the ceiling. Frosted transom windows lined the wall and lit the narrow space. Wall-mounted shelves lined the entire space, laden with bottles and boxes and equipment he did not recognize. A narrow work table occupied the center of the room, a basket surrounded by warm bricks in the center.

“April.” Darcy peered into her basket, radiant warmth touching his face and hands.

A bright blue mass of scabs and ragged feather-scales puddled in the center of the pale cotton-wool lining. Squinting, he could make out the outline of a beak and a face, bright eyes blinking up at him. “How are you feeling? You have been sorely missed.”

April lifted her head just a mite. “Has she been found?”

“No, yours has been the only intelligence. But you collapsed before telling us more than that she had been seen. Pray, what did you find?” He smoothed her ruffled head feathers.

“A sea-faring cockatrice heard that she was seen in Portsmouth. Possibly with Cornwallis Jackson—”

That name! How many times had he seen it in various reports recently? Even in the paper today! What had that article said?

“She was taken aboard a ship, a… what was it called? Bermuda Sloop, no, that was not the name. It had a yellow creature on the front, a lion of some sort. Perhaps … yes … The Sea Lion. Heading toward Bermuda.”

“When, do you know when?”

“How long have I slept?”

“Five days.”

“Perhaps ten days ago. But … but storms. Many storms. There were storms, strong enough to confuse the navigator and slow their progress.”

“Thank you! That is excellent, excellent news! You have been so brave to accomplish this. I am proud of you and I know,” he swallowed hard, “I know that she will be as well.”

“Go, find her, find her now. I need to sleep.” April fell back into the cotton-wool nest, snoring softly.

Sir Edward tapped his shoulder and beckoned him to follow, shutting the narrow door behind them.

“I believe she is out of danger now. She is a hardy little soul. Not many of her kind survive a hawk.” Sir Edward pushed his glasses higher up his nose. “You may send Walker back—I doubt you could keep him away. She is not strong enough for other visitors yet. I would not have called you down except she was desperate to give you her news. I trust it was worth it?”

“Indeed it was. Will she be able to fly again?”

“I cannot say, but if it is up to stubbornness, then I am sure she will. It is best to let her rest now. I will send for you when it is safe for her to have company.” Sir Edward escorted him out, shutting the door behind him.

Darcy leaned against the door, letting his head fall back against it and drawing his first unencumbered breath in days.

Soft footsteps approached. “Sir Fitzwilliam? Walker came for me. He said she was awake.”

Thank heavens it was Lady Wentworth and not one of the many people he would rather not see now. April’s injuries had become the point of a great deal of gossip and speculation.

“She has fallen back to sleep now, but I am told she is expected to recover. I am sure Sir Edward will tell you more.”

“Thank heavens!” Anne pressed her hand to her chest, leaned closer and dropped her voice. “Was she able to tell you anything?”

“Yes, yes, I am going to Matlock with that word right now.”

“Pray tell me what he says.” Something in her expression said there was more to be told, but it would have to wait.

He bowed and all but ran to Matlock’s office, earning not a few disapproving glances along the way.

The wide door with the Order’s seal was shut. He rapped politely. Once, twice, thrice.

No answer.

He pounded a satisfying tattoo with his fist.

Matlock yanked the door open. “What do you want?”

“I have word on Elizabeth.”

Matlock grumbled and opened the door enough for him to enter. “Come in and tell us what you know.”

Three imposing men sat around Matlock’s central desk, obscuring the painted Chancellor’s seal. Three candelabras behind the desk lit an array of maps and lists and notes strewn across the desktop.

General Strickland looked over his shoulder at Darcy, the dark patch over one eye even more severe in the uneven candlelight. Admiral Easterly sat beside him, his white hair ragged and unkept.

“Darcy, General Abbot, General Yates.” Matlock gestured at the two men just beyond Easterly.

General Abbot, the Blue Order’s Chief Army Liaison to His Majesty’s Army, acknowledged Darcy with a nod. He had gone to school with Darcy’s father and had once stayed at Pemberley. His manners were gentlemanly and his conversation informed. Dark-haired and blue-eyed, except for a few additional lines on his face, he was little changed from Darcy’s memory of him.

General Yates wore a military-style coat in Order-blue, with the insignia of the Grand Cross of the Pendragon Order on his left shoulder. With a square jaw and pronounced shoulders, he might have been a knight’s effigy carved from marble at a parish church. Not exactly the sort who seemed very conversational.

“Why are you not at Pemberley, Darcy?” Matlock snapped as he sat behind his desk. “I told you—”

“My dragon and my child are here. I have sent instructions to my steward and await his response. I have word on Elizabeth.”

“Word, from where? I was not informed.”

“Ten days ago she was seen in Portsmouth, forced aboard a Bermuda sloop called the Sea Lion, destined for Bermuda. She was in the company of Cornwallis Jackson, a known smuggler. His name has been bandied about in the newspapers as a known smuggler of tea and silk. He has appeared in a number of the reports you have recently received. An article in the Morning Post today confirms he has been seen both in London and Portsmouth.”

“Bermuda?” Easterly drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “There is no telling where they hope to ship that dragon from there. My guess would be India. Jackson is known to have ties there.”

Yates sneered. “The creature in question is a fairy dragon. I am quite certain there are British ladies with fairy dragons in India. It will do quite fine for itself there. I see it hardly our concern, especially in light of what is happening on British soil.”

“I understand there is a crisis at hand, but with respect, sir—”

“With respect, Sir Fitzwilliam,” Yates stood and glared. “You are a knight under my command. I have not asked you for advice, nor for information. It is your place to wait for my orders and act on them.”

“Have you forgotten, sir, that the Dragon Sage, an officer of the Order, chosen by the dragons themselves, and my wife, has been abducted by these same blackguards?” The veins along Darcy’s forehead throbbed.

“We are quite aware of that, to be sure,” Abbot’s tone bordered on conciliatory. “But there are bigger problems at hand. Further reports of unrest have arrived. That is a far bigger risk than the loss of a single human officer, even one dear to you.”

“Once again, sir, with respect, I do not think you understand the role she plays among the dragons themselves. If she is not recovered, I fear there is nothing you can do to stop insurrection. I believe her return alone—”

“Where did you come by your information?” Strickland asked.

“Walker, and Elizabeth’s Friend April—”

Yates slapped his forehead. “The fairy dragon? You expect us to take the word of a fairy dragon in these matters? I have no words, Darcy. A Knight of the Order should know better—”

“I do know better than to discount the word of a dragon!”

“Fairy dragons are hardly dragons and not worth listening to. Get out. We have actual work to do.” Yates waved him to the door.

Before he could protest, Matlock grabbed him by the arm and propelled him to the doorway. “Fairy dragons? Truly, Darcy? I need you back in Derbyshire, immediately. Tend to Pemberley. Interview the major dragons in the area. I need to know how deep the discontent runs there. Leave little Pemberley here, though. She does not need to be influenced by disloyal dragons.” He pushed Darcy out and slammed the door.

Ignorant, short-sighted warm-blood! Could he be made to understand that Elizabeth’s abduction was central to the looming insurrection? Probably not.

∞∞∞

Anne paced from the Chancellor’s office, past the Secretary’s office, past the Minister of the Court’s, and back again. Past the scrutiny of somber portraits. And again. And again.

The carved dragon holding the scales of justice on Baron Dunbrook’s door, and the inlaid one on Baron Chudleigh’s door that looked down upon smaller inlaid major dragons representing each county of England, stared at her judgmentally. It probably was not seemly to haunt the dimly lit halls this way, rather like eavesdropping. But how could she not?

Sir Fitzwilliam stumbled out of the Chancellor’s door, and it slammed behind him. Resounding, firm and final.

Anne dashed to him. Oh, the look on his face! What had they said? “I take it that did not go well?”

“Hardly.”

“Pray, sir, Longbourn is anxious to speak to you regarding April’s news. May I join you, as there is … ah, something … I would like to discuss with both of you?” She bit her upper lip.

Sir Fitzwilliam dragged his hand down his face and grunted. Too tired or too frustrated to argue? It hardly mattered. Regardless, she would be heard.

They descended three flights of limestone stairs in silence.

Longbourn, looking as ragged as a dragon might, met them at the bottom of the stairs, in the large, open junction of the many corridors that led to guest dragon lairs. A single torch bathed the space in more shadows than light. A vaguely damp, limestone scent harkened back to the temporary lair Kellynch had used in Bath.

“What is the news? Is the flutter-tuft well?” Longbourn scratched at the limestone floor.

“She will recover, but she was severely injured.” Sir Fitzwilliam went on to explain April’s intelligence and Lord Matlock’s response.

Disappointing, but hardly surprising. Not unlike the Cotillion Board, who seemed unable to consider anything but their own very limited viewpoints.

Lovely women all.

Longbourn leaned into Sir Fitzwilliam’s face, breathing hard. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I have been ordered back to Pemberley to interview—”

“You will do no such thing.” Longbourn’s stomp echoed painfully against the stone walls.

Sir Fitzwilliam chuckled grimly. “I suppose not.”

“You would disobey the Chancellor’s orders?” Anne held her breath. Perhaps, just perhaps.

“For Elizabeth, I would disobey the king.” It was probably an exaggeration, but a sentiment as lovely as Wentworth’s letter to her. “My Uncle vastly underestimates Elizabeth’s importance to the dragons. Her return will have a greater effect on dragon concerns than he imagines.”

Longbourn flicked his tail in what seemed to be approval. “What will you do, then?”

“That is an excellent question. We are rather low on allies and resources at the moment and—”

“Forgive me for interrupting, but I have some information you might be interested in.” She clasped her hands tightly before her, lest their trembling detract from her words.

“Pray go on, Lady Wentworth.”

“Wentworth was ordered to interview the major dragons in Kent. But when I told him of April’s initial report, he determined they needed to be at sea searching for Lady Elizabeth. The letter I received today revealed he has arranged a sloop called Cerulean, crewed by Blue Order men. He intends to set sail today from Dover, heading west toward Portsmouth.”

Sir Fitzwilliam gasped. “I would join him, if there were some way to get there …”

“I believe I might help you there as well. Alister Salt and his team can carry you to Portsmouth. You can meet Wentworth’s ship there and join his efforts.”

“I would come, too.” Even a Longbourn’s whisper was hard on the ears. “There is no moon in the sky for the next several nights. I can fly to Portsmouth. Will his ship hold me?”

“Perhaps. It is not something he thought to tell me. I believe it is possible the vessel is large enough for that.”

“I am for Portsmouth, then. Are you, Darcy?”

“I cannot do nearly as much for the Order by going to Derbyshire as I can by finding her. Pemberley would never forgive me if I did not go myself to try. I can be ready to leave in an hour. Just tell me where to meet Alister Salt.”

“I will make the arrangements with him and send word to Wentworth.” It might be the end of the Wentworths as part of Blue Order society, but without Lady Elizabeth, there might not be any Blue Order society. They would find the Sage, somehow.

Chapter 17

February 1, 1815, On board Cerulean

W entworth sat at his desk in the Cerulean’s captain’s quarters and fastened the satchel on the Blue Order messenger’s back. The cockatrice squawked and flew. Not nearly so impressive as the guard assigned to the London offices, but this messenger seemed as sure and steady and fast. The latter seemed the most significant right now as he disappeared from view in the early morning sky.

Dawn had broken, and Darcy was waiting for him at Portsmouth.

Wentworth made his way onto the deck, sea air catching him full in the face. Somehow, it felt like home.

It would have been simpler had Darcy—and Longbourn—not insisted on joining him. Darcy was hardly a seaman and could prove more liability than asset. Nor was Longbourn a sea dragon—could wyverns even swim?—then again, he could fly and that might well be a boon. Assuming, of course, he did not cause problems being aboard the ship.

He laced his hands behind his neck and stared at the glowing sky. What was he thinking, permitting a wyvern on his vessel?

Sailors scurried about, doing precisely what they should have been doing, under the bo’sun’s watchful eyes. Not unlike dancers on a ballroom floor, ebbing and flowing with the rhythm of the vast ocean.

Thankfully, the Cerulean’s crew was keen on the prospect of rescuing the Sage. At some point she had answered the navigator’s letter regarding an issue with his puck Friend’s hoard. Her advice had been good and he had felt the honor of her reply most exceedingly. His good opinion, apparently not easily acquired, was enough for the crew, and their judgement set. Hearing that the wyvern she once kept would join them on their mission only seemed to bolster their enthusiasm.

With a bit of luck, it would last.

Laconia hopped to the railing and head-butted his shoulder. “You are not pleased.”

“Do you want Darcy thinking himself in charge of this mission?”

“He is not that kind. He is dominant on land, to be sure, but he is no fool. He will permit you dominance at sea.”

“Permit me? Excuse me. I do not need his permission to be captain.”

“He will not challenge your dominance. You really must bring yourself under better regulation or he will sense weakness and challenge you.” Laconia huffed and bared his teeth. “You warm-bloods are no different to dragons, despite your insistence your ways are more civilized.”

What point in arguing? Laconia might even be right.

They were sailing on the advice of a fairy dragon, supported by a tatzelwurm. There was little hope for them as it was. Hopefully Laconia was right on both counts.

Wentworth opened his spyglass and scanned the shore for the familiar spire with the brass crescent and star. Somehow Portsmouth’s landmark soothed his disquiet. There, and yes, the green signal banner atop the Blue Order offices. Darcy was waiting at the docks.

Half an hour later, two of the Cerulean’s sailors rowed Darcy to the sloop. He climbed the ladder exactly as Wentworth expected a landman to climb. Ungainly, bordering on ridiculous. At least he did not slip and plummet into the sea and drown. That would have been unfortunate.

It took a moment for Darcy to gain his footing on deck. He bowed to Wentworth. “I believe the correct phrase is ‘permission to come aboard, Captain.’ Greetings, Laconia.”

Laconia was right.

Wentworth nodded. “Permission granted. One of my men will manage your things and show you about, but first, tell me what you know.” He led Darcy towards the bow, Laconia following.

Darcy moved slowly, fighting the movement of the deck. “How long does it take for one to become accustomed to … this?”

“It depends. Some never do. But since you do not seem to be made ill by the motion, it will probably come to you sooner rather than later.” It was a good sign that Darcy would not spend the journey leaning over the railings, spilling the contents of his guts.

“Longbourn is waiting for us at a cove in the cliffs as you directed.” Darcy scanned the deck as though trying to imagine the wyvern there. “You are certain his weight will not be an issue?”

“We do not carry cargo, so we are light to begin with. Even so, the Cerulean is sufficient to a wyvern. As long as he is not petulant and prone to tantrums. You are comfortable that he will be able to manage himself?”

“For the sake of rescuing Elizabeth, I am quite certain he could manage to breathe fire if asked.”

“Kellynch is expecting him. He swims below us even now. He has agreed to accept Longbourn into his territory without the usual formalities, given the uniqueness of the situation.”

“That is good of him. Please convey my thanks to him.” Darcy sounded entirely sincere.

Wentworth waved to the bo’sun. “Have the Order flag run up.” He turned back to Darcy. “He will be alert to the sign? I do not want to waste time waiting—”

“Nor do either of us. Before anything happens that might prevent me saying so, thank you. I am all too aware of the risks you are taking on Elizabeth’s behalf—”

“I appreciate your thanks, but pray understand that this is more than a personal favor. We owe the Sage a great deal for her actions on behalf of Kellynch, and we are happy to be able to act in her service. But what is at stake is more than just her person. The Order itself and the peace it maintains with dragon-kind are at risk. I believe we both agree that protecting it is worth any price.”

“Dragon ho!”

Wentworth turned his back to the rising sun. The ominous, shadowy outline of a flying wyvern approached. Primal fear, instinctive and inescapable, suffused every limb. In the days before the Pendragon Treaty, if a man saw such a thing, it would have been the last thing he saw.

“Mrooooow.” Laconia drew out the vowels, like a long, awestruck whistle.

Men gathered on the deck, slack-jawed and staring. This would be a moment they would share with their children. Provided they survived what was yet to come.

“Clear the deck!” the bo’sun cried.

Men scurried aside as Longbourn circled the sloop. “Permission to enter Kellynch’s territory?”

“He has granted permission.” Wentworth waved him in.

Wing-wind, very different from natural wind, buffeted his face, laden heavily with dragon musk. The sloop sank slightly under the wyvern’s weight as his feet thudded on the deck. Wentworth held his breath, listening, feeling through the soles of his boots, as Cerulean spoke to him. Thank heavens! She agreed to take this most unusual passenger.

Off the starboard bow, Kellynch rose up above the waves, water sheeting off his length, glistening on his green-brown scales. He pulled his head just high enough to be barely above Longbourn’s. Longbourn ducked just a bit to accommodate.

“I accept you in my territory,” Kellynch rumbled in deep dominant tones.

“I recognize your territory,” Longbourn boomed out matching notes.

“We will work together.”

Longbourn carefully spread his wings, as men dodged out of the way, and bowed his head. “Cooperation.”

“Yes.” Kellynch slowly receded back into the waves.

Darcy exhaled heavily. Yes, he was right. That had gone very well. Surprising how well dragons could rally when the matter was sufficiently urgent.

Wentworth approached Longbourn. “Good day, Laird Longbourn. The First Mate will show you the place that has been made ready for you on deck. He will instruct you in how to move so as not to upset the sails or the sloop.”

Longbourn nodded slowly as he carefully folded his wings. “I will listen.”

“So then, Darcy, what news have you?”

“Elizabeth was seen by a sea-faring cockatrice, forced aboard a ship at Portsmouth, heading for Bermuda. We believe a smuggler by the name of Cornwallis Jackson—”

“Corney?” Laconia reared up on his tail and hissed.

“You know him?”

Damn. “I have pursued him on more than one occasion. Slippery little scoundrel. Do you know of the ship they are in?”

“I believe it was called a sloop, a Bermuda sloop perhaps. Is that significant?”

Damn and bloody hell. “Yes, we are familiar with the Sea Lion. It is a particularly fast vessel. But the recent storms would have slowed them down, giving us opportunity to catch them before they reach Bermuda’s waters. It is exceedingly bold for him to try to operate out of Portsmouth, though, right under the nose of the Royal Navy. But that, too, sounds like him. Laird Longbourn, how is your long sight?”

“All flying dragons tend to be longsighted. How else would we see our prey?”

“Excellent. Will you be able to launch from the deck to look for a particular ship? I can describe the figurehead to you in some detail. There will be no mistaking it.”

Longbourn paced several steps port and starboard, the deck creaking beneath him. “Yes, I will be able to do as you ask. Shall I go now?”

“First, I will have the navigator give you the general bearings you will need. But before that. You are certain you wish to participate? The Order could—”

“They could, but they will not. They will agree, when she is returned. The men of the Order may not understand, but the dragons will.”

“And if she is not? There is every possibility—”

“If she is not, then there will be far greater problems for the Order to deal with than one disorderly wyvern.”

Chapter 18

February 1, 1815, On board Sea Lion

E lizabeth’s stomach rumbled as she edged into the little sliver of sun painting the rancid pile of straw in the Sea Lion’s hold, nearly empty tankard of grog in hand. Any little warmth that could be found was worth pursuing for however long it lasted. Someday she would wear the merino wool shawl Darcy had given her—she might never take it off again. He would laugh at her for it … heavens, she missed the sound of his laugh. His and Anne’s.

Even through closed eyes, heat still trickled down her cheeks. She rubbed her face on her shoulders. Joshua should not see her thus. Perhaps a sip of grog would open the tightness in her throat.

Over the past few days, the Movers had acquiesced to her plea for more meat for the wyrms. Their color and disposition had improved with their change in diet. Unfortunately, their extra portions had seemed to come out of her own soup bowl. All told though, better her hunger pangs than starving wyrms sharing their quarters.

Phoenix, too, had rallied with extra fish tossed into his cage. His bright color was returning and he occasionally twittered, just a little. It was a good sign, but probably a dangerous one.

Joshua pulled the cage into the sun. Phoenix extended his wings as though trying to soak up the meager warmth while he could. The two female wyrms, Azure and Lapis, lay on Elizabeth’s either side, pressed against her legs. Indigo curled at her feet. Prussian rested in relaxed alert at the edge of the sunshine, watching the door more than he watched them.

Though still somewhat wary, a full belly seemed to persuade Prussian that she and Joshua were cut of a different cloth than Nunnington’s Keeper, the only other Order member they had known. Perhaps it was unwise to begin to consider a forest wyrm an ally, but in a place with so few, no possible confederate ought to be overlooked.

“How will you get the Order to listen to you when we return?” Joshua asked, carefully scratching behind Lapis’ ear.

She murmured contentedly. The two had formed an odd little bond. Was it possible they were becoming Friends? Indigo did not seem to mind—he even seemed rather fond of Joshua himself; whatever happened, the two wyrms would do it as a pair. Wyrms did not separate unless one died.

“There is always a way to be heard.” Oftentimes it did not make one very popular, but persistence and a strong voice generally got the task accomplished.

“We tried. They refused to hear our complaint.” Prussian puffed up and flared the skin around his head. He often did that when annoyed.

“I wonder to whom it was delivered. If you sent a messenger, unfortunately, there are many ways in which its delivery could have been hampered. There are those who think they know what the Order should be troubled with and what it should not.”

“Exactly as I told you. The Order will not hear us.” Prussian trembled—was it purely rage or frustration as well?

“I have been working to change the situation. A new system is coming into place. The Minister of Keeps has been appointing staff to take and hear complaints specifically from minor dragons. They took their roles just recently, so they would not have been available to your messenger earlier. A rather regal and bossy cockatrix leads them. She takes her role very seriously—though I am still convincing her that fairy dragons—”

“And wyrms! We are as overlooked as they!” Azure protested, the tip of her tail flicking sharply.

“And wyrms, to be sure. I am personally working with her to be certain she understands that all petitions must be taken seriously. Yours will be a teaching case that I am certain will make her well understand my insistence.”

“What means that?” Lapis leaned across Joshua and turned her head sideways.

“It means that she will see your captivity as the crime that it is and through that understand wyrms have an important voice in the Order, too.”

Prussian slithered closer, still flared. “Why? You have nothing to gain from us. We have nothing to offer you.”

“I ask nothing from you. That is not the point. What has happened to you is a violation of the Pendragon Accords and of common decency. I cannot stand by whilst that is happening and do nothing.”

“And the firedrakes and other big dragons will listen to you? Why?” Prussian leaned close, eyes narrow. “Why would they deny their instincts and their pleasure to listen to a warm-blood?”

“She is the Dragon Sage,” Joshua said very softly.

“What is a Dragon Sage?” Indigo asked.

“Someone who knows nearly everything about dragons.” Joshua stroked the back of Indigo’s head. “The dragons themselves chose her.”

“Why?” Prussian’s question seemed halfway between a demand and a plea.

“The dragons chose me as Sage because they trust me to understand dragons and to be able to communicate it to the warm-bloods.”

“You are special warm-blood, then?” Azure turned her head sideways, matching Lapis.

How many species of dragons did that?

“She is a very special warm-blood. All the dragons of the Council consult with her and listen to her.” Joshua nodded with the vigor only a young boy could manage.

Elizabeth bit her lower lip. Time to take a risk. “I think it best that the Movers do not know that.”

Prussian met her gaze with an expression peculiar to dragons. One that could only be described as burgeoning trust. “We will keep your secret.” Prussian moved into arm’s reach, and she carefully scratched his ears.

Heavy footsteps approached. The wyrms dashed to their corners in defensive coils. But something about their posture had changed.

The door creaked open, slow and ominous. Corney, dragging his bad leg a little more than before, limped in.

Ayles, hair freshly brushed with a fresh shirt too, sauntered in. “Well-fed and bright-eyed, I see.” He tucked his thumbs in his lapels. So satisfied and full of himself—hateful creature. Pretending to be something he was not.

“Now’s as good a time, then. Baby dragon, breathe that fire.” Corney fumbled with a key. He opened the cage door and grabbled Phoenix in his clumsy, fat fist.

“Stop that, he cannot breathe! You are holding him too tight!” Joshua jumped to his feet, but Ayles pushed him back.

“I can’t!” Phoenix wheezed. “Let go.”

“If I think you’re a gonna fly off, the boy and the woman will pay.” Corney kicked Joshua’s shin. Horrible, horrible creature.

Joshua yelped and clutched his leg.

“I will not.” Phoenix’s eyes darted from one side of the hold to the other, their last encounter with Corney no doubt fresh in his mind. What was he looking for?

“So long as we unnerstand one ‘nother.” Corney opened his hand and held Phoenix at eye-level. “So it be time for fire, little mite. Breathe fire.”

Phoenix extended his wings and drew a deep breath.

What did he think was going to happen?

Phoenix warbled and twittered, flapped his wings, and lifted one foot, slightly off-balancing himself.

Did she see that right? That glance between the two male wyrms?

Prussian launched himself from the floor—who knew they could spring like tatzelwurms! He sailed over Corney’s arm and wrapped himself around Phoenix, rendering him senseless, as they both fell to the bed of fetid straw.

“Damn fool creature!” Corney kicked Prussian squarely in the ribs.

Azure screamed.

“Thought he was trying to fly off.” Prussian gasped for breath, coiling to protect his injured side.

“The poison will leave the creature useless for at least a day now.” Ayles looked like he might kick Prussian too.

“Damn wyrm.” Corney turned to Elizabeth, a look of new purpose spreading across his face. “I s’pose since I can’t get satisfaction from the baby dragon, you will provide it to me instead. Tell him what his little show cost. Perhaps he be convinced to do otherwise on the morrow.” He limped toward Elizabeth, one hand on his belt buckle.

She scrabbled back, kicking and clawing. Ayles grabbed Joshua with one arm and blocked the door.

No escape. Bile rose in her throat as her breath came in shallow pants.

Corney grabbed her wrist and forced her into the corner and down into the straw. Was that Joshua screaming and kicking? She drove her knee into something soft and scratched his face with her free hand.

He grabbed at her wrist as a brown and blue streak sailed past, grazing her wrist with razor fangs. It—Indigo—clamped down on the meaty side of Corney’s hand. Indigo wrapped his body around Corney’s arm, blue skin to Corney’s.

“Ya damn bloody foolish thing! Let go! Ya gots me … not …’er…”

Ayles threw Joshua aside and rushed to Corney. “Release him!”

Indigo unwound and fell to the floor, slithering to the far corner.

Corney’s eyes glazed and his knees buckled. He muttered nonsense syllables under his breath.

Ayles threw Corney’s arm over his shoulder. “Bloody fool. I told you Scarlett was right. There would be no good come of dealing with wyrms.” He tried to kick Lapis and Azure as he dragged Corney out, but they dodged just beyond reach. “This is the last straw. If you fail to produce again, we will be done with you.” He called over his shoulder as he slammed the door.

Elizabeth staggered to her feet, the hold spinning around her. “Joshua, see to Phoenix. Tuck him into your coat as he recovers. Hide the cage in the straw. Maybe we can keep him out of that dreadful thing.” She waved her hand vaguely in their direction.

“Are you all right, Lizzy? You are bleeding. Indigo hurt you.” Joshua’s voice was very small.

She held up her wrist in the meager light. Trickles of blood seeped from a scratch, which might not even be considered deep. No doubt Indigo had not been aiming at her. Was he clever or skilled enough to have scratched her simply to cover his true target? “It is nothing. Indigo was all things brave and noble.” She rubbed her wrist on her filthy skirt and scurried to the corner where Prussian lay.

Indigo and Lapis skittered from the corner to Joshua and pressed close. “Is Prussian all right?”

Azure pressed close to her mate, her head across his side where Corney’s boot had landed. The brown-green skin was turning darker, as though bruised.

“May I examine him? I hope to be able to help.”

Azure pulled back, keening softly, her mouth held just slightly open, tongue flicking in and out. Her posture was a defensive coil, but who could blame her after such trauma?

Elizabeth checked the color of Prussian’s gums, his breathing, and felt along his somewhat caved-in side. Sir Edward had taught her those ways when treating Castordale after he had been accidently kicked by a running footman in the Blue Order office.

Prussian hissed and lashed his tail as she touched his side.

“I am sorry, I did not mean to hurt you. I think you have several broken ribs. With your permission, I would like to tie them up, to support them. I think it will make you more comfortable.”

“Yes, yes, do so.” Azure rubbed the side of her face along Prussian’s.

He grumbled something that sounded like assent.

Fumbling with her skirts, Elizabeth found a convenient tear in her petticoat. A quick jerk removed a useable strip of linen. “I need to get this around you, but it may not be comfortable.”

Prussian lifted his head just enough for her to wrap the bandage around. She tied it firmly around his side as he grunted and growled.

“Recover, yes?” Azure whispered. Poor creature could hardly sound more distraught and lost.

“I cannot say for certain, but it is a good sign he has not fallen into torpor. That suggests his wound is not very serious. Perhaps the bones are only cracked and not fully broken. Maybe even just badly bruised. I am hopeful all will be well in time. May I carry you to the straw where you might lie more comfortably?”

“Yes, Lady Sage.”

Using her skirts, she lifted Prussian, surprisingly heavy for his size, and laid him in the straw next to where Joshua cradled Phoenix and the smaller wyrms. She sat down along his other side.

Azure, Indigo and Lapis slipped in around Prussian, leaning into Joshua’s and Elizabeth’s warmth, their cool weight strangely comforting.

Perhaps, just perhaps, she had Friends here, after all.

Chapter 19

February 1, 1815, On board Cerulean

D arcy paced Cerulean’s deck, front to back—or was that bow to stern?—unsteady as a child first in leading strings. Sunset’s warm rays painted everything they touched a vaguely golden hue. How did a man ever walk firmly when the surface underneath him bobbed like a cork in a stream? Wentworth and his men seemed secure enough—blast them all. A gentleman should be master of his own knees at the very least! How those sailors scurried about so quickly, much less climbed those masts—mind boggling.

The coast raced along beside them on his right, the ocean continuing into the horizon, unending, on the left. Such a sight! How did one grow accustomed to being alone in the middle of such vastness?

“Pacing will not make him return any faster.” Laconia bounded to the nearby railing and looked him in the eye, black fur ruffling in the wind. His tail wrapped around the rail and his toes spread to steady him. Those thumbs definitely seemed to assist his balance.

“There is little else I can do. There is no useful employment for me here.” He was not fit for even the most menial task shipboard. Perhaps he should have gone to Pemberley.

“You are not accustomed to that.”

“No, I am not.”

“You might make note of the sensation and remember it.” Laconia licked his paw and slicked it over his face. “Perhaps it will help you to better understand what it is to be a minor dragon. I grant that it is hardly the same thing, but there are enough similarities that you might consider it.”

What a very odd and thoughtful creature, this tatzelwurm. Hopefully May would take after her sire. “That is the sort of thing I would expect to hear from my wife.”

“But would you listen?”

“Perhaps not always, but I do now.”

“Like Wentworth listens to Anne, now. That is a good thing. It is a good thing to have a mate who is sensible. The hatchlings are far better for it. Yours will be a suitable Friend for our wyrmling.”

Darcy chuckled. Draconic bluntness did take getting used to.

“There, see!” Laconia pointed just left of the glowing sun barely touching the horizon.

A dark form hung in the sky, flapping slowly, growing larger.

What a sight! How many had ever had the privilege of seeing a major dragon in full flight—and lived to tell?

A frisson of primal terror tickled at the back of his head. Should he not be running for cover?

“And there.” Laconia pointed right of the sunset. A distinct squared head rose in silhouette just above the sea. “I will fetch Wentworth.” He spring-hopped away.

Pray that Longbourn had seen something! Surely he had—he must!

He paced the length of the ship once, twice, three, four times.

Just how long could it take the dragons to arrive? Perhaps it really was as they said, distances at sea were deceiving. And irritating. Very, very irritating.

Wentworth appeared and beckoned him to stand watch with him, the minutes crawling by as the sun dipped farther and farther below the horizon. At least Wentworth was not one to require mindless chatter to fill those idle moments. Such men seemed quite rare.

Longbourn’s wing-wind preceded him, making him felt throughout the vessel. Sailors scattered as the boatswain directed him where to land. No small amount of thought had gone into accommodating a wyvern shipboard.

Though Longbourn obviously tried to land softly, a creature that size could only accomplish so much. He folded his wings and sat on his haunches, making himself as small as possible as the ship shifted and groaned around him.

Along Cerulean’s left side—was that port or starboard, what had Wentworth called it?—Kellynch appeared at the railings, seawater still dripping from his long whiskers. How well his grey-brown-green blended with the colors of the sea.

The two dragons acknowledged one another with nods. Longbourn touched his chin to the deck.

Kellynch rose up just slightly higher and flicked his tongue in Longbourn’s direction, but not quite reaching the back of his neck.

“I acknowledge your territory.” Longbourn lifted his head slowly.

How kind of them to forgo the usual displays in deference to Cerulean’s rather precarious situation.

“Pray tell me you have good news,” Darcy said.

Longbourn grumbled low, a sound more felt than heard. “I saw nothing. Not yet.”

“Nor I,” Kellynch added, “but there have been many storms to hamper their progress. It is too soon to lose hope now. We have only just begun the search.”

Darcy ground his teeth. Patience, it was right to have patience, even now.

“I fear the sea dragons have not changed their position, though.” Kellynch bared his fangs in a deep frown.

“What position? What do you mean? I tried to speak to them, but they would not talk to me at all.” Longbourn fluttered his wings just slightly, narrowly avoiding a collision with the sails.

“I had hoped that once we were out of Dover’s territory, we would find other sea dragons more amenable.” Wentworth turned to Darcy. “We asked for their help near Dover, but they refused.”

“Refused? Forgive me, but I do not understand. Dragons do not refuse to help my wife. The rest of us, certainly they do, with glee on occasion, but none has ever refused my wife.” A vague fluttering of something very much like panic hovered nearby. How could this place be so utterly different to all he had known?

“It seems that Cornwall has had a great deal to say about her—not complimentary—near Land’s End, and the word has spread.” Kellynch muttered something untoward under his breath.

Damn that bloody lizard!

“Matlock and the rest of the Council will know of this insult.” Longbourn growled, barely constraining his tail-lashing to flicking the tip of his tail hard enough to be felt on the deck under Darcy’s feet.

Hopefully Matlock would be made Grand Dug and be able to deal with the matter properly.

“But Cornwall is not a sea dragon. I am sure his calumny would be mitigated if we could offer the local pod what they want.” Wentworth said.

“What they want? What do you mean?” Why had they not mentioned this sooner?

Wentworth sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I assume the local pod has the same demands as Dover’s?”

“That is what I have gathered. Many were asking me how I became affiliated with the Blue Order.” Kellynch snorted as though he were tired of the questions.

“The sea dragons want recognition by the Order?” Of course they would, and use Elizabeth’s peril to achieve it. Darcy’s shoulders knotted. Why would they not?

“Recognition, and protection. Gossip travels as fast in the dragon world as it does in the human—perhaps faster as it has wings. Kellynch’s admission into the Order has convinced the major sea dragons as well as many pods of minor ones that they should have the rights, protections, and privileges of the Accords applied to them,” Wentworth said.

“Are they prepared for the responsibilities as well?” Darcy clasped his hands behind his back.

“If granted the one, I am certain they would accept the other. In truth, sea dragons are not so different from their terrestrial cousins. Until now, Laconia and I have found them very dependable allies.”

Laconia sprang to the railing near Kellynch. “This was the first time you could not provide what they wanted in a negotiation.”

“I have not the authority to negotiate on behalf of the Order. I am merely an operative, not an officer.” Wentworth’s expression suggested he did not appreciate helplessness any more than Darcy did.

Darcy looked at Longbourn, whose broad scaly forehead creased. He slowly nodded. Good. “You might not have the authority, but it could be argued that I do.”

“You are not an officer. How?”

“My wife.” Darcy lifted his hand. “Make no mistake, I do not presume to usurp her position. However, she would hear the sea dragons, promise to bring their petition to Council and ensure that it is acted upon. I have no doubt that if I make that promise on her behalf, then, upon her return, she will act accordingly.”

Was it possible to see the hair on the back of Wentworth’s neck bristling? “And if something untoward happens to her?”

Longbourn grumbled deep in his throat.

“Then she will be unable to do as promised.” Kellynch bobbed his head, approving. “Giving them all the more reason to see her safely back to the Order.”

“Do you truly believe they will accept what you offer?” Wentworth asked.

“Given the alternatives, I will take my chances with the dragons. I think them likely to be far more honorable than the smugglers. Laird Kellynch, can you get us in touch with these sea dragons?”