Chapter Nine

Caught between dismay and relief, Darcy considered whether the spell was at fault or if he simply did not possess the necessary skill. He could sense the portal draining his energy; that part of the spell functioned as it should.

He shouted again, “I summon you by name! Yucanthas the kobold: appear!”

After a moment, the fire’s smoke took on a greenish hue, slowly coalescing into a humanoid shape. First a face, then a neck and shoulders, and finally a torso with arms and legs. A kobold goblin emerged from the flames, seemingly unscathed, and walked unerringly toward Darcy.

***

The kobold was small, about the size of a seven-year-old human. Its skin was brown and rough with a pebbly texture; a whitish tunic covered its torso. Elizabeth blinked. It was the first time she had ever observed a goblin wearing clothing. Was that a sign that it was more civilized than others?

Nearly glowing with rage, the goblin stalked toward Mr. Darcy with murderous intent. The mage stood his ground as the kobold thudded into the barrier of Elizabeth’s containment spell—where it hissed in frustration as it glared at them.

She could only pray that her spell would hold. The kobold was small in stature, but it possessed a mouthful of wickedly sharp teeth, and its eyes glowed an eerie greenish yellow. The naked hatred in its countenance suggested it would kill them if it could.

“Are you Yucanthas? Do you understand my words?” Mr.Darcy asked. If the goblin could not speak English, then this would all be for naught.

The creature let loose an unearthly screech, startling Elizabeth into stumbling back several steps. Mr. Darcy flinched but did not move. The creature growled and shouted in a guttural tongue, waving its arms so that claws sliced through the air and scraped along the edge of the bespelled barrier.

Mr. Darcy sought Elizabeth’s eyes. “Did I summon the wrong goblin?”

She considered the creature. Of course it was enraged at being peremptorily summoned; surely it only wanted to go back home. “We will not return you through the portal until you have spoken with us,” she told the creature firmly.

The kobold froze, and Elizabeth smiled. It did understand her.

“What does the human want?” it spat. “Will not be your slave.”

Elizabeth recoiled at the suggestion. “We have no intention of enslaving you! We merely desire you to answer a few questions. Then we will return you to your world.”

The kobold snarled. “Humans lie!”

“We are not lying,” Mr. Darcy said, sounding very calm and authoritative. “In any case, you have nothing to lose by answering our questions.”

“Send me home!” the goblin demanded, saying the word “home” with such longing that Elizabeth experienced a flicker of sympathy. The goblin world was described as a place of rock and flame, but perhaps it could be a home for the right creature.

Mr. Darcy shook his head. “Not until you answer our questions.”

The kobold banged against the sides of the containment spell, uttering sounds that she guessed were curses as it explored every inch of the dome for a weakness to provide an escape. Elizabeth held her breath, fearing it would find some flaw she had overlooked. Finally, its shoulders slumped. “What would humans learn?” it hissed.

“Goblins have been coming to our world and attacking humans. Yet no mage is summoning them,” Mr. Darcy said slowly, as if speaking to a native French or German speaker. “Why?”

The goblin bared its teeth and growled. “Humans kill us!”

Elizabeth’s eyes flickered toward the ashes in the summoning circle. “We only recently discovered these ashes. We want to stop the mage responsible. Who has been killing goblins?”

Yucanthas lowered its head, eyeing the ash-covered grass sorrowfully. “Young ones. Young goblins.”

Elizabeth inhaled sharply. “Children?” Those are the ashes of children? Goblins have children? “A mage has been summoning and killing goblin children?” she asked him slowly.

“Yesss…” The goblin drew the word out mournfully. “The human knows.” Elizabeth wondered if it had been personally acquainted with any of the dead goblin children.

Mr. Darcy’s countenance had paled considerably. “This human has committed a crime,” he said very deliberately. “We would catch and punish this human. Do you understand?”

Yucanthas stared, either uncomprehending or disbelieving.

“Why kill goblin children?” Elizabeth pressed. Summoning even one goblin required great effort and power. Mr. Darcy was already tiring, and the goblin had only appeared a few minutes ago. Why go to the trouble of summoning them only to kill them?

“Young goblins possess greater….essence,” the kobold said. Elizabeth exchanged a look with Mr. Darcy, but he appeared mystified as well. “Essence!” the goblin insisted. “Essence is everything.” Noting their blank stares, the goblin waved its hand in the air. “Essence!”

Oh! “Ether?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yesss.”

“Goblins are made of ether,” Mr. Darcy said in a choked voice. “When one is killed, the ether dissipates into the air. But if a mage could somehow harness it….”

Elizabeth suddenly understood—and wished she did not.

“Yessss…” hissed the kobold. “Goblin children possess greater essence.”

“All these deaths are just so some mage can gain power,” Mr. Darcy said bitterly.

Yucanthas twitched, a whole body shudder. “Release! Release Yucanthas! This world hurts!”

“Which mage has been doing this terrible thing?” Mr. Darcy demanded.

“Yucanthas return home!” it wailed as its arms and legs spasmed.

“Who is responsible?”

“A human!” the kobold cried.

“How do you know who it is?” Elizabeth pressed, without much hope of success. Names would mean little to the goblins. No doubt they tracked the miscreant with some goblinish magic of their own.

“A human!” Yucanthas repeated, writhing in pain. “And the father before him. And his father before him. Father’s brother. Father’s son.”

Its words were nonsensical. Elizabeth whirled toward Mr. Darcy. “Send it back!”

“But we have no names—”

“It has told us all it can. Send it back.”

The goblin was growing increasingly incoherent, screaming in pain.

Mr. Darcy winced, not unaffected by the creature’s suffering. He uttered a quick incantation, activating the portal again and once more prayed that Wyndham’s spell would work. The portal flared to life and immediately seemed to exert a pull on the goblin—not unlike a magnet and iron filings. One minute the kobold was writhing in pain, the next it was sucked into the portal’s maw and disappeared. A moment later the portal itself vanished with a loud pop; the flames died down to embers.

Elizabeth went weak-kneed with relief. They had managed to avoid releasing a goblin into the world. With a flick of her wrist and a few muttered words, she made the containment spell disappear. The bespelled dome seemed to take all of her energy with it. As her limbs grew heavy, she staggered to sit on the nearest boulder. A few feet away, Mr. Darcy was leaning against a different boulder, his face gray with exhaustion.

After a long moment, Elizabeth said, “The goblins want to stop a mage who is summoning and killing goblin children….all for the sake of a little more power.” Disgust laced through her tone.

Incapable of remaining upright, Mr. Darcy lowered himself to the grass beside the boulder. “Small wonder the goblins are so desperate to find him.”

“Can we trust that Yucanthas told us the truth?” she asked.

Darcy rubbed the back of his neck wearily. “I wondered that as well. But his words explain everything we have observed, including those ashes.” He gestured toward the summoning circle. “I would be hard-pressed to find another explanation. Nor can I conceive of a reason the goblin might lie.”

Elizabeth’s queasiness had nothing to do with her exhaustion. “I never thought I would feel sorry for goblins, but…children!”

“I cannot summon the words to express how despicable that is.” Mr. Darcy’s shiver had nothing to do with the cold.

“Why would someone require such a large quantity of ether?” Elizabeth asked. “How would they use all that power?”

He shook his head slowly. “I cannot imagine….It must power a major spell. Only a few spells would require so much energy….and many of those are illegal.”

“So we may add that to our list of worries,” Elizabeth said tartly.

Mr. Darcy chuckled weakly. “We can accomplish nothing more tonight. We should return to Longbourn before we are missed.” The glow of the witch light showed his face etched with lines of exhaustion.

“I believe I am recovered enough to walk.” She stood, swaying only slightly on her feet. These were definitely the symptoms of magical depletion but fortunately not a severe case.

Mr. Darcy slowly clambered to his feet and walked rather stiffly into the circle, ensuring that the fire was truly extinguished. If anything, his magical depletion seemed worse than hers. That did not stop him from keeping a hand hovering near her elbow as they descended toward the road.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes but did not object. “What did Yucanthas mean about his father and his father before him?”

Mr. Darcy was silent for a minute. “I think he was suggesting that this mage’s father and grandfather were also known to the goblins. He mentioned the father’s brother. Perhaps there was an uncle as well?” Elizabeth gaped at him while the implications sank in. “I suspect we are searching for a family of mages who can open portals with unusual ease and who have developed a spell that allows them to drain ether from goblins.”

“Without the mage’s name, how can we hope to identify the miscreant?” Had they come all this way only to reach a dead end? “I fear that we have only exchanged one mystery for another.”

Mr. Darcy appeared deep in thought. “A family of mages who can open portals with ease and appear to have great power…..One would think there would be a record of such a family.”

“Surely they have been concealing the ability?”

“No doubt, but perhaps there have been stories, rumors, unexplained phenomena. I find it difficult to believe they have hidden the truth completely.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I do not remember reading of any such thing in my recent research.”

“Nor I. However, there might be something at my aunt’s estate of Rosings Park. Her late husband, Lewis de Bourgh, kept extensive records about every magical family. He was particularly interested in how magical traits might be inherited from father to son.” He sighed heavily. “I owe my aunt a visit anyway.”

Elizabeth was obscurely saddened that he would be leaving Hertfordshire. But surely it is for the best, she told herself. Continued proximity could lead to another incident like the one at the Netherfield ball. “How long will it take you to examine those records?”

“It could be weeks. The library is extensive and not well organized.”

“Perhaps Mr. Bingley could assist you? Or your aunt?”

He grimaced. “I would prefer not to involve anyone else in the research at this moment. If the mage we seek learns that we are searching magical genealogies, he might suspect something and take action.”

“Indeed.”

He stopped and turned to her. “But perhaps you can accompany me and help!”

“I beg your pardon?” Elizabeth gasped. What kind of game was he playing?

He rubbed his forehead tiredly. “I apologize. I did not mean for that to sound— but, will you do me the honor of accompanying me to Rosings? Then we might reduce the amount of time required for the research.”

She sighed impatiently. “What excuse could we possibly give for haring off to Kent together?”

Only now did he appear to consider the impropriety of what he suggested. “We would need a plausible reason for you to accompany me…” he mused. They had reached the bottom of the hill, turning on the road to trudge back toward Longbourn. “Mr. Collins has already expressed an interest in having you visit Rosings Park,” he said slowly. “I could suggest to Mr. Collins that my aunt should evaluate you as a potential wife—and offer him the use of my carriage.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “I do not wish to raise my cousin’s hopes. I would never consent to marry him.”

“You need have no concerns on that score. There is no way my aunt will approve of you.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him.

“I mean that as the sincerest compliment,” Darcy hastened to add. “My aunt disapproves of nearly anyone who offers her an opinion contrary to her own.”

“Well, I am quite capable of being contrary.”

Mr. Darcy’s lips twitched. “I am certain you will have no difficulty offending her.”

“If a trip to Kent convinces Mr. Collins that I am not the right wife for him, then you will be doing me a great service. An excellent scheme, Mr. Darcy.” Her voice sounded tired and hoarse even to her own ears. They trudged along the road in silence for a while. Cold nipped at her fingers and the tip of her nose. “The goblin spoke of their realm as a real place—quite different from ours but still a home with families and children,” she said finally.

“Yes.”

“Now I am even more troubled that portals rip goblins from their lives, bringing them into this alien place.”

“The Convocation already tries to stop goblin summonings,” Darcy said. “But it cannot stop random goblin appearances. They are panicked and strike out at every human they encounter.”

“What if there were a way to return them to their world without killing them?”

“That is a fine thought, but opening a portal is not an easy process. It would be nearly impossible to do so in the middle of a goblin attack.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips, considering this. “Perhaps I might find something of use in your aunt’s library.”

“That is…an excellent idea,” Darcy said.

Was that a compliment? Elizabeth was too tired to puzzle it out. They spoke little more and soon reached Longbourn.

***

Darcy readied himself for bed. He was exhausted after that evening’s activities and disturbed by the goblin’s revelations. Tomorrow would be another draining day as he arranged a hasty trip to Kent.

And yet he could not sleep.

But what kept him awake was Elizabeth.

His interest in her was verging on the obsessive. He should keep his distance. Yes, they were attempting to solve the mystery of the goblin attacks together, but if Darcy was truthful with himself (as was his habit), he could muddle through on his own at Rosings. Yet practically the first thing he had done upon suggesting the scheme had been to invite Elizabeth—for the simple reason that he was not ready to be parted from her.

I am a fool. The more time they spent together, the more accustomed he would grow to her presence, and the more difficult it would be when they inevitably separated. Still, he could not help but delay the pain and revel in the joy that Elizabeth gave him.

Being in love with Elizabeth was simultaneously the best and the worst sensation in the world. Discourse with her was effortless; even when they were disagreeing, he understood her as he had never understood anyone else. At times the sheer pleasure of her company made him giddy; he had restrained himself from babbling to Bingley about her many perfections. But at the same time, he was tortured by the knowledge that she could never be his. Still, he was happy that he had met her.

She is who I have been waiting for all my life—without knowing it.

The irony was blinding.

Only recently had he realized how grievously he and the rest of the panel had erred in refusing her petition for the Academy. She might be the most powerful and talented mage I have ever encountered. Her spell crafter abilities alone would have made her famous in the Convocation, eventually eclipsing any lingering stigma over a female mage. And fame could have obscured her family’s low connections. Then Darcy might have made an offer for her hand with little social consequence. And he would never have agreed to marry Caroline.

If he had insisted that the panel test her abilities to consider her application…he would not now be trapped by the promises enshrined in the betrothal contract.

He had no choice other than to keep his word. Jilting a well-connected fiancée would make him a social pariah and would hurt Georgiana’s chances of making a good match. And yet when he saw his future spooling out before him—with Caroline by his side and Elizabeth gone from his life—he was faintly nauseous.

How long before Caroline started treating Darcy the way she treated her brother? For all her defiance of Convocation tradition, Elizabeth treated everyone with respect— even her wayward younger sisters.

Eventually he and Caroline might live apart as many couples did—with Caroline ensconced in a London townhouse and Darcy occupying Pemberley. But initially…well, there was the begetting of an heir to consider. He would need to bring Caroline to his bed frequently enough that Pemberley would possess an heir and a spare.

Would Caroline expect him to pretend a passion for her that he did not experience? He hoped she would be content with the Darcy fortune and without any crumbs of affection from Darcy’s plate, but if she longed for more, his life could be miserable. How did I come to this pass? Promising marriage to Caroline had presented itself as the logical choice. Although, truthfully, Darcy had given it little consideration. His father had been dying, and it made his father happy.

Giving up on sleep, Darcy swept out of bed and stalked toward the window. He drew back the heavy curtains and stared out at Longbourn’s gardens, illuminated by a bare hint of moonlight. Rationally, marrying Caroline was the best choice. Yet Darcy had never felt less like behaving rationally.

Poets would say the heart did not listen to reason—which Darcy had always considered a metaphor. He was not pleased to discover how wrong he was. Everything about his position in life argued against forming an attachment to Elizabeth, and yet that was nothing compared to the clamoring of his heart.

How will I survive the rest of my life without Elizabeth in it?

He sat on the bed and watched the sun rise, but no answers occurred to him.