A nne peeked into April’s basket near the fire in the ladies’ sitting room. Sir Edward had insisted April needed a soft place to rest for several months to come and that, as nice as her ‘cage’ might be, it was not appropriate for her convalescence. That did not please her, but she forgave him when he promised he would see to it himself that she would be provided with as much sweet as she wanted for the duration of her indisposition.

It said much about April’s character that she insisted upon sharing her abundance with Heather, Pax, Cosette, and even Lady Astrid’s friend Verona. Poor little mites returned every evening exhausted and, for the most part, discouraged. April’s news had been so exciting and encouraging. Now, the waiting and hoping for more sapped their souls. An extra measure of sweet helped them in the face of their disappointments.

Mrs. Collins returned several small pillows to the couch, where they belonged, and returned a board game to its box. Miss Bennet and Miss Darcy somehow never managed to finish the games they started. The two misses were enjoying tea in one of the sitting rooms with their minuet partners, Auntie acting as chaperone. Both seemed to like their partners rather well—too well in Mrs. Collins’ estimation.

She was probably right, but in the face of all that was happening, it was difficult to care.

“You are well, April?” Mrs. Collins—Mary, they considered themselves bosom friends now— peered over Anne’s shoulder and checked the temperature of the bricks under the basket.

“As well as might be expected.” April fussed with the flannel surrounding her. She must be tired, not reiterating her litany of—justifiable—complaints as she usually did. “I wish we knew what was happening!”

“Longbourn is attending to matters himself. You know how stubborn and determined he can be. Along with Darcy, I am quite certain whatever can be done is being done.” Mary straightened and smoothed April’s nest.

Corn and Wall rubbed up against Anne’s ankle and pointed toward the door. Given the tilt of their heads, those were not footsteps they knew.

Mary sighed and sat down beside April’s basket. Anne followed Wall to the door, arriving just as a soft rap sounded. That was a woman’s knock, but not Lady Astrid’s.

She opened the door. “Lady Dalrymple, what a pleasant surprise. Pray come in.” Wall looked up at her, green eyes wide. Even he could tell she was lying.

Lady Dalrymple swept in, adorned in pomp, circumstance and expensive calico unsuited to their modest sitting room. Did she expect to hold court here as she did in her own home? She would be sorely disappointed.

“May I introduce Mrs. Collins, Keeper to Longbourn?” Anne gestured toward Mary, who quickly stood, her features arranged into a suitable look of politeness.

“To what do we owe the honor of your call?” Anne gestured toward the grandest, though not most comfortable chair in the room.

Lady Dalrymple sat down very slowly, as though she expected an attentive audience for the act. “You have no fairy dragons with you?” She scanned the room.

“April is here.” Mary pointed to the basket. April snored, a sweet little trilling sound.

“We do not keep them as prisoners or as pets in a cage. They are as free to come and go as we are.” Mary practically bristled as she spoke.

Anne picked up Corn and Wall and placed them in their basket, whispering, “Stay here quietly.”

They ducked under the edge of the basket and twined around each other. Clearly, they did not like Lady Dalrymple.

“That is what I am here to talk with you about. Lady Jersey and Lady Cowper have sent me.”

Anne’s jaw tightened, pulling her face into a painful grimace that usually passed as a smile to those who did not know her well. “How are the countesses? Are they in good health?”

“They are not pleased, Lady Wentworth, not pleased at all.” Lady Dalrymple’s fine eyebrow raised in a distinct arch.

“I am sorry to hear that. Is there something that might be done to ease their displeasure?”

Lady Dalrymple paused, eyes flickering back and forth from Mary to Anne, considering, ruminating. “After a fashion, I suppose there is.”

“April was left in no one’s care, madam.” Mary leaned closer to April’s basket as though ready to swoop her away from such disagreeable company. “She is entirely capable of taking care of herself. Her Friendship with my sister and her husband in no way suggests she is dependent upon them.”

Lady Dalrymple wrinkled her nose and sniffed in a porcine sort of way. Come to think of it, a great deal about her looks was rather porcine—fat cheeks, squinty eyes, and inclination toward stoutness. “Perhaps I should say it was incumbent upon you to see to her well-being.”

“Her Friend fairy dragon,” Lady Dalrymple glowered, “was recently injured, rather severely.”

“She is recovering well. Sir Edward is convinced that she will be making a full recovery.” Anne gestured toward the basket.

April snored again as though to prove the point. Was she actually asleep or just playing along for the sake of learning what she could? Was there really any question?

“There is some concern among the Cotillion Board that the fairy dragon was injured under your watch.” Lady Dalrymple lifted both eyebrows as though to imply Anne should understand what she was not saying.

“I do not think you understand, Cousin. It does not reflect well upon you or the Sage’s sisters that a dragon was injured while under your care.”

Mary cleared her throat neither softly nor subtly. “She was not under our care.”

“It is a matter of semantics, that is all. A dragon, albeit a very small one, was injured and the fault lies at your feet, all of you. It is a matter that the Order cannot regard too lightly.”

Really? It was amazing that they considered it at all. “What are you saying?”

Lady Dalrymple pressed a chubby hand to her chest. “All members swear to protect dragon life. That you have failed to suggests that perhaps you are not ready to be officially presented to the Order.”

“Pray forgive my boldness, but what do you think you are threatening us with? You are aware that Mrs. Collins and I are both Keepers. We are already full members of the Order.” Anne hid her clenched, trembling fist under her skirts.

“Certainly, nothing can change that.” Something about her expression suggested she might wish that were different. “But you have proven yourselves, and the young ladies, insufficient to the standards of polite Dragon-Keeping society. You will not be presented at the Cotillion … this year.”

“Perhaps next year, we can find a sponsor willing to take on Miss Darcy and Miss Bennet and able to properly prepare them. As for you both—you are Keepers, you are married. You hardly need presentation at the Cotillion.”

“Except that it is considered the entry into good Blue Order society,” Mary muttered.

“Are you suggesting, cousin,” Anne allowed the word to take on a cold edge, “that we are being cut from good society?”

“I might not put it that way. In time, with good suppers and large parties, there will doubtless be those who do not find your company disagreeable.” Lady Dalrymple stood and waited, but neither Anne nor Mary rose. “You will express this to Miss Darcy and Miss Bennet, no?” She strode to the door and waited again. “Perhaps I should let you know that the Cotillion Board are not the only ones who have noticed this incident. I will not stoop to naming names, but shall we say, there are others concerned about what sort of Blue Order members you might be and what, if of course anything, needs to be done about it.” She let herself out.

April poked her head above the edge of the basket. “Awful, hateful, pompous warm-blood cockatrix!”

“Did that sound like a threat to you?” Mrs. Collins wrapped her arms around her waist.

“I would say so. Do you think they know about Longbourn and Kellynch, what Wentworth and Sir Fitzwilliam are about?”

“They do not consort with fairy dragons—they are above such company.” April flapped weakly. “So, it is not likely. But it will hardly remain a secret when …”

Mary sighed. “When Elizabeth comes back, it will all be known: they went against Lord Matlock’s Orders; they took matters into their own hands. There will be a price to be paid, no doubt.”

W entworth descended the rope ladder and dropped softly into the worn dinghy beside Cerulean. Storm clouds hung over the horizon; the waves tossed the little craft in anticipation of the excitement that would soon be theirs.

He stared into the sky. Heavy ceiling of dark, roiling clouds, curtains of rain in the distance. Winds that tasted of a particular brand of storm. It was not going to be a good day.

What would it be like, weathering a storm with the wyvern on deck? It was a topic he had never heard discussed, nor considered himself. Why would anyone have? Darcy would tell him that he would need to write a monograph on the subject when they returned to London. That was, of course, if the Blue Order did not summarily pitch both of them out on their arses for having ignored orders.

Darcy clutched the gunnels, his face drawn in the expression of vague terror that most wore their first time exposed to the sea as it prepared to vent its fury. Pale, his face drawn, he did not give voice to his true feelings. He was made of sterner stuff. There was a reason he had earned Wentworth’s respect.

Laconia slithered down the rope and dropped in beside him. How many times had they done this very thing on the Laconia? Was it wrong to enjoy the familiarity of the moment?

He signaled to the oarsman and released the ropes. Like a baby cut free from its mother at birth, they were independent now.

Kellynch waited with Dover’s pod, not far off. Odd that they should be so far out of their territory. It would have been better if they had been willing to come closer and allow Longbourn to join in the discussion. However, at some point, wyverns had preyed upon small serpent-whales and the distant memory was too much for them to ignore.

Darcy chewed his upper lip, probably rehearsing his speech for the sea dragons. A good way to pass the time, all told, even if there was little chance he would actually have an opportunity to give his speech.

Laconia leaned out across the bow. “We bring the Sage’s representative to talk with you.”

Kellynch sank below the waves in a move that felt so much like abandonment it was difficult not to call out. Darcy felt it too, given the way his fists clenched.

Angry waves lapped and splashed over the hull. Pray this conversation did not take too long. The dinghy would not weather the blow that threatened.

Dover and her pod. And more? Two large females, matriarchs of other pods perhaps? More appeared in the distance. How many lurked beneath?

Dragon’s bones! They were surrounded by enough serpent-whales to take down Cerulean, the dinghy and all hands with nary a trace remaining. Perhaps Longbourn would survive, if he could fly all the way back to shore.

A large male, easily half again the size of the females, surfaced in the middle of the matriarchs. The largest serpent-whale he had ever encountered.

Kellynch broke the surface, water sheeting off his square face and dripping off his whiskers. Though far larger than the serpent-whales, they drastically outnumbered him and could easily best him if they set upon him like a pack of wolves. Which they would if provoked, making his dominance tenuous at best.

Sweat beaded on Wentworth’s forehead and trickled down the side of his face. Darcy had lost all color. Good, he understood the stakes.

Kellynch bugled softly. “Patriarch of this coast, Delphinus, Matriarch Dover, Matriarch Memoriae, Matriarch Legatum, I present my Keeper Wentworth; Laconia, one of my Keep; and Sir Fitzwilliam, representative of the Blue Order’s Sage.”

The serpent-whales squealed and clicked. Wentworth and Darcy bowed from the shoulders. Hardly the proper form of greeting, but the water was far too cold to perform a marine greeting, not to mention Darcy could not swim.

On the whole, sea dragons tended to be quite tolerant of the limitations of the land-dwellers. Hopefully the dragons would be patient today.

Delphinus rose up, front appendages above the water. “Greetings to the representative of the Blue Order Sage.”

“I bring you greetings from the Blue Order.” Darcy leaned slightly over the water.

“I would hear what you have to say for myself. Begin with the request you made to her.” Delphinus slapped the water.

“The Dragon Sage of the Blue Order has been taken. She was seen forced aboard a sloop that took a course to Bermuda. We ask your help in locating her.” Darcy’s voice boomed out over the wind and waves.

To his credit, Darcy hardly blinked. “Yes, the Sage is one of our Matriarchs.”

Delphinus glanced at the females around him. “Matriarchs are sometimes lost to bigger dragons. It is the way of things. Who stands to replace her?”

“There is none among the Order who could replace her.” Kellynch rose up a little higher. “She is unique among her kind.”

“Our daughter, who is but an infant, will likely carry her legacy, but it will be years before that can be possible.”

“You are foolish to have one who cannot be replaced.” Legatum’s squeal carried a derisive note.

Laconia hopped up on the gunnel and stretched out over the water. “She is of a kind that has not been seen before. That is why it is so important that she is returned.”

“She was critical to the admission of Kellynch to the Blue Order.” Technically, Wentworth was not supposed to be a part of these talks, but those plans had already dissolved.

“Neither the landed dragons nor the Blue Order are quick to change. But now that a marine dragon has become part of us, there is a precedent for more,” Darcy added.

“I cannot do that. It must be approved by a vote in the Council. But I can, I will bring your petition to them and plead the case with them. Kellynch will represent your cause to them as well.”

“Can you predict what your Matriarchs will decide under each and every circumstance?” Kellynch snarled.

Delphinus slapped the water with both appendages. “I trust them to make good decisions for their pods.”

“For the Order. Not for us.” Delphinus clicked and squeaked. Was that a form of dragon-tongue? “I will consider what you have said. We will discuss this among ourselves and contact you when we have made a decision.”

“Forgive me, but the longer we wait, the less likely it is that we recover her.” Darcy clutched the railing.

“The Blue Order has waited all this time to contact us, and you expect us to hurry for you now? I think not. You will have my answer in due time. If you are in that much of a hurry, there are several marine wyrms like Kellynch that are known to hunt in the depths here, in places we cannot reach. Perhaps they might be sympathetic to one of their kind and hurry on his behalf. But then again, they might feel the wrongs he has suffered at the hands of the Order rather deeply.” Delphinus slapped his tail, splashing the dinghy, and dove, the pod disappearing as though they had never been there.

“She could not have convinced them either.” Laconia said softly, nudging Darcy’s hands with his nose.

“I know. Unfortunately, they do have a point, one that I have very little room to argue with.”

Wentworth signaled to the oarsman. The winds had picked up. Being caught away from Cerulean in the storm would not make things any better.

O nly the meagerest of sunbeams greeted them this morning. Was it a good thing that she had become accustomed to seeing through the gloom?

The taste in the air alone spoke of storms, and not the passing kind, but the sort that lingered all day, tossing them about like a shuttlecock in the wind. Such a delight of anticipation. Perhaps the Movers would forget about them for the time being.

“How are you feeling today?” Elizabeth sat up, the ghastly pile of straw slipping and sliding beneath her, and scratched Prussian behind the ears. “That was a very brave thing you did for me, and I shall not forget it.”

If—no, when—they ever got out of this hold, she would never have another straw-filled mattress in the house. Not even the lowest servant would sleep in this stuff.

He leaned into her fingers, a content little sound in the back of his throat. “Hurts. Cannot move fast, but I can move. The band helps.”

Azure, still twined around him, extended her neck for a scratch, too. “You great help.”

Phoenix peeked out from under his collar. “My ribs do not hurt so much either.”

She held out her finger for him to perch upon and brought him very close. His color had returned and his eyes were bright, if shadowed with a dread only prey knew. “You do look much better this morning.”

“What will you do when they return?” Lapis pushed her head into Joshua’s hand.

“Think like a dragon?” Joshua seemed so hopeful, though he clearly had no idea what it actually meant.

“How do you know how to think like a dragon?” Phoenix flittered back to Joshua’s shoulder.

The wyrms turned to her with great interest. Somehow it felt like a great deal rested on her answer.

“I think that dragons and men are really not so different, at least in many cases. The biggest difference is men pretend an air of civility to cover up what is truly going on underneath. Dragons do not. If they are vying for dominance, they claim it for what it is. If they are fighting for territory, there is no doubt what is going on. Perhaps that is why I would generally prefer to deal with dragons.” Hardly the sort of confession she would make among men, but hopefully the honest answer was also the right one.

“Dragons are not always so nice.” Indigo prodded Joshua to rub his ears. “The big ones will have their way no matter what we do.”

“I will see something done about that.” If—no, when—heavens, she was thinking that a great deal today; probably not a good sign—they got out of this hold and returned to Blue Order territories, she would go straight to Langham and Sir Carew with the matter.

Oh, the state of the Dragon State! Worse than the Order even suspected. How much was happening that she and the rest of the Order were unaware of—

Heavy feet, familiar feet, pounded beyond the door and a key rattled in the lock. Why now? Did they not have a storm to prepare for?

Phoenix burrowed under Joshua’s grimy shirt. The wyrms stationed themselves around the foul haystack—but somehow it felt protective this time.

A cockatrix resembling a brilliant red parrot swooped in, Ayles and Corney behind her.

The cockatrix landed, her long tail-feathers spread out on the grimy floor. She looked over her shoulder, staring at the floor, contempt in her eyes. It was the sort of expression Cait would have worn had she ever deigned to enter such a situation.

The wyrms slithered back towards Elizabeth and Joshua and closer to each other, hissing. Baring their fangs, they bobbed and wove, moves used to confuse a predator.

“There is no firedrake here.” The cockatrix’s voice was like the caw of a seabird, raw and grating. “You fool! Why did you not wait for me on shore like I told you to?” She whirled on Corney.

What did this cockatrix have against the Blue Order? Had she been trafficked as an exotic bird and not offered assistance? That was not unlikely; no cockatrix species native to England sported such colors. Perhaps she, too, had been denied protection by the Order since she was a foreign dragon.

“I told you we should not have rushed into this. We had Scarlett working with us for a reason, same as those wyrms.” Ayles flung his hands into the air, nearly striking Corney.

“How’de you know, missy smart-bird?” Was Corney trying to have his eyes gouged out? Not that he did not deserve it at this point, but it would hardly help their situation.

Scarlett whirled on him and pecked at his feet. Corney skittered back, awkward and clumsy with his bad leg. He just dodged her sharp beak, but nearly fell in the process.

“Just what do you think a baby firedrake looks like?” Scarlett extended magnificent orange-red wings.

A cockatrix vying for dominance was never a good thing. Prevailing over Cait had been one thing—Elizabeth had been prepared, and met her in open ground, with witnesses who would hold Cait accountable to honorable behavior. But here and now, under these conditions, Elizabeth would never be able to repeat that victory.

“Like a lizard with wings, o’course. ‘Bout this big.” Corney held out cupped hands.

“Idiot.” Scarlett flapped, sending bits of mildewing straw scattering. “A firedrake’s egg is bigger than I; it would take a barrel to hold it. They are the size of a small child when they hatch. There’s no hiding a creature that size in this hold. Whatever might be hiding in that boy’s coat is no firedrake.”

“You lied to us!” Ayles grabbed Elizabeth by the arm and yanked her to her feet.

She fell into his chest, fighting for balance. Thankfully he had not dislocated her shoulder.

“You made the error entirely on your own.” Elizabeth pulled back her shoulders. This was a time to be big. “I simply failed to correct you.”

“You said he breathed fire, you miserable bitch.” Ayles raise a hand to strike.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Scarlett hopped between them. She really was quite lovely. “If she is who I think she is, you’ve got much bigger problems than kidnapping the wrong dragon.”

“Word has been going around that an officer was taken. A female officer. An important officer. The Dragon Sage. The one who the dragons selected themselves.” Scarlett looked Elizabeth up and down, then nodded vigorously. “Yes, that is her. You idiots have taken the Dragon Sage herself.”

“So’s we ‘ave a valuable hostage, what be the trouble in that? Means she could prove worth her feed, after all.”

Ayles turned on Corney. “Imbecile! These are dragons we are dealing with, not men! They will not pay ransom.”

“Then we will kill her. The loss is theirs.” Corney reached for his belt, probably for a knife.

“No!” Scarlett dove for his hand and ripped open a gash, nearly from wrist to elbow, with her beak. “Perhaps that might work with any other warm-blood in the Order. But not with her. She is special to the Order Dragons.”

Scarlett shrieked a blood-curdling, terror-inducing scream that Walker himself would have been proud of. “There is only one answer for such an insult to a major dragon, much less every major dragon in England. They will kill you. Without question, without quarter, without mercy. They might even entertain themselves by making it a slow spectacle in front of the entire Conclave. No warm-blood in this world will be able to stop them. This entire ship is a death trap.”

“And what would that be?” Ayles’ usually confident voice was more that of a small boy.

“Get rid of her, of all of them, now and get away from them as fast as you can. Hope the dragons find them and are satisfied. If they die, their deaths must not be on your hands. Hopefully that will be enough. If you survive this, do not contact me again. I want nothing more to do with dullards who think themselves equal to dragons.” Scarlett leapt into the air and shot through the door.

“Bloody hell! I warned you! I warned you!” Ayles jerked Joshua to his feet and headed for the door.

Corney tried to block him. “Stop. We worked ‘ard enough to get ‘em, I ain’t throwing profit away.”

With his free hand, Ayles grabbed the front of Corney’s shirt. “Did you not listen? We have to get rid of them and do it quickly. That is our only chance.”

“You really think they’s gonna find us? They ain’t magic, they got no second sight. We be far and away from any o’ them.”

“Scarlett knows where we are. Where do you think she is headed now? How better to spare her own hide?”

Corney’s eyes widened, and he grunted. Ayles dragged Joshua to the door. Corney followed with Elizabeth. The wyrms trailed behind, twining together in an anxious knot.

Hauled up the ladder and dropped on the slick deck, sharp wind and icy sea spray buffeted her face. Even filtered through swirling storm clouds, the sunlight burned and blinded. After so many days in the dark hold, would she ever be able to see properly again?

“Just pitch ‘em over and be done. The cold water will make quick work of ’em and the fish don’t leave nothing to find. They’ll never know we hads ‘em.”

“If you kill them, the dragons will know.” The whispery-slithery voice—no voices, there were two—rasped against her skull, tearing at her thoughts, her mind. “They will know. The dragons will know.”

“Set them adrift. Listen to Scarlett.” Another, high-pitched, voice scraped through her ears.

“Angry dragons kill for revenge, slowly, painfully.” This voice had authority.

Ayles rubbed his temples, blinking hard and stared narrowly at the wyrms gathered in a loose ring around them. The wyrms tasted the air, bobbing and weaving.

“Do what Scarlett said. They will die one way or the other, no one is here to rescue them. Keep their blood off us.” Ayles waved toward the back of the ship.

Ayles grabbed Corney by the shoulders and lifted him off the deck. “Do as I say or I will pitch you over!”

Corney scrabbled back, with a string of invectives fit to impress Cornwall himself.

Ayles seized each of them by an elbow and propelled them to the back of the sloop, not pausing even as they lost footing on the slick deck. Two familiar scruffy men stood by ropes that hung over the side.

Ayles snatched Joshua under the arms and threw him over the side. A solid thud and a yelp. “Now you, Dragon Lady.”

Ropes creaked and the small boat swung against the sloop’s hull as it dropped toward the roiling sea.

“They won’t last in this storm.” Corney peered over the side, laughing. “Good riddance. To you as well.” He slung something long and writhing over the side.

Prussian yowled as he caught the edge of the dinghy with his single fang. Joshua grabbed him by the scruff of the neck—wait, they had scruffs?—and hauled him in beside Elizabeth.

Azure screamed and threw herself over, nearly falling across Elizabeth’s back. Indigo and Lapis followed, with slightly better aim. Joshua pulled them close as they landed.

The dinghy hit the water with a bone-jarring thud. Who ever thought the water could be so hard?

Vengeful waves caught the little craft, tossing it like a paper boat in a rain-swelled stream, dividing them from the sloop. Elizabeth and Joshua clung to the sides, keeping the wyrms between them. Screaming wind swept over them seeking to pitch them into the sea.

Huddling low in the gathering pool at the bottom of the boat, they sheltered from the winds.

Elizabeth peeked up. The Sea Lion a speck against the dark sky. How had the sloop gone so far so fast?

A wave bearing a grudge of its own caught her in the face. She sputtered and pushed frigid seawater away. Perhaps it would have been better to have been thrown to the waters—it would have been mercifully fast.

What was she thinking? Anne and Darcy were still out there. She would not abandon them. She had not even said goodbye to them.

Phoenix crawled out of Joshua’s shirt, onto his shoulder, flapping against the sea spray.

“It is best you stay warm, close to him.” Elizabeth dabbed water from his face with her sleeve. “These waves could toss you out—”

“No.” Phoenix stamped his foot on Joshua’s shoulder. “Do not tell me what to do. This is all my fault. I cannot live with that. Now that I am out of that cage, I mean to do something about this.”

“Do something? What can be done?” Joshua tried to cover him with his hand, but Phoenix hopped into the air and hovered between them.

“Here, in the middle of the ocean?” Joshua shouted over the rising wind. “How do you mean to find anyone? There is no one. And this storm? How do you think you can fly in this storm? You are so small—”

“What has that to do with anything? I am a dragon. I will fulfill my commitment to protect the Order and its people as much as if I were a firedrake.”

“He is right.” Elizabeth held up her finger as a perch. “He is completely right. A small dragon is fully a dragon.”

“No, he should, he must be allowed this dignity to shape his own fate.” She held him close to her face and looked into his bright, determined eyes. Though tiny, stubborn resolve ran through his every ounce. “You know what is at stake. You know what you are up against. If you believe you are up to the challenge, then go.”

Phoenix bobbed his head, twittered and took off. Buffeted to and fro, like a feather in the wind, the dark clouds swallowed up his brilliant red, and he was gone.

“I’m never going to see him again,” Joshua choked out the words, holding Lapis and Indigo carefully close.

“He has been called a firedrake so many times recently, perhaps he believes it is true.” Azure shivered and pressed close to Elizabeth’s leg.

“Fairy dragons have always wanted to be taken seriously. None can doubt their fortitude now.” Elizabeth inched closer to Joshua, clutching tight to the side against the fresh onslaught of wind and waves.

P elting, stinging rain renewed its assault. Joshua huddled close, keeping the wyrms between them, lest they be flung out into the maelstrom, as the dinghy bucked and heaved in the waves.

Another crash. A frigid deluge descended. Was that her own voice, screaming, as she fought the water’s pull overboard? How much water sloshed around her? How much more could the little craft take?

Another wave rammed into the dinghy’s side, nearly capsizing it. More water gushed over the hull, dropping them low in the water.

Joshua jumped, but Indigo had already disappeared into the waters. Brave, impetuous little creature would never survive.

Lapis huddled into Joshua in despair. “He’s not … we’re not water wyrms…”

“Help me bail.” Elizabeth splashed seawater over the side. “We are not going to give up.”

“Now! Phoenix did not give up. Indigo did not give up. We shall not give up.”

Darcy braced against Longbourn’s side as Cerulean rocked and plunged in the roiling seas. While the winds resembled bad storms at Pemberley, these tempests were something entirely unique. Perhaps it was the vast expanse of sea that allowed them to run wild. Nothing at home had ever compared to this fury, unrelenting from all sides.

“Get below, Darcy,” Wentworth bellowed as he fought his way toward them. “I can’t have you getting swept over.”

A red blur—a cockatrix?— broke through the clouds and dove directly toward them. Wentworth jumped back as it raced between them.

“Remember me!” Something fell from its grasp and it disappeared back into the storm.

More by instinct than intent, Darcy stared at the deck. A matted splotch of red.

“What do you have?” Wentworth skidded in close and peered into Darcy’s hands. “Dragon’s blood! Is that…? It is…? Phoenix!”

“Get him below! To my cabin, now!” Wentworth shoved Darcy in the right direction. “Warm him, get him to talk!”

Darcy stumbled and staggered—it was easier to walk drunk than in this storm—nearly falling down the ladder, but finally made it to Wentworth’s cabin.

Quiet, so quiet out of the winds. Dark. Only slivers of light sneaking through. No candles; too dangerous.

He pressed his back to the wall and slowly sank down. Cold, his hands, so cold they attempted to refuse his orders. But, no, he would not relent. Peeling them apart, he stared. Pray that sodden red mass be who he thought it was.

Darcy yanked off his cravat and dried sopping feather-scales, then tucked Phoenix into his shirt, under his coat, pressing him close with both hands. The sooner he was warm, the sooner he could talk.

“Yes, yes, he is above, on deck. Where are Elizabeth and Joshua? Are they alive?”

“Were?” Darcy’s hands shook, his throat nearly too tight to speak. “What do you mean, were?”

“When I left them, they were. Now, I do not know. So cold. Could not fly in the wind; thrown into the sea. Scarlett rescued me. Thought she would eat me, but she brought me here.”

“In this storm?” Darcy clambered to his feet—faster, why could he not move faster?— and staggered from the cabin, to the ladder, to the deck, falling over himself like a gin-addled beggar.

“What does the flutter-bit know?” Longbourn pressed his face so close he all but knocked Darcy off his feet.

“I will tell Kellynch. We will find them.” Longbourn backed up three steps and launched into the storm.

“He will fare better than I. He is so big,” Phoenix whispered, his beaky nose scratching Darcy’s collarbone.

Wentworth laid a hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “You realize, the chances of a small craft being found in good weather are poor. In this…”

It was difficult not to hate him right now. “Hope is all I have. I cannot—I will not—relinquish that, not yet.”

“I don’t think this is working!” Joshua flung out a handful of water as another defiant wave plunged over the side, nearly tossing the weary dinghy on its side.

“We have nothing else we can do. Keep going!” She heaved a mighty splash over the hull with both hands.

The ocean swelled beneath them, rising higher, higher, higher than they had been before, then disappeared from under them. The boat fell faster than they. They landed, crashing hips, knees and elbows, throwing them both to the side.

Groaning as loud as the screaming winds, the little craft listed toward the water, slowly, as though it were a game.

They threw themselves to the other side, but it seemed determined to dip below the surface this time.

A gust sloshed more dark water over the hull. The dinghy sank lower, almost level with the roiling ocean.

“We’re going to sink, Lizzy! We’re going to sink. I’m so sorry. I never thought Phoenix’s little trick—”

“This is much bigger than you or Phoenix. It is good that it has all been exposed. You are not to blame, either of you.” He was right, though, just another inch and they—

“Look!” Joshua pointed at a dark form leaping through the waves toward them.

Two forms drew closer. Serpent-whales? Yes, they were certainly the sort of serpent-whales she had seen in the old bestiaries.

The larger of the two lifted its front appendages out of the water and whistled. “The land-wyrm said you are the missing warm-bloods.”

“You did it, Indigo, you did it!” Joshua half-sobbed and pulled the pair close. “I am so proud of you!”

She grabbed the hull and leaned out as far as she dared. “Yes, yes, we are. Can you, will you help us?”

“Not terribly useful, are you?” The second, smaller one—an adolescent—they were both adolescents, that unfinished look was too clear—bobbed so close she could have touched it.

“Said he would decide when he decided. Could be a long time.” The larger one clicked and whistled as though speaking privately to the other.

“We will not survive that long.” What should she do? Was this a moment to be dominant? Companionable? Vulnerable? A Matriarch? How did these sea dragons perceive the situation?

“Matriarch said it is no benefit to us if you die, but she must obey the Patriarch.” What was the smaller one implying?

“Says he trusts you. Says you will take their case to the Order.” The larger one bobbed as a wave crashed over … him?

“You would take our case to the Order?” The larger one’s voice dropped into something low and serious.

Case? The sea dragons had a case? What could they possibly want? “Of course I will. That is what the Dragon Sage does.”

“No, I cannot.” She held her breath as the two adolescents conversed in looks, postures and sounds she could not understand.

Phoenix snored against Darcy’s chest. He had tried to remain awake, watchful for Longbourn’s and Kellynch’s return, but exhaustion overtook him. At least he had warmed enough next to Darcy’s skin to be out of danger.

Cerulean heaved and plunged like an unbroken horse. Darcy pressed harder against the cabin wall. Wentworth had declared the storm bad. Not the worst he had weathered, but bad. How could he have survived worse than this?

What sort of men were these sailors to manage such monstrous gales? An angry firedrake must be less dangerous. He had faced one down and lived to tell, but this?

Longbourn was not a sea dragon. He barely flew at all over land. How would he manage against the raging winds and rain? Would he be lost too on top of … of …

No, no, he must not go there. Must not think that. Not yet. There was so much at stake. He could not lose her, not now. Not like this.

One hand pressing Phoenix to his chest, he lurched to keep up with Wentworth’s ridiculous surefootedness.

A gust of wind sent him sliding into Wentworth. How had the deck become so absurdly slick?

Sailors scattered to make room for Longbourn, who landed on the deck in an ugly scrabbling-for-purchase heap. The deck lurched and bucked—was it the dragon or the waves? Pray he had not injured himself.

Darcy pushed sheets of rain from his face and fought his way across the heaving deck toward Longbourn.

“Nothing!” He snorted, ocher venom dripping from his fangs. “But a hippocampus told me he saw the ship southwest from here. Tell Kellynch.” He flapped and snorted.

Darcy dodged back, barely out of the way of Longbourn’s relaunch. How did he know what was southwest in these conditions?

Wentworth shook his head. “Go below, I will inform Kellynch if he returns empty-handed.”

“I am afraid so. The storm is not letting up, you need to go below.” He gripped Darcy’s arm. “I am sorry to say this, but you need to prepare yourself. A small craft with landsmen has little chance …”

“Yes, I think you do. I am sorry. More than you can know. I am sorry. But to ignore what is in front of you …”

“I cannot afford to give up yet. None of us can. If, and I do mean if, she is lost, the implications are too great to consider. Not just for me and my daughter, but for the Order, for all of England. If we lose her in this way, the dragons will be proved right. The Order will have failed them. If they lose faith in men, in the Treaty and the Accords, the darkness to come is truly inconceivable.”

“Hope is a powerful thing, Wentworth. More powerful than we give it credit for. She gave—gives—the dragons hope that things could change, that things would improve. If that hope is shattered …”

“Then whatever happens, we must work to ensure that hope no longer rests on her shoulders alone. She cannot remain as the single voice to represent their interests. By all means, hope if you must, but hold on to purpose now, too. She would demand that of you.”

Joshua had stopped bailing and lay huddled around all four wyrms, who were falling into torpor with the cold. The edge of the hull, nearly level with the ocean, hardly kept back the cold blackness licking at its edges.

What matter if it did or did not flood them, when the waves kept coming and coming and coming. Beating, crashing, pouring in against them.

The sea swelled, lifting them, tossing the boat. Was it possible it laughed as it did so? Ready to make its final claim.

Airborne! A monstrous wave threw them aloft above the little dinghy, above the water. Was this how it felt to fly?

Without wings, she plummeted into the frothing jaws of the black ocean, swallowed whole.

Sharp, numbing cold enveloped, wrapping tendrils around her limbs, an irresistible grasp. Darkness, complete and compelling.

No—what? Something smooth and hard beneath, propelling her up through the dark, breaking through.

Bleary, so bleary, everything around her. What, there? A small boat, their boat, on its side, sinking.

A deformed one, a growth on its back. No, no, a boy! Yes, a boy! Joshua! Another serpent-whale swam alongside, nudging him as he slipped from his precarious resting place.

Cold. Aching. Every inch convulsing in shivers that came from her deepest core, trying to force her from her perch just above the water.

Yes, it was right; she was clumsy and stupid—and so very, very cold. If only she could close her eyes. Yes, that would certainly help.

Too hard to keep them open. Just a little sleep. Darcy and Anne, even Pemberley, April would understand.

W hat did it say about one when the best thing one could offer was to remain out of the way? Certainly, it was no compliment.

Darcy had tried to use a chair in Wentworth’s cabin, but somehow, sitting on the floor, firmly braced against the wall, felt much more secure. Huddling like a scared child—that was what it felt like; probably looked like as well. Did the land—or perhaps the ton —feel as threatening to Wentworth?

What did that cockatrix mean when she screamed ‘remember me’ when she dropped him at their feet? Hopefully he would be able to tell the story once he awakened.

Loneliness had once been familiar, tolerable, even comfortable at times. But easy to give up, once Elizabeth became part of him. How did one return to that state?

He pushed himself up, jelly-knees faltering with the pitching deck. What choice was there but to face the awful truth?

So much more difficult this time, climbing the ladder and crossing the deck to Wentworth. Laconia spring-hopped beside him as though to keep him from a drunken stagger through the pelting rain.

“Look, Darcy!” Wentworth handed over his spyglass, pointing to a dark form, barely distinguishable from the dark clouds.

Hands shaking, he raised it and tried to find the object Wentworth had pointed to. Damn, it was difficult to find a precise point. Who would have thought … wait … there!

Longbourn, no doubt. How many other wyverns would be flying in the middle of the ocean, in the midst of a gale? But wait, what was that?

Wentworth caught it so expertly it seemed he had expected that to happen. “You see it. It seems he is carrying something, someone perhaps?”

Wentworth peered through his glass. “Pendragon’s bones! Kellynch! With something on his back! Get the men ready to collect something from him! Quickly! Quickly!”

“I cannot be sure, but it might have been a person, a small one, carried above the water. I cannot fathom how he is able to swim that way!” Wentworth turned aside. “Clear the decks for the wyvern. It does not look like it will be a neat landing!”

Laconia leaned into him hard. “You should go below. It may be some time before they arrive.”

“I cannot.” His feet were rooted in place as surely as the oaks of Pemberley.

“Then step back from the railings. There, you can lean against that bulkhead and hold on to the ropes. No sense risking being swept over. Go.” Laconia shoved him along.

Lightning flashed and thunder clapped, lighting the two approaching dragons for a split second. Yes, they were indeed carrying … something … what else would they be carrying? It had to be Elizabeth and Joshua. Nothing else, no one else made sense.

If only he could pace, move about, release some of the electric urge to run toward them. Laconia pressed him back against the bulkhead.

The tatzelwurm was still there, like a child-minder keeping watch! A grown man did not need … then again, perhaps he did.

“Move bloody faster!” No, the shout would not accomplish anything, but it did keep his heart from bursting. “Faster, damn it, faster!”

Laconia pressed him back a little harder as his legs twitched to move. Perceptive little creature.

Phoenix stirred and poked his head barely out of Darcy’s shirt. “What is happening?”

“Good. Then we can leave this awful place.” Phoenix yawned and ducked back under the sodden muslin.

He was right, the seawater was awful. Never, never, never would he sail again, sea bathing, too—that would be out. He had had enough seawater for a lifetime.

“Look! Look!” Laconia pointed his thumbed paw at the sky. “He carries someone!”

She was not moving, just dangling, like a princess sacrificed to a medieval monster.

Larger and larger, faster now. Longbourn came into focus, Elizabeth dangling lifeless in his grasp.

Closer, overshadowing the Cerulean now, its deck dodging away like a sick game of buffy gruffy.

Back-winging rain into all who watched, Longbourn hovered, sailors assembled below, catching, gathering Elizabeth from his talons and rushing her toward Darcy.

Laconia ended his vigil, stepping aside just as Darcy could bear no more stillness. He met the sailors as they laid her on deck.

His bones melted, and he fell against her, head to her chest, some primal sound wrenched from his throat.

He held up his hand in a universal bid for silence. The sailors obeyed, the winds did not.

Pressing his ear against her chest, he held his breath. A flutter, a tiny rise in her chest!

Someone slapped his back—probably Wentworth— and yanked him to his feet. “Go with her. Kellynch has the boy. I will tend them and hope for more good news.”

Laconia leaned into him as he staggered for the ladder. He probably could not have made it without the support.

The sailors laid her on blankets on the cabin floor, a pile of dry blankets heaped beside her.

“Get her dry and warm,” one of them declared as they poured out, probably to help above deck.

Darcy knelt beside her. In the dark, he could just make out Laconia’s black form as he began sniffing her from the toes up. If she were injured, tatzelwurm spittle was the best medicine, especially since there was no surgeon.

He pulled her sodden garments away, wrapped her in blankets and pulled her close. “Elizabeth.”

The door flew open, feeble rays of light staggered in ahead of Wentworth, who stumbled in with a boy—Joshua— in his arms. A sailor followed with a bundle wrapped in what must have been the boy’s coat.

“Over there.” Wentworth pointed and the sailor set down the coat near the far wall.

“She breathes!” Darcy reached into his shirt. “And Phoenix!” He scrabbled across to Joshua and Wentworth and placed Phoenix on Joshua’s shoulder.

The boy sobbed, clutching the fairy dragon close. “I never thought we’d see you again!”

“I told you I would get help. I sent Longbourn and Kellynch.” Phoenix muttered sleepily.

“I am so proud of you. The others, our Friends, how are they?” Joshua pointed to his sopping coat.

Wentworth opened the bundle and wyrms tumbled out. Two, no, how many? Yes, two twined pairs in the shadows. Did they have blue belly stripes?

“She’s right,” Joshua crawled toward them. “We’re safe now. All of us. No one will take advantage of you again.” He pulled the smaller pair close.

Wentworth glanced at Darcy and shrugged. “I will send more blankets and see to Kellynch and Longbourn.”

“Wrap the wyrms, but do not touch their blue skin. Please, bring them here.” Joshua reached for them.

“Is it true? Not some dream?” she whispered, cuddling close. “I smell sandalwood.”

“It is no dream, though I can hardly understand how all of you have returned to me.”

“I am aware, though I fear the wyrms’ tale will only complicate matters further.”

“They have been wronged, but they risked everything to help us. I think some of them will stay with Joshua now, his Friends.”

“I can only imagine what your aunt will say to that.” He smoothed bits of wet hair back from her face.

She pressed her face into his shoulder, sobs wrenching through her in waves mirroring the storms outside. “I still cannot believe you came for me. How … how did you find us?”

“April was the one who first brought us information. Wentworth tried to engage help from the sea dragons, but they refused—”

“No, they did help. A group, young males I think, came to us. They might have been defying their matriarch or patriarch, I am not clear… kept us above water until Longbourn and Kellynch came.”

“We thought them a lost cause.” He pressed his face into her wet hair. “Wentworth and I defied the Order, seeking the sea dragons’ help to find you.”

The door swung open, revealing a nimble sailor with a tray of food. “Just cold porridge and grog, I’m afraid. And a joint of cold salt pork for the dragons.”

Darcy took tankards and bowls as the sailor placed the tray on the floor near Joshua and the wyrms. In just a few moments, the wyrms peeked out of the wraps Joshua held close, and Phoenix flittered to the tray.

“That is for you. Mind Phoenix, though. There will be plenty now. You do not have to gorge.” Joshua helped the largest wyrm, with a single fang and a tied linen bandage around his middle, out of the blankets and toward the food.

“This is my mate. He will see you are safe.” She gazed up at Darcy with a look he remembered so well.

The other wyrms moved out cautiously and set upon the joint, careful not to catch Phoenix in their frenzy.

She chuckled, weak and faint, but it was there. “I fear I might have developed a taste for grog. I may just serve it at our next dinner.”

He sat close and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, laughing until tears ran down his cheeks.

The smallest wyrms licked the bones one more time, then slithered to Joshua, bellies distended, a funny purry sort of rumble in their throats. Joshua arranged fresh blankets into a nest beside him and the four twined into a content cluster and slept. Phoenix nestled against his neck, just under his jaw, asleep as soon as he settled. Joshua snored a moment later.

Breathe, he must remember to breathe. The wondrous reality around him would not disappear if he breathed.

Was it just his imagination? Had the sea calmed? Cerulean seemed to have lulled into a far more restful rhythm.

Had he any idea how difficult it was to leave Elizabeth, even sleeping safely in a nest of warm blankets?

Yes, it was easier to walk now. It was not his imagination. “Returning? Did they not already return?”

“And they left after delivering their passengers.” What was that, heaviness, finality in Wentworth’s voice?

Wind and rain buffeted him as they emerged on deck, but not with the same furor as before. Grey, not black, clouds curtained the sky. Perhaps, just perhaps, there might be sunshine once more. Someday.

Longbourn and Kellynch approached, something dangling from Longbourn’s foot. “What is that?”

Laconia pressed Darcy back to safety as Longbourn hovered above and dropped something large, heavy and yellow on the deck. Cerulean groaned as his feet touched down.

“The serpent-whales knew the vessel. It seems the Sea Lion had tried to capture one of their young. You may find them more open to the Order now.”

Wentworth approached Longbourn. Darcy followed. On the deck between them lay a battered wooden figurehead with the head of a lion and the tail of a fish.

“Record it so. You may tell the Order what really happened if you like. Or not. I do not care. There is no dragon in the Kingdom who will fault us.” Longbourn settled his wings across his back.

Kellynch coughed an odd sound and spewed out a box, a modest-sized sea chest, covered in slime. “I do not know what is in that, but it seemed it might be worth retaining.”

Wentworth brushed away the slime from the name plate. “It is a gentleman’s trunk. Bartholomew Ayles. There may be something useful. Thank you. You and you, take that below.”

“She may not, but she will understand. That is what makes her different. She will see that this was the only way forward, the only hope to stave off what has begun among the Order.”

“I do not know that the Order will thank us for any of this. It is not what they ordered.”

A slightly scruffy young cockatrice messenger landed on the windowsill and knocked on the glass of Anne’s room at the Portsmouth Blue Order office, the second nicest accommodation the office had to offer. Since it was also Admiral Easterly’s primary office as Naval Liaison, the facilities were far more comfortable than some of the other extension offices.

It seemed the whole of dragon-hearing Portsmouth had fallen into a dither with the news that the Sage would be visiting the offices! The entire building had been cleaned, stem to stern as Wentworth would say, with nearly every local Dragon Mate turning out to participate in some way. Some sent members of their dragon-hearing household staff to help, some offered objects of furniture or art to decorate or dishes upon which to serve the planned meals, kitchens promised food—the sudden sense of community and cooperation was noteworthy.

The Order’s regional undersecretary of Hampshire had also taken the liberty of scheduling several salons and talks for the Sage to lead, because after all, that was what she was known for. She certainly would not want to miss the opportunity to grace Portsmouth with her wisdom.

No, of course not. Her recovery from her trials could hardly be a consideration, could it? Hopefully Lady Elizabeth would not resent the intrusion too much.

A lean and leggy cockatrice hopped to the dressing table near the window, careful not to mar the marquetry work with his talons. That, along with the rest of the furniture in the suite, were lovely, but hardly dragon-friendly, which seemed ironic all told, considering it was designed to host Blue Order dignitaries who would likely have minor dragons in their company.

At least the room was not also fitted out in Order-blue. That honor was reserved for the Darcys’ suite. There was nothing wrong with the color, precisely, but it did get tiresome. The warm wood paneling and white walls of these lesser chambers suited her very well.

Sea air and dragon musk wafted in with the chill breeze. The latter far more pronounced now that local dragons were gathering in hopes of meeting with Lady Elizabeth.

“Cerulean is in the harbor, Lady Wentworth.” The messenger extended his wings, emphasizing the importance of his news. “The coachman awaits you downstairs.”

“Excellent, pray tell the Gardiners that I will wait for them in the coach.”

For her sake alone, it would have been far too much trouble to take the coach for such a short distance. But Alister Salt insisted that it would be best to protect Lady Elizabeth and the boy from the attention they would surely draw if they walked to the offices from the docks.

No doubt, the local bands of she-dragons would be tempted to find fault with the Sage for her less-than-fashionable appearance after her travails at sea. As if any woman could be a fashion plate after such trials! It was the sort of thing her father would say. Certainly not the way anyone would wish to be greeted on their arrival.

Moreover, it would not hurt to give the Gardiners a little privacy as well. Calm in the face of adversity they might have been, but keeping their composure when their son was returned would be too much to ask of any parent. The carriage really was the best choice.

Anne shrugged on her navy-blue wool pelisse and headed downstairs. Could it be so simple? The return of the Sage would suddenly solve all the dragon tensions in the kingdom?

Would that it might be, but nothing, nothing was ever so simple, especially where dragons were concerned.

The Gardiners perched on the plush coach seat across from her. A faint light in their eyes helped lift their weary faces. Not surprisingly, their focus fixed on the dock in the distance as they held hands, lips pressed together tight, as though speaking of the coming reunion might somehow make it disappear. Who could blame them?

Her own anticipation of seeing Wentworth and yes, Laconia and even Kellynch, seemed insensitive to remark upon. She had not the same grief and anxiety fueling her expectations. So, they rode in relative silence, unlike the journey to Portsmouth, which had been filled by reading and rereading the tale of the rescue, in Darcy’s own hand, carried by Longbourn directly to the Gardiners. A similar missive from Wentworth in which he shared a few details Darcy had not included in his, remained private.

Kingsley and Sergeant ran beside the coach, persuading the dragon-deaf they were the fiercest German boarhounds ever seen in Portsmouth, effectively discouraging even the dragon-hearing from following. They had claimed a share of responsibility in the Sage’s abduction and had not been themselves since her disappearance. Now they ran with joyful draconic abandon as they chased away unwanted attention from the coach. It did not hurt that Alister Salt felt the honor of conveying the Sage to the office, then later back to London, very deeply.

Anne pressed her cheek to the side glass, just able to make out the end of the dock in the morning mist. Calm waters lapped around it, a fitting foil to the storms Wentworth had described. A small boat had already tied off and shadowy figures were debarking, Laconia’s the easiest to recognize.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and Alister let down the steps. Anne deferred to the Gardiners. Nothing should stand between them and their boy now. They took off running the moment their feet touched ground. That was as it should be.

Alister, his trademark rag-tag appearance now so familiar, and even a little dear, handed her down. “Kingsley and Sergeant will keep the gawkers at bay, but don’t be dawdling. Quite a crowd is likely comin’ if ye wait too long.”

“Thank you, Mr. Salt. I am certain the Darcys will not wish to linger.” She straightened her skirts and headed toward the reunions already in progress.

Thank heavens! There was Wentworth, nearly obscured by the mist, the last one off the dinghy. Yes, it was silly to worry about him now, but she did and probably always would.

“Sir Fitzwilliam, Lady Elizabeth!” Gracious! It was definitely better that the Sage not be seen in this condition. Weariness hung over her like a wet, ratty cloak, her garments worn to rags, and only Laconia in her presence. When were there ever so few dragons with her? “Mr. Salt awaits us to take you back to the offices.”

“Thank you.” Sir Fitzwilliam bowed from his shoulders, dark circles under his eyes and little color in his face. The shadows had lifted from his countenance, though, replaced by weariness too deep for words. “Longbourn made it back to London, then?”

“Indeed, sir. He spread the news of Lady Elizabeth’s recovery as far and wide as he could on the way. There is more, but it should wait until we are at the offices.”

She cast a grateful look at Anne, which said everything it should have and more.

Laconia wound around her ankles. Anne crouched to scratch under his chin. “Thank you for taking care of them. I know you were invaluable.”

“How did I know you would have seen to everything?” Wentworth approached and helped her to her feet. The look on his face—oh—the one she would never have enough of.

“Once Longbourn arrived with the good news, what else was there for me to do?” She laughed.

He pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin. Yes, it was improper and impulsive, and all things wonderful. “I have never wanted to be back on land so much as I do now.”

Several hours later, Anne knocked on the Darcys’ door, tea tray in hand. Yes, it was a task more rightfully performed by a maid, but Lady Elizabeth certainly did not need gawkers, and that was what every servant in the building had suddenly become. The Order needed her to be strong and sure, ready with the answers at the inconsiderate events they would force upon her. Right now, she was all too human, too vulnerable to be the Sage. For just a few hours at least, she needed to be just a woman.

“Thank you so much for bringing a trunk of my things. I cannot remember a time when my favorite soap and a fresh gown were so very welcome.” Lady Elizabeth did not rise from the leather armchair near the fire, looking a mite unwell, but it could have been the reflection of Order-blue, which dominated every corner of the chambers.

Walls, curtains, linens—only the mahogany furniture and matching leather upholstery had the audacity not to represent the Order’s signature color. It was made up for by draconic carvings occupying every available segment of the wood: talon and ball feet, dragon-scale patterns, artistic drakes and wyrms climbing legs and along the edges of tables.

“I cannot take credit. It was your sister, Mary, who packed it. She hoped you would find it comforting.” Anne set the tea tray down on a small table, with a ring of marquetry fairy dragons inlaid in the tabletop, and poured a cup of tea.

“She has always been so practical and considerate. I am very grateful to you both.” Lady Elizabeth sipped her cup. “Oh, gracious. That is a delight, though I fear I may yet find myself missing the taste of grog.”

Anne chuckled, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell no one, but occasionally it is served at Kellynch-by-the-Sea for the same reason.”

Lady Elizabeth laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. “Pray excuse me. I dearly love to laugh, and there have been far too few opportunities to do so recently. Thank you. I must ask, Lady Wentworth—pray, call me Elizabeth now, and may I call you Anne?—”

“What do I need to know of the happenings since I have been—inconvenienced? Darcy has informed me of that which he thought was important, but I am sure you will have a very different, but equally valuable, perspective on what has transpired. Please, have some tea with me.”

Anne pulled a chair—upholstered in a dragon-wing pattern— close and sat down. “Most immediately important, I think, is that all of Portsmouth anticipates your stay. Salons, talks, and now two teas—oh yes, and a dinner yet tonight—have been arranged. I tried to dissuade them all, but—”

Elizabeth rubbed her temples. “No, I understand. Perhaps now more than ever, these will be important if we are ever to right what is wrong with the Order. I know, they will not be sufficient in and of themselves, but they will help reassure the dragons that the Order has not lost its value. At the very least, it is a good place to begin.”

“Happily, they are spread out over several days. I intend to insist that you are permitted to rest when not on display. Kingsley and Sergeant will assist in seeing you are not disturbed.”

“Alister Salt will convey us back to London when we are finished here. I am told that at least one Blue Order office and two estates along the way have requested that you grace them with your presence as well. More requests may arrive yet. The journey back to London will take several days. Days I hope you will be able to take some rest as well.”

“Grace them with my presence, you say?” Elizabeth’s laugh rang from the depths of her soul, as though to make up for the missed time. “I hardly have any presence with which to grace anyone. I have barely been able to keep my eyes open since we set foot in this room. I fell asleep twice in my bath, as it is, even before I lay down! Mattresses and blankets are highly underrated, you know.”

“I came to a similar conclusion myself whilst traveling non-stop with Mr. Salt and his team. A moving coach is a poor substitute for a proper bed. That will be one advantage to being forced to make stops on the way back to London.”

“I hope you and Sir Fitzwilliam approve of the plan for him to travel north to Pemberley to gather the information the Order sought whilst spreading word of your recovery. It was Longbourn and Kellynch’s idea.”

“I cannot say he is happy to be sent away, but the dragons had an excellent plan. I cannot help but imagine you might have had something to do with it as well, no? At least in arranging the services of young Mr. Salt?” Elizabeth sipped her tea and raised an eyebrow.

Anne looked aside and poured herself a cup of tea. If only her hands would not tremble! “Both our husbands have been rather at odds with the Order’s demands recently. They both opted to—I believe you would say—think like dragons, and, shall we say, procrastinate in acquiescing to the Orders’ directives.”

It had been bad enough that Father had been disgraced and lost all good connections as the result of his transgressions toward the Order. If she and Wentworth met the same fate—even if it was for the right choices. What then?

Elizabeth stared at her for a long moment and pressed her lips hard. She trembled, then laughed until she had to set her teacup aside to double over, holding her belly. “Forgive me, please. I know it is most unbecoming. But the image of my … our husbands thinking like dragons is really very dear, and a touch amusing, considering how much trouble I have found for doing just that.”

“Not at all, I am just relieved that you are not put out with me for trying to mitigate the Order’s ire.”

“I am glad someone is attempting to do so on my behalf, for I shall surely incur more in the days ahead. I am only going to bring them more problems that they do not want to deal with. In all seriousness, thank you for what you did for April and the other fairy dragons. If it had not been for her information, I … we …” She blinked her eyes hard and sucked in a deep breath. “Perhaps now they might be taken seriously, finally.”

“April’s injuries were taken quite seriously, to be sure. You may as well know that the Cotillion Board declared us all to be unfit Dragon Mates because April was injured on our watch. We are not to be presented at the Cotillion this year. Moreover, Mary and I, well, it was not said precisely, but the implication was that we would never be presented at all.” Anne chewed her lip and avoided eye contact.

All levity left Elizabeth’s face and her expression changed to something utterly draconic and predatory. “Is that their game? Miserable warm-blooded cockatrix pretending to vie for dominance! They will regret this little game.”

“But will it not be easier on you, not having to deal with the affair this year?”

“Easier perhaps, but with dragons, taking the easier route often declares that you recognize you are prey, looking for the quickest route to flee.” She sat up a little straighter, a little of her characteristic determination returning to her tone. “I am not prey. Nor are you and my sisters.”

“Honestly, I am not certain yet. I will let you know when it comes to me. Pray tell me, you and my sisters will be ready for the Cotillion?”

After a large dinner hosted by the Order for the local Dragon Mates—one that Lady Elizabeth had every right and reason to decline, but did not—Wentworth and Anne tramped upstairs, candle in hand, while the last few attendees continued to ply Lady Elizabeth with questions.

It was high time he had a little time to spend alone with his wife, regardless of what polite society might say. “Truly, I do not know how she manages. She has the stamina of a dragon and the patience of a saint. How many times was she asked the same questions tonight, asked to recount the same story?”

“Those jealous cockatrix should see what she endures before they start casting judgments upon her.” Anne paused at the top of the stairs, drooping as though a weight had suddenly landed on her shoulders.

Wentworth led the way to their chambers, through a door not carved with some sort of dragon. Should it be a breath of fresh air to encounter a plain door? “You did not mention it in your letter, but it is obvious something has transpired. What happed with the Cotillion Board?” He set the candle on the mantel and pulled her down with him into the large wingchair near the cold fireplace.

She cuddled into him, hiding her face in his shoulder. “I did not like being away from you.”

He arranged his arms around her warm softness. “Nor I you. It has been far too easy to become accustomed to being home, every night, with you.” Far easier than ever he imagined it could be.

“I would like to become accustomed to that.” Her whispers gave the impression of a difficult confession.

“Do you not want to continue to work with the Order?” He intertwined his fingers in hers.

“Honestly, I do not know. At this point, I just do not know.” Pain, that was pain in her voice.

“What did those women do? I will understand if you cannot bear working for the Order, but this, this is not like you. Pray tell me, what happened?”

“It is silly and stupid and should not matter at all.” She shut her eyes and shook her head.

“We, Elizabeth’s sisters and I, have been cut from the Cotillion as inadequate Dragon Mates because of April’s injury. Miss Bennet and Miss Darcy may recover and be presented next year. Mary and I, though, will not. We will not be presented, not be invited, and by extension, not welcome in any good Dragon Keeping society. As I said, silly and stupid.”

“You never did have your proper share in society, with your father always pushing your sister Elizabeth forward. It seems patently unfair to be denied it now, I suppose.” He stroked her back. She was trembling. “Longbourn and Kellynch did not fault you for what happened. They were impressed with what the fairy dragons accomplished. Though there will always be detractors, I think the Order will begin looking at their smallest members rather differently now. Thanks to you and Mrs. Collins.”

“Are you suggesting I should be indifferent to their cut?” A cold note penetrated her voice.

“No, no. Their cut should be viewed in light of their contributions to the Order.”

“Those women, they have title, wealth, connections. But what have they actually done for the Order? I can hardly put introducing the quadrille into the Keeper’s Cotillion on the same level as changing the way Blue Order society views fairy dragons. Can you?”

“I suppose not. But they are countesses and…” She tipped up her chin to look at him.

He placed a finger under her chin. “Did not you yourself decry the shallowness of that sort of company? My dear, I know that is the kind of company you were brought up to admire as worthy and important, but the world is changing before our eyes. The ability to do things, to contribute, to change, and grow in the world is more significant than it ever has been. I believe it will continue to be even more so. Maybe those of grand estates and great titles will not choose to associate with us. But they are not the only Blue Order society to mix with. Consider the crowd tonight. How many of them were high-born or titled? Influential or wealthy?”

“The Darcys and ourselves were the only titles in the room. When it becomes more widely known what you and Lady Elizabeth’s sisters did with the fairy dragons, I expect you will be something of a hero to the Friends of small dragons.”

“There are those who could consider that being damned with faint praise.” Anne chuckled.

“I know those harpies have hurt you, and I am sorry for that. I will never feel that as deeply as do you, but that does not mean I am insensitive to it. I ask you again, do you wish to continue our work for the Order? You know the problems we uncovered will not suddenly resolve with the Sage’s return. Things are going to be challenging for some time to come and a great deal of work will need to be done. It would be foolish to think things will become easier anytime soon if we continue.”

“But that will be true whether we work with the Order or not. Keeping Kellynch, we cannot remain insulated against the disruptions in the Order.” She was right. “You enjoyed being at sea again.”

“I expect the Order will need you both to begin talks with the sea dragons.”

She stood and began to pace along the fireplace. Her shadow in the single candle’s light, thin and stark. “I have not answered because I do not know. I do not like being left behind to wait, left to the clutches of the she-dragons. It was … empowering … to work with the fairy dragons and feel like we might contribute something useful.”

“Lady Elizabeth and Lady Astrid are exceedingly useful to the Order. There is no reason why Lady Wentworth should not be as well.” He rose and walked to her, taking her hands in his. “I think Kellynch himself would be quite pleased with the distinction of having you classed with such esteemed company.”

“Of course he would. He enjoys distinctions of any sort. But I am more concerned about your opinion.”

He pulled her a step closer. “You do not tolerate idleness any more than I being landlocked. If we are to serve the Order, your role must be more than waiting for me to return, embroidering cushions of little use and no beauty. Assuming, of course, the Order will have us at all. After what Darcy and I have done—”

“You do not believe going back to Dover now to interview the dragons there will be enough to allay the Earl’s displeasure?”

“There is no way to know. Disobeying orders is no small thing in the military.”

“No, it is not. But what is done is done. There is no point in worrying about that now. I must be off for Dover in the morning. I would rather make better use of our hours together.”

“W ill you be all right at home alone, Lizzy?” Uncle Gardiner asked as Alister Salt’s luxurious coach trundled toward Cheapside with Kingsley and Sergeant escorting on each side.

Nearly a week spent in leisurely travel, in an exceptionally fine coach, under Anne’s zealous care that kept her undisturbed those hours she was not required to be present for Blue Order duties, had mostly restored Elizabeth’s equanimity and sense of humor. How pleasant it was to laugh only at things that were truly amusing now, not simply at everything that stirred a reaction. That had been a mite embarrassing. Thankfully Anne and Aunt Gardiner were the souls of grace and discretion.

Leaving Anne at Thames House had proved a bit more moving than she expected. So clearly, the exhaustion had not yet passed—a little disappointing, but good to know. Was it possible to be tired of resting?

“I will hardly be alone at Darcy House. Little Anne, Mary, Lydia, and Georgiana are all there, with April and Walker. Brutus remains assigned to us, along with Nanny and Auntie. And there’s the entire staff, human and dragon. I will be well attended.”

“We would stay with you if you want. We can guard.” Prussian peeked up over the edge of the large basket the wyrms occupied on the coach floor.

His color and strength had improved with good food and safe environments. The entire cluster’s tempers had improved as well, charming the Gardiners on multiple occasions. It seemed at least Lapis and Indigo would be residing in Cheapside for the foreseeable future. They might be the first wyrm Friends in London. How would Blue Order society react?

She leaned across the coach to scratch Prussian’s cheeks. “I know you would, but with so many dragons already in the house, the introductions might be a bit fraught. And since the Darcy House dragons do not yet understand the circumstances that led you to be associated with Corney and his men, there may be misunderstandings.”

“That is an excellent point. You recall how reluctant Rustle was to accept the acquaintance when he met us on the road last night.” Aunt Gardiner straightened the blanket covering the cluster. “Convincing a house full of dragons will be quite a challenge.”

“You think we be not accepted by the Order?” Azure peeked out, her red head knob brighter than ever.

“When the full truth is known, I am confident it will be well. But until then, we should be cautious. I think the outrage over Nunnington’s actions will win you no little support. But pray, be patient whilst that is first verified, then made known,” Elizabeth said.

“In the meantime, you will be welcome to stay with us. We will always welcome our children’s Friends.” Aunt scratched Azure’s cheek.

“We have so many Friends, now!” Joshua grinned at Phoenix on his shoulder. “With six in the house, there will be one for every person! There will always be enough scratches for everyone.”

Phoenix twittered happily. Once they got past the predator-prey issues, he and the wryms had become quite comfortable, even friendly, with one another.

“Do I need to ask you to stay with us instead, Phoenix?” Elizabeth pulled her shoulders back to remind him she was big.

“I have learned.” He hung his head. “Fairy dragons do not breathe fire, nor should they, nor will they ever.”

Joshua scratched under his chin. “And I will not encourage him to learn new tricks. At least not ones that I have not asked you about first, Lizzy.”

She sighed and rubbed her upper arms briskly. “I hope that will be enough for the Order. They will no doubt be meeting with you in the coming days.”

If only he knew how complicated things could become. Then again, it might be best neither he nor his parents did, at least for now.

The coach rolled to a stop in the mews behind Darcy House. Chills coursed down her arms. Home. Not so long ago, a place she might never have seen again …

Uncle clasped her hand. “Do not hesitate to send for us if there is anything you need. Absolutely anything.”

“I am sure all will be well, but you have my word. Truly, I promise. No doubt the fairy dragons will hold me to that and go for you themselves should they feel the need.”

She allowed him to hand her down, Kingsley and Sergeant standing guard before and behind the carriage.

“We will be with Lady Wentworth should you need our services. Do not hesitate to send for us.” Alister Salt bowed. Apparently, his hearing was acute even for the dragon-hearing. The drakes dropped their chins to the ground, their tails flicking.

The back door flung open. Mary, Georgiana and Lydia flew out, fairy dragons not far behind. May led a second wave, including the housekeeper, Slate and Amber, and the butler.

“Lizzy!” Mary threw her arms around her. “I hardly believed it when Longbourn told us the news. I am so relieved!” Tears trickled down her cheeks.

Her own eyes burned and her vision blurred. She wiped her cheeks on her shoulder. She definitely needed more rest.

“You must tell us everything, Lizzy! We want to hear the whole story.” Lydia clapped and bounced, but shadows lined her face.

“Do allow her to rest a bit, Miss Bennet. Can you not see she is exhausted?” Georgiana hung back slightly, Pax hovering near her shoulder.

“I will have your things taken inside.” The housekeeper waved two footmen into motion. “Will you wish for a hot bath or a tray to be sent up?”

“Of course,” Georgiana looped her arm in Lydia’s and pulled her toward the house.

Was it possible the two of them had become friends? It was not an unpleasant thought; they could do each other good.

Mary put Elizabeth’s arm in hers. “She is improved. Sir Edward says she looks much worse off than she is. Her wing was broken but the dislocation has not reoccurred. The talon wounds are still rather off-putting, but they are healing well. May checks her wounds daily, insisting on the privilege of attending to her hero.”

Elizabeth gulped for breath, her throat tightening. “Thank you, for all you have done. We would not be here but for—”

“Would it be awful of me to say it was nice to be able to be the one to help you for a change?” Mary did not look at her.

“I think that feeling will remain for some time.” She patted Elizabeth’s arm. “You will be satisfied to know Longbourn is quite pleased with himself, for what he did for you and what he has done since he returned. Little Pemberley has had her equanimity restored after he visited her and promised you would see her soon.”

“I am certain Barwines Chudleigh has been quite busy with Pemberley and her own snakeling to tend.”

“Her snakeling is charming, by the way. He is called Haldon, for the woods near her estate. An entirely suitable playmate for Pemberley. You will find him delightful.”

Elizabeth caught her eye, studying her. “I know that look on your face. What are you not mentioning?”

“Very well.” Mary huffed a heavy breath, shoulders sagging slightly. “Nanny has been quite put out with the fairy dragons since April’s injury. It has been rather tense around her. She does not like them visiting Anne, despite Mr. Darcy’s insistence that they should be given free access to the nursery. She keeps May away whenever she can as well.”

“Oh, merciful heavens! I warned her those attitudes were not acceptable. I do not want Anne raised around such beliefs! But with all that has been going on, and all I expect to come, I cannot be without a nurse.” It was tempting to mutter a few draconic epithets under her breath, but Mary would be scandalized.

“Perhaps I might be able to assist? I could keep Anne for you until you are able to find another nursery maid.”

Elizabeth stopped and took Mary’s shoulders in her hands. “Oh, Mary! Truly? That is wonderful news! I am so happy for you. Does Mr. Collins know?”

“I have only found out for certain in the last few days. The baby just quickened and Heather tells me she can hear—him, she believes it is a boy but I am not so certain—him kicking and stretching. I was going to tell Mr. Collins when he came to town for the Cotillion.” Mary’s smile faded slightly.

“Nonetheless, do ask Mr. Collins to come to town. We shall have a large celebration of our own in honor of your news.”

Mary gasped. “You cannot be serious, in light of everything that is happening? Do you think it wise?”

“Absolutely! If we wait to celebrate until it is convenient, then it will never happen. Besides, planning a party will help Georgiana and Lydia forget their disappointments.”

But she would hardly forget the insult to herself. Dragons did not easily overlook such things.

Elizabeth peeked into the attic nursery, snug and neat, decorated with treasures from the Darcy family past. A low fire and pair of candles on the mantel lit the room in a soft, friendly glow. Anne slept in her crib; Nanny silently read A Young Dragon’s Primer, sitting in a chair nearby. Quite the scene of domesticity, even without the little dragons who should have been present.

Little Anne slept so poorly. It would be cruel to wake her now. Waiting another hour for their reunion would be better. Elizabeth wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Better Anne’s convenience than hers, though.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to her dressing room. According to Mary, April was there. Elizabeth steeled herself for the reunion. Knowing April had been injured on her behalf was almost too much to bear, and facing the reality …

A low fire warmed the dressing room, likely for April’s comfort. An extravagant expenditure to heat the room for a single occupant who could have enjoyed a fire in another room, but one that April deserved.

Save April’s recovery basket, woven of sea reeds and lined with lambswool, nothing in her chambers had changed. Bold rose and vine paper hangings in pinks and yellows, with tiny blue butterflies, lent a garden feel to the space that April liked even more than she did. The furniture, chosen by Lady Anne Darcy, crafted of mahogany, with clean, elegant lines, suited her very well, despite Darcy’s generous insistence that new could be bought if she desired. He was so very considerate. An overstuffed, faded floral armchair near the fireplace proved very comfortable. How lovely it would be to feel its embrace once more.

The perfume of dried lavender hung in the air. The housekeeper must have added some new sprigs to the mix in the bowl on her dressing table. She drew in another deep breath. So much better than the dank, cold smells of the Sea Lion. She rubbed her shoulders to dispel a building shudder.

“I am cold.” April twittered and poked her head over the side of her basket.

She climbed out, slowly, awkwardly, and landed on the mantel, scars along her chest and leg stark against her blue feather-scales. Her entire posture seemed faded and a little limp.

April carefully extended her wing, wincing slightly. “Castordale’s Keeper removed the wraps a day or two ago. He said the bones were knit, but that I ought not try to fly yet. Flap and stretch, but not fly. I do not know when I shall be allowed to.”

Allowed to? April had never before concerned herself with what she was or was not allowed to do.

“It must be very difficult not to fly.” Elizabeth offered her finger as a perch.

“I do not like it. I do not like walking. It is a stupid way to move.” She rubbed her cheek against Elizabeth’s thumb. “But you have returned. It was worth it.”

The lump in her throat was nearly too big to swallow back. “How can I thank you for all you have done?”

“We can move nearer the fire if you like. There is warm water on the hob. Shall I pour some for your bath?”

“I will only be cold again when I get out. I would rather have tea.” April fluffed her feather-scales as best she could. It only made the scabs and scars more obvious.

“Very well, I shall make you tea. Why do you not climb up on my shoulder under my shawl while it steeps.”

April crawled under the soft, mustard-gold wool. She must truly be uncomfortable, or exhausted, to do as she was asked without argument.

“Now I am back, you can be here with me as much as you like. Or you might consider hibernating. All the local fairy dragon harems have tucked in for the winter and will not emerge until the weather warms.”

April poked her head out from under the shawl. “You have only just returned and are bored with me already. You just want me to be gone!”

“What makes you think you are unwanted?” She wrapped April in her shawl and held her up to look eye to eye with her.

“I do not want warm bricks!” April freed herself from the shawl. “I want you!” She pecked at Elizabeth’s hand.

April hopped to Elizabeth’s hand and bobbed from one foot to the other. Should it be so heartening to see her acting a little more like herself again?

Elizabeth scanned the room for a jam or honey pot. Yes, there on the tea tray on the table near the window. She retrieved it and held it close to April. Fairy dragons were always cranky when hungry.

She set the jam aside and pressed April close to her chest. “You are my oldest, dearest Friend. Pray tell me what is wrong. I truly do not understand, but I very much want to.”

April looked over her shoulder into Elizabeth’s eyes. “Very well, though I doubt you shall even care.”

“It is a strange place. But the gardens are very nice. The staff can all hear me.” April resettled her stiff wing along her back.

“Yes, they do.” She twitched her head and flicked her tail as though that did not make her particularly happy.

“And the staff dragons? Have any of the household dragons been unkind to you?” It was a leading question, yes, but she needed to hear it in April’s own words.

She was right. Few households could count so many under their care. Oh! “You are jealous?”

April twittered and covered her face with her wings. “You have so many to take care of now—especially the hatchling.”

“That nanny dragon the Order sent—she is rude and high-handed. She tells me to keep out of the jam and honey.”

April pecked her hand hard enough to draw blood. “How could you allow that crusty old drake to speak to me that way? Did you know that since you have been gone, she keeps me from the nursery and any other room she might encounter me in?”

“Phoenix lives in the nursery with the Gardiner children. Why do you encourage that but not permit me—” April pouffed up, full and fluffy. She was unfortunately cute when angry. “What harm do you think I will bring to your hatchling? You seemed happy enough to have me there to soothe you when she hatched—”

“Do not change the subject!” April stomped, toes scratching Elizabeth’s hand. “Since her hatching, I have been all but banished from the household.”

“Nanny forbids me from the nursery, from your chamber when she can—you have no idea how hard she fought against my basket being here and having a fire to keep me warm!— even the parlor is off limits when the hatchling is brought out. She only allows the staff dragons in to perform their tasks and then leave as quickly as possible. But at least they are allowed in. But me? She hates me. Heather, Pax, and Cosette are afraid of her.”

Afraid. The fairy dragons should never fear in the household. She stroked April’s ruffled feather-scales. Nothing in her posture or tone suggested she inflated the issue.

Why though? What could trigger such behavior? Nanny was the largest of the household dragons—

“I think I understand now. I have been away, and in my absence, she has been trying to become the dominant dragon.”

April warbled and lifted her head, her eyes forlorn. “She did the same whilst you were so busy.”

“The audacity! She is staff. You are my Friend. She should not believe she is dominant over you. A governess is generally above the lower staff, but not above the family. You, my dear, are family.”

“I am sorry and appalled I did not see it sooner. You shall spend as much time with Anne as you like. Nanny has no right to keep you from my daughter nor any room in the house. I will not have such a dragon in my house.”

“Of course you will, and you should. I am your Friend. I want Anne to be your Friend, too.”

“Now, allow me to make you some tea to enjoy with your jam, and I shall pay a visit to the nursery.” No staff dragon would ever claim dominance over her Friend again.

Putting on her cloak before confronting Nanny had been a good idea. Sometimes it was necessary to be bigger in order to get the point across.

Who knew all—absolutely every one of the family and staff dragons—would turn up to see the spectacle, though? Unfortunately, that only spoke to the degree of disorder that had come to plague the household in her absence. Perhaps she should not have placed so much trust in the Order’s choice of her personal staff.

Nanny’s ego was so bruised, she tendered her resignation immediately and quit Darcy House minutes later. It was difficult to repine her departure, considering it was far easier than sacking her. The Order would probably not be pleased, though.

She needed to tell Mary again just how welcome her assistance with little Anne would be. Tomorrow they would sort out how best she could be accommodated near the nursery.

For tonight, though, Anne’s cradle and the rocking chair that Lady Anne Darcy had loved would be in Elizabeth’s chamber.

Little Anne snuggled into the crook of her arm as April sang sweetly from her basket. Elizabeth sank into the rocking chair amidst the lavender fragrance and flowered paper hangings. Only Darcy’s presence could have made this any better.

Was it possible? Did Anne seem more at peace now than before? Could she have sensed Nanny’s dominance struggle and have been responding to it? Could that have been causing some of her sleeplessness?

Tonight was for gazing into her daughter’s face in wonder. How close had she been to losing that opportunity forever? She swallowed hard and blinked hard. That must not happen again.

It was tempting to simply give up serving the Order to accomplish that. Tempting, but short-sighted and wrong. Whether or not she worked with the Order, the state of the Dragon State was frayed and threadbare. Whether she wanted it or not, her life was inextricably locked with dragons.

Quitting would not change any of that. The best chance for Anne to have a peaceful future with dragons was for her to continue doing what she did.

“I trust your journey back from Portsmouth was not unpleasant.” Papa shuffled in, hunched and awkward in ways she had not recalled him being.

“You will forgive me for not rising. Anne is asleep. April is in the basket on the mantel.”

He nodded and continued his slow shuffle toward her. “May I sit down?” He pointed to the floral armchair, the only chair in the room with arms solid enough for him to push against to stand again.

He inched his way down into the chair and stared into the fireplace. “Kitty and your Mother are at the Bingleys’ now. Jane has made an introduction for your sister. Their latest letters suggest the new acquaintance may have some promise. At the very least, Kitty is quite content in her new situation.”

“It must be a relief for you not to have to worry about them in London company.” The edge in her voice—hiding her true feelings was not her long suit.

“I do not blame you for being bitter. I should have sent them to stay at the Bingleys’ for Twelfth Night and after.”

Yes, she was, and she had every right, every reason to be, and if he thought he was going to shame her out of it … “What did you come for, Papa? You can see: I am here, and I am well. Anne is well. April is healing admirably. Darcy was well when he left with Leander Salt for Pemberley, and I have received daily intelligence that he continues to be so. He told me of your assistance in researching the forest wyrms, and I am grateful. If you wish to interview them, they are staying with the Gardiners. I am certain they would be happy to speak with you.” Pray that would satisfy him.

He stared into the fire for a long time, expression unchanged. “All I wanted was to see you.”

She bit her lip. The urge to contradict, to argue was so strong. “What do you understand?”

“I never told you how proud I was of you when you were appointed as the Dragon Sage. I should have told you.”

She shrugged carefully, not to disturb Anne. It would have been nice, but it hardly mattered now.

“I was wrong not to appreciate all that you are, to ignore your unique bond with dragons, no matter how inconvenient it might have been for me.”

“I know I have been a great inconvenience to you.” Those words sounded bitter.

“But you should not have been … I should never have seen you as inconvenient. It was foolish, short-sighted, narrow-minded of me to try to force you to be like other dragon-hearing girls.”

“It is good of you to say that now.” It was, truly it was. But why was he saying that now? What did he want from her? She had already promised him access to the wyrms.

Had he ever spoken those words before? Did he even know what they meant? “I hardly know what to say.”

“Most women would be happy for the apology and accept it without question.” He chuckled. “But most women are not you. Dragons are cautious with apologies under the best of circumstances. And they are not apt to be content with mere words. I understand.”

“I cannot give back those things you have lost because of me. Your Cotillion, the chance to have truly come out and mix in good Blue Order Society, to make certain choices for yourself … so many things.”

“You have done quite well without them, though, so there is that, I suppose.”

Of course, it was all perfectly justified by the outcome. Why was he bothering …

“I hope, perhaps, that you and I might be able … that you would be willing … perhaps, to work together with me … perhaps on some writing?”

“That’s not what I mean. Not for you to write for me, but with me. A monograph, written together?”

She looked him directly in the eye. There was a hope, an earnestness there, new and unfamiliar. Was it worth the risk?

After everything that had happened, Longbourn had become her friend again. Perhaps he was not the only one who could change.

“What do you know about Nunnington? There are some forest wryms who have a very interesting story to tell.”

C heerful morning sun forced Darcy’s eyes open. He was in his own room—filled with the familiar lingering scents of sandalwood and lavender. His own bed! How long it had been since he had awoken there! He reached to the other side of the bed.

No, that was not possible. Could all of that have been a dream? His heartbeat grew loud, deafening in his ears.

“Good morning. You have been quite the layabed have you not? It is nearly seven o’clock.”

He propped himself on his elbow, breathing once more, and looked in the direction of her voice. His favorite voice.

Sunbeams bathed her as she sat near the window, in Mother’s rocking chair, little Anne in her arms. “How very well Anne slept last night. She only woke once.”

Wrapping his dressing gown around himself, he padded toward them. The carpet soft under his feet and the polished paneling on the walls gentle on his eyes. Was it possible everything could feel so utterly right?

Elizabeth smiled up at him, hair mussed, nightdress and dressing gown rumpled. In short, all things perfectly lovely. Little Anne grasped the edge of Elizabeth’s sleeve in her chubby fist, eyes twinkling. How she looked like her mother.

“She seems absolutely content this morning.” Darcy knelt beside them, offering his finger for Anne to clutch.

“Perhaps I am assuming too much, but it seems she is happier now that Nanny is out of the house.” Elizabeth shrugged.

“I am not sorry to learn she is gone. She and I had words while … while Anne stayed at the Blue Order. I am not surprised she would have, again, forgotten her place in the dominance hierarchy.”

Elizabeth laughed, softly at first, then blooming into a deep, soulful melody. “I wonder how many homes in England consider the dominance hierarchy as part of household management?”

It was hardly a ridiculous question. “It is a little odd, I suppose, but perhaps there are those which would run more smoothly if they did.”

“Pray, do not suggest I write a monograph on that, too! No matter how excellent an idea it is—actually, it is a very good one. But have you any idea—the list I have of monographs I need to write!”

“You said it, not I. But you are right, it is an excellent notion. We should see Lady Astrid about finding you a secretary very soon. I am sure it would help you to get to all the writing you want to accomplish. Drew has helped your father—”

Darcy pulled a nearby footstool close and sat. “What happened?” Pray the man had not done anything stupid!

“And? Do not keep me in suspense. I have had enough of that during the last few weeks to last a lifetime.”

“I do not quite know what to make of it.” She leaned down to kiss the top of Anne’s head. “He apologized.”

“Ordinarily, that is considered a good thing. Is it not? Or has it gone out of fashion since I was last informed?” Pray let Bennet not have utterly stuffed it up.

“I suppose, but it is just so very unexpected. I am not quite sure if I can trust it. Or do you think I am judging him too harshly?”

“I will not try to tell you what to do, but when he came to me and apprised me that he had sent your mother and sister away so that he might do what he could to help in your recovery, his actions spoke louder than his words.”

“He did not tell me why he had sent them off. I had no idea. I thought it was merely to assist in seeing Kitty married off.”

“I heard the words straight from him. I think he came directly to the Order after sending them off. Understand, I am not telling you this to convince you of anything. It just seems you should know the full story.”

“There is that, I suppose.” She lifted her chin and stared out the window. “It is just …”

“A very great deal of unpleasantness has come and gone and it is not easy to believe it is at an end?”

She pressed her lips hard, nodding. Were those tears in her eyes? “He asked that we might write something together.”

“Quite. At first it sounded as a means to have me work for him, but I think it was genuine. I suggested that a report on the situation at Nunnington might be a useful endeavor.”

A truly draconic suggestion. She was nothing if not true to herself. “So controversial a situation? When the wyrms’ tale becomes known, you know the stir it will create.”

“Who better to help pen those documents then, than a revered historian with a reputation of avoiding controversy? Will that not lend credence to the tale?”

“That could put you two at odds once more. Are you certain that is what you want?”

“I do not want to be at odds with him. You are right. But neither do I wish to waste time writing pretty memoires and genealogies that obscure the truth.” She shifted uneasily. “I have been sorely reminded of how uncertain the future is. Dragon Keeping is difficult, dragons are difficult, and to pretend otherwise has not served the Order well. It will not survive if we do not change. That is more important to me than Papa’s feelings, or I suppose even my own.”

Such a world little Anne was heir to. “I hope to find the Council in agreement with you.”

“I meant the men, not the dragons.” He chuckled despite her glower. “I hope that Cownt Matlock has been granted status as Grand Dug. So many things would be improved by his direct oversight.”

“Grand Dug? He means to be made Grand Dug?” Her face colored and she nearly jumped to her feet, pausing only when Anne threatened to fuss. “Who came up with such a plan? It must have been Lord Matlock, no doubt. Did they actually give any thought to the complexities of such a maneuver? Even if Cownt Matlock is the most dominant dragon after Londinium and Cornwall, some will take offense that he could be given even a form of dominance over Cornwall.”

“Led by Cornwall himself, I would expect.” He laid his hand on her shoulder.

She shuddered just a little. How few knew what the encounters with that particular angry dragon had actually cost her. Cornwall would probably never forgive the insult she dealt him. Such unforgiveness was a bitter pill to her whom all dragons loved.

“This is not a good plan. Cornwall is not happy with the Order as it is. To further press him this way seems foolhardy.”

“I fear there are a great many who are discontent right now. With the Order, with its members, and with me.”

“It is not as though you did not go to Pemberley and interview the dragons there as you were asked.”

“Perhaps. But even their ire toward me pales in comparison to Longbourn and Kellynch taking matters into their own talons and exacting justice on the smugglers.”

“Remember, it happened beyond the pale of the Blue Order. The Order refused to negotiate with the sea dragons; by their actions, they declared it was not Blue Order territory.”

“It makes all the difference.” She passed Anne to him and stood, the air around her virtually crackling. “Next to dominance, territory is of paramount importance to major dragons. The rules that govern a territory must be obeyed or the dragon holding the territory has rights of enforcement. The sea has no such regulations. Kellynch and Longbourn did not violate any Blue Order laws.”

In the deepest basement of the Order offices, Cownt Matlock, Barwines Chudleigh ,and Barwin Dunbrook sat beside Uncle Matlock, Lord Chudleigh, Lord Dunbrook, and Lord Torrington, amidst a hastily arranged collection of chairs and tables. They stared across the cavernous main courtroom at Darcy, Wentworth, Longbourn, and Kellynch, somber and subdued as only major dragons could be.

Usually, the courtroom configurations were planned carefully, weeks in advance and reviewed by a special team, headed by Baron and Barwines Chudleigh. Typically, plans had to be adjusted multiple times before all human and dragon sensibilities could be accommodated.

Perhaps that was why Vicontes Torrington had declined to attend, as was often her wont. All told, it was just as well. Basilisks’ temperaments did not lend them to be well disposed to large meetings, no matter how carefully arranged.

The courtroom was far too large for this proceeding, but no other room in the offices could accommodate a firedrake, an amphithere, a major drake, a wyvern and a marine wyrm. So many wings and tails!

Still, though, it felt strange, even oppressive for the echoing chamber on the lowest level of the Order and the levels of galleries above it, to be so empty. Only a fraction of the usual number of torches lit the space, creating odd, flickering shadows and swaths of darkness, haunting and even a little threatening.

A long stone table, bearing the Sea Lion’s figurehead, separated the council from their … interviewees. That was the polite term they used.

“Darcy,” Uncle Matlock cleared his throat, a sound quickly lost in the vast darkness of the soaring ceiling. “Which one of you sent the dragons back to find the Sea Lion?”

Longbourn rose to his feet and spread his wings, snorting and scratching the floor with his talons. “I take umbrage at the implication that either of us would be taking orders to be sent here or there by anyone, much less by a man not my Keeper.”

Kellynch rose up, his head level with Longbourn’s. “It is insulting to believe that you think us some sort of minions.”

Barwines Chudleigh slithered forward, her head above Kellynch’s, spectacular feathered wings spread. No winged dragon sported wings as stunning as an amphithere’s. “There wassss no intention to insult. The question was poorly phrased.” She turned back to glower at Uncle Matlock. “You both worked together on the task?”

“No, we did not.” Kellynch glanced at Longbourn, who planted his foot hard as though to punctuate the statement.

Wentworth started and looked from the dragons to Darcy, forehead knit. So Kellynch had told him nothing, either.

What was it about courtrooms and dragons that always inspired some form of drama?

“Then which one of you was responsible for sinking the Sea Lion?” Lord Torrington, wrinkled and scowling, his deep-set beady eyes glittering with sharp intelligence, leveled a derisive stare. How like his Dragon Mate he was. Coincidence or contagion, it was difficult to tell.

“Neither.” Longbourn bugled. The sound reverberated painfully from one side of the courtroom to the other. Was he enjoying taunting the council? It was a dangerous game at best.

“How was the ship sunk?” Barwin Dunbrook growled, stopping just short of a snarl.

“A marine wyrm, a pod of hippocampus and some number of serpent-whales. I lost count. Together they tore a rather substantial hole in the hull. They left then and allowed the natural course of events to take place.” Kellynch tossed his head in a noncommittal sort of way.

“And you did nothing to protect the crew from the draconic assault?” Matlock pounded the table with his fist. “Your oath to the Blue Order demands—”

“The oath only applies to Blue Order territory. You refused to open talks with the sea dragons, which clearly means that the oceans are not Blue Order territory.” Kellynch clapped his jaws hard.

“Technically, we were trespassing in their territory.” Longbourn stepped forward, a bold and dangerous move in the presence of dominant dragons. “It was gracious of them to grant us passage. We had neither right nor authority to intervene in their actions.”

Uncle Matlock turned an unhealthy shade of red, then puce. “How many other vessels are in danger now that they have the notion to openly attack—”

“Kidnappers and smugglers who have been harrying them and trying to capture them for quite some time. It was high time they defended themselves.” Longbourn shifted his weight from side to side and growled.

“Consider it, if you will, a demonstration of good will from those who would be affiliated with us?” The tip of Kellynch’s tail flicked. Was that a good sign or not? Wyrm-type posture language was a little difficult to understand.

“Affiliated?” Baron Dunbrook’s gunfire voice ricocheted through the courtroom. “They have violated the primary tenets of the Pendragon treaty, and now they seem to want to be affiliated with it, with us? That is simply not possible. They are a danger to everything we stand for. Actions must be taken—”

“Silence.” Cownt Matlock rose and thundered around the table, approaching Kellynch and Longbourn, threateningly close, looming as only a firedrake could. “If what they say is true …” He stepped in front of Kellynch and Longbourn, gazing down upon them, looking in their eyes, sniffing like tatzelwurms often did. “And I believe it is, the sea dragons have come together to obey a draconic principle older than the Pendragon accords.”

“What are you talking about? I have heard of no such thing.” Uncle Matlock stammered.

Cownt Matlock, Barwines Chudleigh and Barwin Dunbrook exchanged a conversation in glances, wing postures and tail twitches. Elizabeth could probably have made sense of it.

“It is something that has never been part of the Blue Order documents, not a thing that men ever needed to know,” Matlock thundered.

“I am still not certain that they do.” Dunbrook pawed the floor, his deep-grey hide blending with the grey stone walls and shadows, lending him a strange, ethereal sort of look.

“Humansss are too fragile for them not to know.” Chudleigh wove from side to side in a mesmerizing dance.

“What are you talking about?” Uncle Matlock looked like he might climb over the table.

Matlock snorted and flapped, swinging his head to and fro, thinking. He smacked his jaws several times and huffed. Resigned? “There are occasionally dragons hatched who have rare understanding, insight or wisdom. There is not an equivalent warm-blooded word. A significant sort of knowing. Not always a large dragon either. Their insight is sufficient to permit them a special kind of dominance and value among us. It is an unspoken agreement among all dragons that those rare creatures are protected and allowed liberties among us that others are not. The dragon who crafted the Pendragon accords with Uther was one such dragon. The Dragon Sage is another.”

“But she is a warm-blood, not a dragon.” Baron Dunbrook nearly jumped from his seat, eyes bulging.

“It does not matter. She is one of those special ones to us. What the sea dragons did was an act of honor toward the dragons of the Order, not an act of war. We must begin discussions with them soon. Kellynch, you and your Keeper—”

“Keepers, Cownt Matlock. I have two Keepers.” Kellynch glanced at Wentworth, who stood.

“I would be honored to accept the charge.” Wentworth bowed from his shoulders.

“At the next Conclave, Longbourn and Kellynch, you both will be recognized for your efforts on behalf of the Sage.” Matlock rose up on his back legs, towering above them all.

“None of their actions were sanctioned!” Torrington sprang to his feet. He looked like he might jump to the table as he had seen Elizabeth once do. It probably would not go well for him. “To recognize such actions…”

“Will do much to quell the current discontent. Dragons should be honored for acting like dragons, not warm-bloods. It is time the Order recognized this. Perhaps the Sage can help you understand. We are finished here.” Cownt Matlock turned his back and thundered toward the tunnels, Chudleigh and Dunbrook just behind.

An hour later, a footman found Darcy in the reading room, comfortably hiding among those humans and dragons bent on losing themselves in a book. The sort of company in which he felt most at home. A vague tension hung in the room, more from the dragons than the human occupants, almost as though they could sense something important had been happening in the courtroom below.

Among the bookcases and curiosity cabinets that lined every wall, a shelf there had been dedicated to Elizabeth’s monographs. He thumbed through the volume on hoarding hunger. Her voice was so very clear in those pages. An absolute pleasure to read in comparison to most Blue Order tomes, of which “ponderous” was a compliment.

He replaced the monograph on the shelf and followed the footman to Uncle Matlock’s office. It was not as though he did not know the way, but it was an official summons, after all, and protocols had to be followed.

The footman opened the great carved door bearing the Order’s seal and Darcy stepped inside. Only sunlight through the frosted windows lit the room, sufficient for now, assuming no one was going to do any heavy reading.

Uncle Matlock looked up from his paper-strewn desk and pointed to a chair clearly set in place for Darcy’s use. Somehow Uncle was still able to draw up that small-boy-in-trouble feeling out of the distant past and make it entirely fresh and new.

“Pray congratulate Matlock on his new status as Grand Dug.” Darcy sat down. A risky play, making that declaration, but baring one’s teeth early was sometimes effective.

Uncle grunted. “Do not speak of that. We would just as soon not have too much attention placed on that change. It was just a legal formality to continue the practice as it has been done for quite some time. I am rather surprised that you noticed his new status so quickly. It must be Elizabeth’s influence.”

“They will do.” Uncle pushed a pile of papers aside and looked at him. “You do understand the meaning of the word ‘immediately,’ do you not?”

Matlock jumped from his seat snarling. “I take that from your wife, as a fellow officer of the Order, but from you, I do not.”

“I gave you the reports you asked for. And arguably, no later than you would otherwise have had them, thanks to young Leander Salt and his team. He learned well from his father.”

“Something which you could not have known would be available to you when you went off on your ill-advised quest.”

“Ill-advised?” Oh, how he wanted to slam his fist on the desk. “My wife, the boy and the dragon have all been returned safely. We are on the way to establishing a maritime extension the Order never thought possible. I hardly consider that ill-advised.”

“Would you have considered it less ill-advised if the information had come from perhaps, Walker? Or mayhap one of the cockatrice guard?”

“But fairy dragons are not?” Darcy crossed his arms over his chest and stood a little straighter.

Uncle Matlock dropped back into this seat. “Were you paying attention to what was said in the court room?”

“I would like to believe so, but there were a great many things said. To which are you referring?” Darcy returned to his chair.

“I admit the dragon’s remarks caught me rather by surprise.” That was putting it mildly.

Did Matlock think he was an idiot? “Perhaps it would be best if you were to tell me what you heard. Clearly, you are most alarmed.”

“Alarmed does not begin to describe it. What happened in there threatens to disrupt the Order and perhaps dragon-human relations as we know them.”

“Disrupt the Order? I am not certain that is what I heard. Perhaps you misunderstand?”

“I hardly think so. Cownt, or rather Grand Dug, Matlock essentially declared your wife a dragon, claimed her as one of their own.”

“It seems that would be a good thing, would it not?” So, he had married a warm-blooded dragon. That was a concept to wrap his mind around, was it not? What did that mean for Anne?

Darcy’s thoughts crashed into one another like sheep crammed together in a pen, coming to a complete, chaotic stop. “Excuse me?”

“Your wife is impulsive, unpredictable, and rash. It is impossible to know what she is going to do next and even more impossible to control her.”

“Because not everyone has the ear of the dragons and claims to speak for them. You have seen as well as I how she plunges into situations in which she has no business. How easily she could be perceived to speak for us when she has no authority to do so.”

“She is doing what any member of the Order should do. Those wyrms are the victims of a serious violation of the law. Sir.”

“No, sir, they are not. Since they have become Friends with Joshua Gardiner, it is clear that they were not wild hatched. Thus, they are fully protected by the Accords. That makes Nunnington a criminal. Full stop.” No, he could not be implying …

“Nunnington is a major dragon. Do you know how many cases there are of major dragons prosecuted for such a transgression, particularly involving minor dragons without a Friend at the time?”

“Are you implying that major dragons do not have to abide by the rules of peaceful coexistence as outlined in the Accords?”

“Do you think prosecuting Nunnington is going to improve the attitudes of the major dragons toward the Order? I can tell you with certainty, it will not. Show them one more place where their supremacy is challenged, and we may have a complete breakdown of the Accords. The risk is immense.”

“Have you considered the risk of the minor dragons giving up on the Accords if they believe they are not protected? They may not be as powerful as major dragons, but they are far more numerous. Do you think we would be able to stop a rebellion from them?”

“Nonsense—” Uncle Matlock paused and grimaced. Good, he was thinking. For all his bluster, he would think on the matter for quite some time. That was hopeful. “There is still a network of smugglers dealing in all things draconic. Neither major nor minor dragon is safe from that.”

“Precisely. And now we have a single member for whom any threat to her wellbeing could utterly destabilize the system, possibly destroying the possibility of restoring any sort of balance to the Order! Have you any idea how dangerous that is?” Uncle Matlock had turned that unhealthy color again.

“That does not mean she is safe, you know. Your forest wyrms have already proven that dragons can ally themselves with their enemies. Consider, Cornwall has a grudge against her.”

“I wish I could be certain. You have no idea how much I would like that.” Uncle Matlock thumbed several papers on his desk.

“You have read my reports. Attitudes have improved with the assurance she has been returned.”

“Indeed. But there are those who will need to see her for themselves. She will have to travel, and travel is dangerous.”

Uncle Matlock raised his hand. “It is unfortunate. But the Sage has brought this on herself. It seems only her reassurances will satisfy the dragons. She must travel and you must accompany her for her protection. What you do with the baby is entirely at your discretion.”

“She is my wife. Of course I will protect her.” A wave of dizziness assaulted him. What would this mean?

“Not only from those against the Blue Order, you know. You must somehow protect her from herself. She must be brought under better regulation, for her own protection and the good of the Order. You are the only one who can do it. I do not envy you the task.”

P emberley, her bright red hide shining from a fresh oiling, trumpeted as Elizabeth emerged from the dragon tunnels. “Come in, come in. I show you!”

She waddled toward Elizabeth from the far side of the guest dragon lair, the largest the Order offices had to offer. It would be some time before she lost her baby ungainliness despite having learned, from Rosings and Matlock, to spit—not breathe!—fire and, from Chudleigh, to fly —well, more like flap and glide, but she had managed to become airborne and that was all that counted in her mind.

Large enough for a high-ranking firedrake, the more or less round room boasted rough-hewn walls and a mostly smooth limestone floor. Not impressive to warm-bloods but pleasing to large dragons. Wall torches lit the space, their distinct smoky-oily scent hanging in the slightly stale air. Several candelabras stood among the torches, probably for the human guests, who usually found them more aesthetically pleasing than torches. Bedding and other articles of comfort specific to the guest dragon were absent, leaving a great deal of somewhat awkward open space.

Pemberley ran back and forth, from Elizabeth, and April who was napping under the collar of her spencer, to Lady Wentworth to Barwines Chudleigh and Cowntess Rosings. The latter had only recently arrived in London in anticipation of the Cotillion.

Technically, the guest lair had been assigned to Rosings, not Pemberley. How gracious she had been to permit her offspring to use the space to host her event.

And that look Rosings and Chudleigh just shared? It was more than an acknowledgement formal greetings were not currently required. No. There was something more. Was Rosings’ red hide just a touch brighter than usual, and freshly oiled? Chudleigh’s wings shone as though freshly preened for the event.

An exceptionally large, yellow-painted tea table with matching chairs had been brought in and set up in the middle of the lair. Stylized blue Eastern dragons flew around the circumference of the tabletop. How very strange it looked amidst the unfinished stone walls and floors. Between the torches and candles, one might just be able to do needlework in so much light. Certainly not an arrangement the dragons would have crafted without a purpose.

“Next time, little Keeper will come, too?” Pemberley shuffled up, flapping excitedly.

“It was kind of you to invite her, but perhaps she needs to be out of leading strings before she can attend a tea party.” She scratched under Pemberley’s ever-itchy chin.

“Nanny-dragon really gone now?” Pemberley’s dark eyes widened as though with hope.

“Why did you not tell me you did not like her?” Elizabeth crouched, taking Pemberley’s face in her hands.

“You must always tell me when you think something is wrong. And especially if there is someone, man or dragon, in your territory that you do not like.”

“Look! Look!” Pemberley bounced toward the tunnel where two maids and a footman were bringing in the elements of an elaborate tea service. A silver urn for water; Blue Order china, white with a blue rendition of the Order’s seal in the center, edged with a gold stripe; platters of delicacies made mostly for human tastes; but wait, no, the pile of roasted goose and turkey legs was clearly for the dragons.

“What are those?” Anne nodded her head toward the maid carrying a tray with several exceptionally large tankards made of the same Blue Order china with pewter lids.

“Despite looking like they belong in a pub, those are dragon tea cups, of Castordale’s design.” Elizabeth winked. “They are very clever really. Since he is a snake-type without any sort of appendage to grasp with, they are modified to be used that way. Now that I think of it, I was with him the first time I had tea with a major dragon. April of course likes tea with honey, so I would have it with her before then, but it is a different experience with a major dragon.”

Such a peculiar look on Anne’s face. She giggled, then covered her face with her hands and laughed. “Pray forgive me. That just gave me the most amusing thought! Growing up with Lady Russell—I had tea with a dragon many times and never even knew. Of course, she was able to manage the use of a standard teacup with the odd little fingers at the end of her wings. But still …”

“Entertaining dragons unawares, indeed.” Elizabeth chuckled. How good it was to laugh again.

“You happy!” Pemberley bounded up, almost going airborne as she flapped. “I make happy you?”

An improper show of emotion, to be sure, but if the dragons did not object, and certainly Anne did not, then why deny Pemberley and herself the pleasure?

“Come, come,” Rosings lumbered up behind Pemberley—it was difficult for a dragon her size to walk gracefully in such a relatively confined space.

“Yes, do come and ssssit down, it is time for tea.” Chudleigh extended her wings full length around the tea table. Resplendent, multicolored feathers glinted in the torchlight. Stunning, utterly stunning.

“An amphithere in her full glory is spectacular, is she not?” Elizabeth whispered.

“I suppose for a snake-type, she is,” Rosings sniffed and ushered them toward the table. How truly charitable of her to allow a compliment to a less-dominant dragon in her presence.

“Ssssit here,” Chudleigh indicated the two chairs closest to her, oddly separated from the others.

Pemberley plodded after them and sat on the floor beside Elizabeth. She was big enough now that she could quite comfortably reach the dragon cup set before her.

Pemberley was drinking tea now? When had that happened, and why did she not know? Had she been neglecting the drakling?

A footman appeared at the mouth of the tunnels, waiting, at attention, to be recognized.

How long would she keep him waiting? Usually a count of ten was enough to establish Rosings’ disdain.

No wonder he seemed so uncomfortable. What a very strange way to announce them. … Wait, what? The Cotillion Board?

Anne’s face lost a little color as she slipped her chair back a mite and stood.

Rosings pulled herself up to her full height and glowered. Five ladies stepped out of the tunnel and stared back stupidly.

“Perhaps you are unaware of how to properly greet a Cowntess. Lady Elizabeth, Lady Wentworth, might you be so good as to demonstrate the proper etiquette?” Rosings grumbled with disdain.

Elizabeth bit her tongue, hard, and sidled between the table and Chudleigh to join the warm-blooded she-dragons—no, she should not think of them thus! Anne followed.

They stepped together in front of the … others …, gathered their skirts and curtsied, knee to floor, bowing their heads until they almost touched the other knee.

Rosings stepped closer and sniffed them both and touched the backs of their necks with her tongue. “Welcome, Lady Sage, Lady Wentworth.” She looked expectantly at the she-dragons.

The well-dressed and bejeweled Lady Jersey’s and Lady Cowper’s eyes bulged, and they blanched. Though they attempted to curtsey, they offered a curtsey to the king, not to dragon ranks. The differences were subtle, but significant. Did they ever greet their Dragon Mates?

Baroness Dunbrook, with her halo of nearly white curls, and Viscountess Torrington, with her glasses perched on the end of her nose, magnifying her expression of distaste, followed suit, slightly more practiced but not happier to be recognizing Rosings’ dominance.

“Pray forgive me, Cowntess,” the rather porcine Dowager Viscountess Dalrymple curtsied halfway down. “My knees no longer permit—”

“Yes, she can. It will not do to insult her. We will help you up.” Anne gently took Lady Dalrymple’s elbow.

Grimacing and grunting, she dropped her knee to the ground and bowed her head sufficiently for Rosings.

With both Anne and Elizabeth lifting under her arms, the dowager made it back to her feet, barely.

Elizabeth and Anne curtsied knees to floor and covered their heads with their arms. Best not wait to be asked to demonstrate. Rosings was in quite a temper.

“I cannot do that! I will not.” Lady Dalrymple sputtered and stomped back down the tunnel, past the footman, who seemed to be holding his breath, given the color of his face.

“That wassss very rude.” Chudleigh hissed, fangs bared. Amphithere fangs, while rarely seen, were most impressive.

The other four mimicked Elizabeth’s greeting, missing all the subtlety in the gesture. But they tried.

Chudleigh tapped the back of each lady’s neck with the tip of her tail. “You may rise. I will, today, recognize you. Do not appear before me again if you cannot properly perform a ssssimple greeting.”

Pemberley seemed to glance at Rosings for permission. After a brief nod, she waddled toward the four ladies. “You come tea now. Sit, sit.”

“It is an honor to be invited to the Vicontes’ first social engagement.” Anne curtsied to Pemberley and headed for the table. Hopefully the she-dragons were intelligent enough to follow her lead.

“Of course. You are doing splendidly. Barwines Chudleigh will be very proud of you.” She laid her hand on Pemberley’s shoulder as they took their places at the table.

“You like tea?” Pemberley stood up on her hind legs and grasped the teapot with her forepaws.

Pemberley poured the first cup of tea from a rather larger than average teapot, sloshing only a little. “You take?”

Elizabeth took the cup and walked it to Lady Jersey, who looked as though she might refuse it altogether.

It was probably a good thing that the dragon tea-tankards arrived already filled. How large a teapot would be required otherwise?

After the ladies were served, Pemberley took her own draconic cup and sipped with a slight slurp.

Rosings lifted her own cup, taking a deep draw of her pungent tea—it smelt much like the blend Castordale preferred—without slurping.

Rosings placed her tea-tankard on the table and lifted her head above Chudleigh’s. “The Barwines and I are pleased to announce that Pemberley is sufficiently prepared and will be presented at the Cotillion next month.”

What? That was not what had been decided. Rosings would not do this capriciously, though. There must be good reason.

Lady Jersey choked on her tea, while Lady Cowper nearly dropped her cup. But—was it possible?—Lady Torrington smirked?

Elizabeth patted Pemberley’s back between her wings. “I am so proud of you, Pemberley! I know you will do splendidly at your presentation. The rest of the Order will be happy to officially make your acquaintance.”

“Pray … pray excuse me, Cowntess, but did I hear you correctly? Pemb…Vicontes Pemberley is to be presented? We have not—that is to say, she is not among the presentations we have planned for.” Lady Jersey looked around at the other board members, perhaps looking for support.

“But … but … we have been planning for months, we cannot possibly add another—”

“Nonsense!” Rosings stomped hard enough to rattle the table. “You seem to perceive this as a request. It was not. Pemberley, my offspring, will be presented at the Cotillion.”

“And I want presented with her sisters.” Pemberley wound her neck around Elizabeth’s waist.

“That should not be sssso difficult, should it?” Chudleigh slithered toward the she-dragons.

“That will not be possible.” Was Lady Cowper usually that pale? “They are not … that is, those the Sage is sponsoring have not demonstrated themselves prepared to be presented.”

“That is not what Vicontessss Torrington told me.” Chudleigh brought her wings forward across her chest. “You must be mistaken.”

Lady Torrington pressed her lips hard and turned her face aside—trying not to laugh?

“Do not look at me that way. Torrington does as she will. She decided it would be amusing to test their preparation for herself when she heard of your decisions—”

“To what decision is she referring?” Rosings spread her wings slightly, her voice booming off the walls.

“Presentation to the major dragons is no small thing. We do not want any young lady to risk embarrassment …” Lady Jersey tried so hard to appear composed.

Did Rosings just roll her eyes? “Torrington has declared that is not an issue. Am I to understand that there was some … confusion … as to the Sage’s sisters and Lady Wentworth’s presentation? Surely they are among the most important debutantes to be presented this year.”

“Yes, yes, of course, Cowntess.” Lady Cowper bobbed her head so hard it might have fallen off.

“I have request, too. I want her to dance at the ball.” Pemberley looked up at Elizabeth.

“A minuet? You will dance minuet?” Pemberley’s eyes twinkled. Was this part of Rosings’ plans?

“It is a special dance. Important dance. Barwines Chudleigh say most important lady opens the ball with minuet. You open ball.”

“Pemberley is right. It would only be appropriate to celebrate your return by having you and Ssssir Fitzwilliam open the ball with your minuet,” Chudleigh declared.

Elizabeth gasped and blinked back the burning in her eyes. How did Pemberley know—no, it was Chudleigh. She remembered Elizabeth’s only Cotillion. Few knew or remembered she had not even been permitted a minuet. “No, there is no need for that. It would be far too disruptive to the Board’s plans.”

“Yes, yes,” Lady Jersey stammered. “Pray listen to Lady Elizabeth. The order for the minuet has already been established.”

Elizabeth winced. Had she any understanding of the challenge she just offered a far bigger dragon?

“Perhaps we can rearrange the schedule.” Lady Dunbrook looked expectantly from Lady Jersey to Lady Cowper and back again, a pleading note in her voice.

“Yes, it is. As needful as Pemberley’s presentation.” Rosings’ tone was more warning than anything else.

This was not about the Cotillion at all, but about making a statement; a statement about Pemberley, about herself, the Sage, about the state of the Dragon State. Only her exhaustion could explain how she missed such a thing! “Of course, the Cowntess and Barwines are correct. I should be honored to dance—”

“Of course with Keeper.” Elizabeth stroked Pemberley’s head as she beamed.

Had the she-dragons ever seen a dragon smile before? Pemberley had the most amazing, genuine smile.

“Very good, very good.” Rosings folded her wings across her back. “I look forward, then, to a most memorable Cotillion.”

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Six-time BRAG Medallion Honoree, #1 Best-selling Historical Fantasy author Maria Grace has her PhD in Educational Psychology and is a 16-year veteran of the university classroom where she taught courses in human growth and development, learning, test development and counseling. None of which have anything to do with her undergraduate studies in economics/sociology/managerial studies/behavior sciences. She pretends to be a mild-mannered writer/cat-lady, but most of her vacations require helmets and waivers or historical costumes, usually not at the same time.

She writes gaslamp fantasy, historical romance and non-fiction to help justify her research addiction.

So many people have helped me along the journey taking this from an idea to a reality.

Debbie, Diana, Ruth, you guys are amazing in everything you do! Linda, Catherine, Patricia, Maureen, your eagle eyes are incredible!

My dear friend Cathy, my biggest cheerleader, you have kept me from chickening out more than once!

And my sweet sister Gerri who believed in even those first attempts that now live in the file drawer!

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