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Matlock Townhouse, London
The makeshift Healer’s Hall that had been set up at Matlock House in London was incongruously situated in the ballroom. Ten mages and two members of the household staff occupied it, most of them with burns or wounds from the falling debris that hit Founder’s Hall.
Bingley was here as well. Darcy had arranged for him to be transported here first, along with the two other Warders who had been injured. Fortunately, Miss Bingley had been mistaken, but she had not been wrong about Bingley’s magic. There was no trace of it at all and the two other Warders were suffering from the same problem.
Darcy had gone over the House Wards several times, making sure they were airtight. There were mages on duty around the clock, watching for any sign of trouble. Almost everyone had been moved out of Founder’s Hall. The French had not attacked again that day, but it was almost certain they would be back. The Royal Mages had taken up residence at various homes across London. It was a temporary measure until the Council decided on their next move.
Darcy tried to spend as much time as he could with Bingley, but that did not amount to much. Most of the day Darcy had other duties in Town. Wards around Whitehall and the Parliament had to be reinforced as usual, and there was a huge demand for Wards among the higher-born members of Society. Word had spread of the attack, and people were understandably nervous about staying in Town. With many of the other mages busy with repairs at Founder’s Hall, much of the burden of shoring the Wards up fell on Darcy’s shoulders.
At least when he worked on private homes, it enriched the coffers of the Royal Mages. It was his only consolation as he wore himself thin.
Darcy jerked up as he caught himself swaying on his chair. He forced himself to wake up, battling exhaustion. There was no point in sitting at Bingley’s side if he was going to be asleep. He had no idea whether Bingley was even aware of him. There was no sign that he was, but Darcy hoped that somewhere deep inside, Bingley derived some comfort from it.
He wished he could do the same for the other two mages, but they were placed at the other end of the room. Mr. and Miss Walton were brother and sister, and concerns over propriety meant that Darcy could not spend time in close proximity to the lady. It was just as well. He knew Walton well, since it was Darcy who had suggested him for Elizabeth’s team, but Miss Walton had just completed her training at the Academy and had joined the Royal Mages when Darcy was away. It was sheer bad luck that she was training with her brother and Bingley when Elizabeth had linked with them.
Darcy had reacted joyfully to Lady Hazelmere’s initial announcement that Mr. Bingley was still alive. Since then, he was no longer quite as sanguine. The Healers had set up several Healing Circles for the three Warders, but in the three days since they were injured, they had not responded at all.
There was something particularly poignant about having Bingley immobile in a ballroom. Bingley loved dancing, and the glittering crystal chandelier above him seemed to mock his inertness. Darcy promised himself that if Bingley recovered, he would arrange to have the largest ball the Royal Mages had seen for many years. He would spare no expense if it meant having Bingley on his feet and healthy again.
It was a promise rooted in guilt. If he had not gone off in a fit of pique at the Council’s treatment of Elizabeth, he would have been at Founder’s Hall when it was attacked, and Bingley would not be lying here now.
It was a particularly bitter way to learn the lesson that he could not afford to let his emotions rule his actions.
***
ELIZABETH FOUND DARCY sitting on a chair next to Bingley’s bedside at the Healer’s Hall, his elbows on his knees, his head cradled in his hands. His bleak expression twisted her heart. She had known Mr. Bingley only for a short time – a mere few weeks, really—but he was such a cheerful, buoyant person, and he had been the first to make her feel welcome when she first arrived. It would be tragic if he did not survive.
The ballroom was dark, with only a handful of candlesticks lighting up the large space. The grand chandelier in the middle was unlit. The room was silent and empty, the mirrors on the walls full of shadows.
She walked over to Darcy, her footsteps echoing despite her efforts to weave her way quietly through the neat rows of beds.
Darcy gave her a pale smile as she reached him.
“Why is there no one on duty?”
“I told the Healers I would keep watch and let them know if any of the patients needed them. They have gone to find some food.”
Elizabeth bent over and wrapped her arms around Darcy, doing her best to let him know he was not alone. He sighed and leaned back into the embrace, but his gaze was fixed on Bingley.
“They are saying he may never recover.”
She heard the fear and grief in the words.
“I refuse to believe it. It is too early to reach that conclusion. Perhaps he has simply gone into hiding like I did. Hard to imagine I was like him not so very long ago. Look at me now.”
He brought her right hand to his lips.
“And I am unbelievably thankful for that.”
The memory of Darcy casting a strange singsong spell on her floated into her mind. He had helped her emerge from the cocoon she had woven around herself. They had not yet talked about it, so she did not know if that memory was real, or a part of a dream. One day, she would ask him.
“Well, if I could do it, so could he.”
Darcy let her hand drop.
“That is what I hoped at the beginning, but the Healers say the situations are very different. In your case, they knew what the problem was. You had overused your magic, and you were too exhausted to remove the defenses you had set up. You set up your Wards too well, and they were unable to break through them. Bingley’s case is different. They cannot even tell if he is there. There is a sense of blankness to him they have never encountered before. They are perplexed.”
“It is still possible that he is hidden very deeply.”
“It is possible, I suppose.”
Darcy’s tone was flat. He did not believe her.
“How can the Healers determine his fate when it has only been three days? It is preposterous. I think they should consult with other Healers outside the Academy.”
She did not mention Rogue Healers. She was only too aware of the knife’s edge she was treading, particularly when there were some who thought of her as a Rogue mage.
“That is precisely their next course of action.” Darcy sighed. “Though only indirectly. The Waltons will be taken away tomorrow by their family. Who will, naturally, do everything they can to find a Healer who knows something about their affliction. If they succeed, they will bring that Healer here to help Bingley.”
“There is hope, then.”
“I suppose so. But we are running out of time. He is unable to eat or drink.”
It was clear she was not going to change Darcy’s view of the matter.
“It is my fault,” said Darcy. “I should never have left.”
“If you had stayed,” she replied, “you may not have been alive now. You would not have come to fetch me, and we would not have arrived in time to stop the fireball.”
This time, she knew her words had struck home, because Darcy looked startled. She did not need to explain further. He did not know how to link minds as she did. Without a Janus Mage to support him, it was unlikely he could have withstood the fireball attack.
Especially since they had not even known it was coming.
***
THE NEXT MORNING, THERE was a scratch at the door of Elizabeth’s bedchamber, and to her delight, her lady’s maid Emily appeared in the doorway.
Elizabeth beamed. She put out her hand to Emily, who took it and curtseyed.
“You are a sight for sore eyes. I am so glad they sent you to me.”
“If you will pardon me, it was not quite like that, Mrs. Darcy. I asked for it. As strongly as I could. They could not think of an objection, so they sent me here. It is a pleasure to be back with you, ma’am.”
“Well, then. I am very fortunate to have you.”
Elizabeth had always liked Emily’s lively, chatty manner. She reminded her of her sisters.
Apart from Emily, Elizabeth did not have a chance to see anyone in the next couple of days. All the mages—with the exception of the Healers—were too busy outside the house to keep regular hours, and cold meats, tarts and pies were the order of the day. She hardly saw Darcy. They slept in adjoining rooms, but he returned after midnight, too exhausted to do anything but sleep.
So far, Elizabeth was excluded from the frenetic activity. They had not yet assigned her any mage-related tasks. It irked her that the others were out every day while she stayed at home, but she did not bring up the issue. The reality was, dispersing that fireball over Founder’s Hall had drained her of energy. She had not fainted or become ill, but she had not fully recovered her powers yet. She suspected that Darcy had arranged for her to take some time to recover.
It was kind of him to think of her, but Elizabeth was still determined to be useful. The obvious place was in the library, sorting out the books Lord Matlock had brought from the Hall. They had been hastily tossed into a cart and were all jumbled up. For two days, she worked on classifying them again. She had no idea where they would be sent next, so she sorted them into small piles and tied groups of connected books together with string, ready to be transported again. Then she set them on the floor with the spines facing outward in case someone needed to consult them.
Once she was finished, the next logical step was to make herself useful in the Healer’s Hall. As she stood outside, the Healer’s Circle called to her. She could sense the threads of magic as they joined together. The ritual soothed her, and she found herself longing to practice magic again, albeit on a lighter scale. She did not think herself ready for anything complex yet.
As she entered, she braced herself to face the sight of Mr. Bingley in his strange slumber. Several of the Healers were in a healing circle around his bed, and Miss Bingley was sitting on a chair next to him.
Elizabeth nodded at Miss Bingley, then joined the circle as unobtrusively as possible, doing her best not to disturb the others. Very carefully, she reached out with the threads of her magic to link with theirs.
The Circle disbanded instantly, cutting her off so suddenly she found herself gasping for air.
Elizabeth blinked in confusion as all the Healers turned to look at her. One of her friends, Mr. Westwood, took a step towards her.
She smiled at him warmly. He was one of her favorite Healers, and he had always supported her.
“Please accept my apology. I did not mean to interrupt the Circle.”
“Mrs. Darcy, you have not asked for permission to join us.”
Elizabeth rocked back in shock. There must be some mistake. Surely she had not heard him right? She had formed Healing Circles with these same Healers numerous times, and they had always been welcoming. They had been her sanctuary when no one else had faith in her.
What was going on? She looked to the other mages for a sign that he was the only one objecting to her presence. She noticed that, while they had been staring at her before, they were now studiously avoiding her gaze.
Was he speaking for all of them, then?
Only one person was willing to meet her gaze. Caroline Bingley. She stood up and came over to stand directly in front of her.
“Are you not yet satisfied with the damage you have done already? Have you come here to make more? Do you see what you have done to my brother?” Her voice hissed with anger. “Stay away from him, do you hear?”
Elizabeth’s blood ran cold. She stood in place, frozen. She wanted to confront them, to tell them about the fireball, but she was too much in shock to know what to say. For the first time in her life, she was struck speechless.
Lady Hazelmere took her by the elbow and guided her firmly toward the door.
“I think it would be better not to join us in the Healing Circle at this point, Mrs. Darcy.”
Her words were spoken kindly, but there was no mistaking the iron in her voice.
“But why? Can you at least tell me what I have done?”
“The Healers are nervous. There are so many rumors about Bingley and the Waltons and how they were injured. Some say you tried to steal their magic. Others say that you tore into the Warders’ magic and destroyed their minds in the process. They call it the Warders’ affliction.”
Elizabeth stomach churned. How could people believe such a thing?
“And you?” She looked Lady Hazelmere in the eye coldly. “You know as well as I do what happened with Lady Alice. Do you honestly believe that I would do such a thing? You know me. I have trained with you. Have you ever felt threatened by me?”
Lady Hazelmere sighed. “I do not know what to believe. I have always liked you, Mrs. Darcy. You are a very Talented magician. But the risk is too great. There are so few of us left. I would rather not expose my Healers to danger, not until we have discovered the root of the Warders’ affliction. I am truly sorry, Mrs. Darcy. I hope you will not hold it against me.”
A strong feeling of despondency swept through Elizabeth. She began to turn away angrily, but she did not want to burn all her bridges. At least Lady Hazelmere was being kind.
“Very well then. Let me know when you discover anything new about Bingley’s condition.”
“You will be one of the first to know.” Lady Hazelmere put her hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I am sorry it had to be this way. I very much hope things will turn out differently.”
Elizabeth nodded and made her way to the door with as much dignity as she could muster. The door squealed open, echoing through the silent room. Trying to be as quiet as she could in order not to disturb anyone who was sleeping, she shut the door behind her and leaned against it. She stood in that position for some time, battling a mixture of despair and anger.
She was at a complete loss. She had saved the Hall for the second time, yet here she was, accused once more of doing more harm than good. She had stopped the fireball, but at what price? Unfortunately, no one inside the Hall had witnessed the attack. No one had seen the fireball and understood the menace it represented.
But what if they were right this time? In the urgency of the situation, she had not considered the three mages’ safety. She had done what needed to be done in a moment of extreme peril for everyone.
The ripping sensation she had felt before she had lost her connection to the Warders went through her mind. Had she somehow damaged them then? Everything had happened so fast. She could not be certain of anything. She had been too intent on stopping the attack to pay attention to Bingley and the others.
She knew it was wrong to draw on someone’s magic without asking. Had she been guilty of that? She had taken it for granted that they had given their permission on earlier occasions. She had trained with them and then fought with them as a team.
Perhaps it was not so much about the right or wrong of linking to them. It was more about timing. She did not have a chance to warn them, and they were unprepared. She had simply seized what she needed and used it.
She closed her eyes and went over that ripping sensation, again and again. Was that when the damage occurred? Had she somehow wrecked their minds when she stopped the fireball? She was dismayed.
There were no final answers. But now, at least, she knew why no one had asked her to repair any Wards. She had assumed Darcy planned it that way. Now the reason was clear. It was because they believed her magic was destructive.
Could there be any truth to it? Had she inadvertently destroyed the three Warders? If that was the case, she would never forgive herself.
***
THAT NIGHT, ELIZABETH waited for Darcy to return to the adjoining room where he slept. She was determined to speak to him, no matter how late the hour. She needed to find out if the Healers were the only ones who suspected her, or if it was common knowledge. She was distraught and dazed by the unexpected animosity.
It was long past midnight when she finally heard soft footsteps against the carpet in the hallway. The door wheezed open, and she could sense Darcy’s familiar magic as he moved around.
The door between the two rooms was unlocked. She had checked it earlier. She slipped out of bed, wrapped herself with a woolen shawl, and walked over to the door. The fire was already out, and, despite the carpet, the cold seeped into her feet and up her legs under the long nightgown. She knocked softly. There was no reason she should not open the door, but Darcy was entitled to his privacy, and she did not want to intrude.
“Come in.”
Darcy was standing in the middle of the bedchamber, his cravat thrown onto the floor, his white shirt open. Elizabeth immediately forgot everything she wanted to say and walked over to him.
He regarded her warily as she approached.
“Elizabeth.”
He might as well have told her to stop, judging by the tone of his voice.
“Darcy.” She smiled. He was scowling in the most forbidding manner. Still, she could not help advancing towards him. She wanted to touch him. She needed his touch. She wanted him to assure her that all would be well.
She slid her hand under his shirt to the warm skin on his chest. His heart was beating against her fingers. It was beating fast, echoing her own.
Yet he remained unyielding, the stance of his body telling her she was unwelcome.
“I am feeling cold, Darcy. May I come under the sheets with you and get warm?”
He breathed in deeply, a shuddering breath that did not tell her anything.
“I am weary, Elizabeth. I have been working magic all day, and my energy is depleted.”
“Just for a few minutes. I just want to feel your arms around me.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. It hurt even to imagine him turning her away. She could not take more rejection.
He must have seen her distress, because his gaze softened. He reached out and touched the corner of her eye with infinite gentleness.
“Come,” he said. “You can lie in my bed, and you can tell me what is troubling you.”