Chapter Thirteen

Elizabeth’s jaw dropped open. “He is using spells to influence the way people think about him?”

Darcy imagined the implications, each one more horrifying than the next. “Even a single suasion spell demands a great deal of energy. Winning the election would mean influencing dozens of mages. It would require enormous reserves of energy, but the deaths of multiple goblin children might supply that.”

Elizabeth pressed her hand to her mouth. “He killed goblin children so he can steal votes? That is…monstrous.”

“Customarily with suasion, you only nudge a person’s thoughts and sentiments in a particular direction. They retain free will and remain unaware that their mind has been tampered with.”

“Still, the implications…”

Darcy nodded grimly. “It is a heinous act that could provoke war or ruin countries in the wrong hands. All versions of the suasion spell were supposedly destroyed when the Convocation outlawed it, but some copies probably remain.”

“How can such a man be stopped?”

Darcy doubted the man’s ambitions were limited to becoming the archmage. He probably wanted to use the power and authority of the office for other purposes. Whatever those plans were, they were unlikely to be in the best interests of the country. A few minutes ago, Darcy had longed for the trip to last forever; now he wished the dragon could fly faster. The damage Hurst could do with a suasion spell…

“However much power the man has, it is not unlimited,” she said gently. “He cannot control everyone or everything. We can enlist the aid of others to help stop him.” Darcy must have appeared stricken indeed if she felt the need to comfort him.

“The Convocation can stop him,” Darcy said. “I have no doubt of that. But we will need incontrovertible evidence. Otherwise it will appear that we are only trying to help my uncle’s cause.”

“Is anyone else vying for the position?” Elizabeth inquired.

“No. My uncle has actually been quite popular. I would have said that Hurst had no chance of winning the position….” Suasion was all too plausible. Rather than cultivate friends and demonstrate leadership, Hurst preferred to satisfy his ambitions by bespelling people. The man was nothing if not indolent. Hurst’s father had been conniving and ambitious; Darcy had believed the son was different, but perhaps not.

“Miss Bingley is frequently in Mr. Hurst’s company,” Elizabeth said in a neutral tone.

“Yes…I am concerned about her well-being,” Darcy said. “Although he has no reason to do her harm.”

“Perhaps she has observed something of interest.”

He could only imagine Caroline’s reaction if she learned what Darcy suspected of her brother-in-law. She stayed at the Hursts’ townhouse in London and very much enjoyed the man’s hospitality. Unfortunately, he could not be sure where her loyalty would lie. “It is better not to involve her,” he said finally.

Elizabeth was silent for a long moment. Did she resent that he was unwilling to risk his fiancée while Elizabeth was completely entangled in the investigation? “Surely there is something I may do to help,” she said finally.

Darcy considered. Up until now, the investigation had not proved particularly dangerous; even the goblin summoning had proceeded smoothly. But now he wanted Elizabeth as far from danger as possible. “You might do some research. In particular I want to know if there is a way to unravel suasion spells—individually or for large groups of people.”

Her lips twisted. “Surely I might be of more direct assistance with fighting Mr. Hurst.”

“It is not safe.”

“Of course it is not safe!” she said tartly. “But I am not a China doll to be placed on a shelf. I am a capable mage.”

The thought of her getting hurt was like a lead weight in his chest. He was already unhappy that Caroline and Bingley were so close to the man. Must he risk everyone he cared about? Thankfully Georgiana was safely at Pemberley. “I will admit that I would prefer you stay safe,” he said. “But we will desperately need a counter spell if Hurst has used suasion. Such research is vitally important.”

She considered for a moment. “Of course. But if I do find something in my research, how will I get word to you? It would be improper to send you a note.”

“There is a ball given by the Emery family in two days’ time. I will make sure you receive an invitation.”

She nodded. “I hope I know something helpful by then.” Contemplating the consequences of failure, they sat in silence until the carriage began its descent toward London.

***

The grounds of the Convocation complex spread below them: a dozen buildings from several different architectural periods. Elizabeth did not know the purpose of all the buildings, but the white marble pillars of the famed Convocation Hall made it easy to identify. Their ultimate destination appeared to be a rolling green behind the hall. Free of trees or bushes, the space might have been designed to land dragon-drawn coaches.

As they descended, Mr. Darcy reached out with a tendril of ether to nudge Mrs. Jenkins awake. She started and peered around in alarm, an expression of horror on her face as she recognized where they were.

“We are just about to arrive in London, Mrs. Jenkins,” Mr. Darcy said gently. “Did you have a nice nap?”

She squinted at him from behind her glasses. “I napped? Well, I suppose that is the best way to travel by dragon coach.” The chaperone peered out the window, turned green, and quickly looked away.

“You may spend the night at the Convocation guest quarters if you like,” Mr. Darcy told her. “The dragon coach can return you to Kent in the morning.”

The woman shuddered. “If it is all the same to you, I would prefer a horse-drawn carriage.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I am certain that can be arranged.”

The landing was just as smooth as the rest of the trip. For all its bulk, the dragon fanned its wings in such a way that it practically floated to the ground, bringing the carriage down with a soft bump.

Elizabeth could distinguish the shapes of her aunt and uncle silhouetted by the late afternoon sun at the edge of the green. Her uncle was a Convocation member, but it was unlikely he had ever traveled in a dragon-drawn carriage.

Mr. Darcy handed down Mrs. Jenkins, who wobbled away from the coach as fast as she could, perhaps still worried that Daisy would eat her. Then he handed Elizabeth down, giving her fingers an affectionate squeeze.

He joined her as they thanked the coachman for a good ride, and Elizabeth gave Daisy a pat and a bit of praise. “If she were a horse, I would give her an apple,” she murmured to Mr. Darcy. “But I do not know what constitutes a treat for a dragon.”

“They like oak,” he said.

“Wood? They eat wood?”

He gave her an enigmatic smile. “They have to burn something to breathe fire.”

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. “You are teasing me.”

“You enjoy research.” He shrugged. “You can find the answer for yourself.”

Her aunt and uncle were walking in her direction. “I suppose I will see you at the Emerys’ ball—”

“Fitzwilliam!” a shrill voice interrupted. Miss Bingley nearly pushed Elizabeth aside in her haste to greet her fiancé. He gave her a rather forced smile as she kissed him on the cheek.

During their travels, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy had fallen into a natural rhythm and effortless camaraderie. It had been easy to forget that he was not hers; he belonged to another woman. That reality was a forceful slap in the face.

Miss Bingley looped her arm through Mr. Darcy’s and practically dragged him a short distance away for a private conversation. Elizabeth turned away, pretending to watch her aunt and uncle’s progress. She had struggled to give him the impression that her emotions were not entangled—that she felt little more than friendship for him. The truth was not so simple—as her reaction to their kiss had demonstrated. But no good could come from admitting such confused sentiments—even to herself. In the future, I must treat Mr. Darcy as nothing more than a friend.

Mr. Bingley reached her before her relatives did. At least she could greet him with unreserved happiness. “Are you completely recovered from your injuries, sir?”

He beamed. “Indeed. I have never felt better!”

Having freed himself from Miss Bingley, Mr. Darcy shook his friend’s hand. “I believed nothing could induce you to leave Hertfordshire…or Longbourn,” he said with a knowing smile.

Mr. Bingley shrugged. “The vote is only a few days away; I wanted to show Hurst my support.”

Mr. Darcy could not completely conceal a wince. “Hurst is here as well?” he asked. Elizabeth was probably the only person who noted the instant tension in his body.

“He is in the Convocation Hall.” Mr. Bingley gestured toward the building. “Would you join us for tea in the parlor?”

Mr. Darcy stared at the hall apprehensively. “I am rather weary. Perhaps another time.”

Miss Bingley rolled her eyes. “Do not be tiresome, Fitzwilliam. Surely there is time for tea.”

The muscles in Mr. Darcy’s jaw worked as he clenched his teeth. His friends do not know everything he has undertaken for the sake of their safety, Elizabeth thought.

Before Mr. Darcy could reply, Aunt and Uncle Gardiner had reached their party, and it was necessary for Elizabeth to make introductions.

As they were speaking, a whoosh of air and the sound of flapping wings announced that the dragon carriage had swooped back into the sky. Elizabeth craned her neck so she could watch as it swiftly became smaller and smaller, a dark speck against a blue sky.

“That truly is a magnificent sight!” Aunt Gardiner exclaimed.

“You really traveled in style, Lizzy!” her uncle said.

“It was quite thrilling,” Elizabeth agreed. “I have Mr. Darcy to thank for that.”

Miss Bingley smiled through gritted teeth. “My fiancé hates to be away from me for long,” she confided to Aunt Gardiner. “Traveling by a conventional coach would simply be too slow.”

Elizabeth bit her lip. Nothing good would come from revealing the true reason for Mr. Darcy’s haste.

“Naturally,” Aunt Gardiner said with a smile. “Nobody wishes to be too far from their betrothed.”

Miss Bingley leaned on Mr. Darcy’s arm, ignoring his stony expression. “Yes, he just dotes on me—”

Her words were drowned out by a piercing screech. Everyone whirled toward the sound as a large knocker goblin swooped down from the sky. It landed directly in front of the Convocation Hall’s entrance, folding its wings as it strode toward the door. Of course. It wants Mr. Hurst.

Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy pulled out their swords, shouting at the others to take shelter as they raced toward the goblin. Shrieking as if she had been wounded, Miss Bingley raced into the nearest building. Aunt Gardiner hurried after her and Uncle Gardiner waved for Elizabeth to follow, but she shook her head. She would not leave the paladins to fight alone.

The paladins stood between the goblin and the building, brandishing their swords. Unfortunately, knocker goblins could breathe fire, making it difficult for the paladins to get close enough to be effective. Mr. Darcy cast an aquis spell, which quenched the fire briefly, but it came roaring back.

Elizabeth stood back and considered how she might help. This was the perfect time to attempt the banishment spell she had discovered at Rosings Park. If the spell worked, it would immediately open a portal and draw the creature back to its world. There would be no need to kill it.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, envisioning the Latin words on the page as she enunciated each one carefully. Badly pronounced Latin could cause a spell to go awry. Opening her eyes again, she drew on strands of ether, commanding them to form a portal.

Shimmering strands coalesced into a semblance of pillars and a lintel. It was working! The rocky terrain of the goblins’ homeworld was visible on the other side of the portal. Elizabeth gathered more strands of ether, sending them to strengthen it. Once it was firmly in place, she carefully wound strands of ether around the goblin, chanting the words that would drag it back through the portal.

It was a delicate process since the goblin would not obligingly stand in one place. Finally, Elizabeth had looped a cord of ether around its neck and another around its middle. She tightened the cords, preparing to drag the goblin toward the portal. She tugged at the strands. The spell appeared to be working, but the ether felt foreign in her hands—perhaps because this was not a spell she had crafted herself. But there was no reason it would not work. As she concentrated and pulled on the ether, the knocker goblin took a step backward toward the portal. The spell was working as promised.

A loud pop warned her something had gone wrong. The portal wavered and then winked out of existence. Elizabeth cried out in frustration as the goblin threw off the etheric bonds and renewed its attack on the paladins.

Hoping to conjure the portal again, Elizabeth repeated the steps of the spell. But she was drawing on dwindling reserves of energy; nothing appeared other than a faint blue glow.

The spell had failed.

Fortunately, the sounds of battle had drawn several more paladins out of the Convocation Hall. An older man, broad-shouldered and dignified with a bushy mustache, swept onto the scene and handily doused the goblin’s flames with a few words of a spell. By then, half a dozen paladins could attack the goblin en masse, overwhelming it and reducing it to a pile of ash within minutes.

Elizabeth watched the paladins congratulating each other on the victory, heartsick that death had been the only solution. If only the banishment spell had worked!

She had half expected Mr. Darcy to ignore her now that he was among his fellow paladins, but he cast about for her and then gestured for her to join him. “This is my uncle, the Earl of Matlock,” he told Elizabeth, waving to the older man.

Elizabeth gulped as she curtsied. The archmage! He was a tall, distinguished man, several years older than her father, but his smile was avuncular, not at all proud or intimidating.

“Sir,” Mr. Darcy addressed his uncle, “this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She has the most extraordinary magical abilities. I will regale you with the stories over port some time.”

The archmage fortunately seemed more intrigued than skeptical. “I look forward to it.” He nodded to Elizabeth. “If you will excuse me, I have a battle scene to clean up.”

Now that the danger had passed, Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle emerged from the building where they had taken shelter, appearing quite eager to take her home. Miss Bingley had reclaimed her fiancé’s arm, demanding his attention. Mr. Darcy gave Elizabeth a cursory nod when she bade him goodbye, but his eyes followed her as she walked away.

***

Dusk was gathering as Elizabeth joined her aunt and uncle in their carriage. But she was too exhausted for extensive conversation on the way to Gracechurch Street. She was nodding off by the time they arrived at the Gardiners’ home, and it was all she could do to eat a little cold chicken before stumbling off to bed.

She awoke refreshed the next morning, but her mind was whirling with the events of the day before. The dragon coach ride had been one of the most thrilling events of her life—followed by one of the most frightening as she witnessed the attack of a fire-breathing knocker goblin. And then there was the revelation of Mr. Darcy’s deep feelings for her. Why had he told her? Was he merely unburdening his soul? He intended to take no action, and Elizabeth could not take any herself. But, in retrospect, she was happy she knew the truth. It was flattering to know she could capture the attention of such a man, although someone like him was not likely to pass her way again.

She had begun to suspect a little partiality on his part but would never have guessed the depth of his emotions—or that he would confess them in such a free and open fashion. And the kiss! She had been kissed before, but the ardor in his kiss had eclipsed all previous kisses from her memory.

Surely that was the reason she had responded so enthusiastically. Merely because he was an accomplished kisser. Or did she harbor deeper feelings for him? Elizabeth had always prided herself on knowing her own mind, but here she was: unsure how she felt about Mr. Darcy. Such confusing and contradictory sentiments were new—and unwelcome.

Fortunately, when Elizabeth descended the stairs, the breakfast room was empty except for her aunt. Over toast and ham, Elizabeth related a highly edited version of the story about her journey, explaining how their quest for information about the goblin attacks had led them to London. She did not mention Mr. Hurst’s name. They had no proof of his perfidy, and the Gardiners would likely be safer not knowing his identity.

Her aunt turned the conversation to Mr. Darcy; something about his manner toward Elizabeth had caught the attention of both Gardiners. Pleased to unburden herself, Elizabeth confided the details of his confession in the dragon carriage, omitting only the kiss.

Aunt Gardiner was silent for such a long time after the story that Elizabeth became uneasy. “Perhaps I should not have allowed him to take my hand or speak in such a way—”

“Well, it may not have been the most prudent thing you have ever done,” her aunt said with a small smile. “But I would not condemn you for it. My question has more to do with why you allowed him to take liberties. What are your feelings about Mr. Darcy?”

“He is engaged to Miss Bingley,” she temporized.

“That is not an answer. How did you feel about his declaration?”

“I do not know…” Elizabeth said slowly. “I should be disgusted…”

“Perhaps you were flattered?”

Elizabeth laughed. “A little, I suppose. I have always believed that I would never marry—particularly if my choices were limited to men like my cousin.”

“So you were not disgusted…” her aunt prompted.

“Perhaps it is best if I do not fully examine my sentiments.”

Her aunt folded her hands on the table. “In my experience, unacknowledged feelings often return to haunt you.”

What does Aunt Gardiner see in my face? Hear in my voice? “Do you think I am in love with him?” Elizabeth inquired, horrified.

“You certainly allowed him liberties you would not have permitted from any other man.”

There was no denying the truth of that statement. At the time holding his hand and kissing him had seemed natural and right, but of course, it had been highly improper.

“You must consider another possibility,” her aunt said slowly. “Some men enjoy encouraging women to fall in love with them. Perhaps it gives them a sense of power.”

Elizabeth’s hands twisted in her lap as she forced herself to face this possibility dispassionately and rationally—despite the queasy sensation in her stomach. “I do not believe he is such a person, but I hardly have wide experience with men.”

Her aunt folded up her napkin, pushed her chair away from the table, and stood. “Perhaps it does not matter in the end,” she said briskly. “Regardless of his feelings—or yours—you are best advised to avoid him. He may love you or he may not. But certainly continued interaction with him can do you no good.”

The words cut like blades. Elizabeth wanted to cry out as they sliced into her. Their remaining time together was surely limited; she wanted to savor it. At the same time she retained enough presence of mind to recognize the signs of a drunkard who yearns for another sip from the bottle. The yearning itself was a sign of potential trouble.

Elizabeth stood, nodding her head resolutely. “No doubt you are correct. I must perform the necessary research and attend the Emerys’ ball to tell him what I have learned. But then I will return to Longbourn. After all, this is a matter for the Convocation. Mr. Darcy wants me out of harm’s way, and I should be out of Mr. Darcy’s way.”

Her aunt was watching her with sad eyes. “I do believe that is best.”

***

Darcy crept along the servants’ corridor in Hurst’s townhouse. Obtaining an immediate invitation to dinner had taken some finesse. He had mentioned to Bingley that the cook at Darcy House was away visiting her sister—which she was since Darcy had given her a week off. His friend had taken the hint and issued an immediate invitation. Darcy loathed the feeling of being unable to trust his fellow paladin, but where Hurst was concerned he had to assume that Bingley’s judgment was questionable.

The knocker goblin attack, right on the Convocation grounds, had made Darcy’s mission even more urgent. Certainly it could have been a coincidence, but he was more convinced than ever that Hurst was the object of the goblins’ wrath. It was amazing that the goblins had not already killed the mage, but then Hurst spent most of his time indoors—where portals rarely appeared—and had always been surrounded by able fighters. The irony was thick; by protecting the man, Darcy and Bingley had unwittingly enabled his evil schemes.

Time had passed sluggishly that day until Darcy had arrived at Hurst House. He had passed the time doing fruitless research to avoid thoughts of Elizabeth. Naturally he was eager to stop the goblin attacks, but that would mark the end of his acquaintance with her. She would return to Hertfordshire, and he would never see her again.

If this is how I feel after an absence of less than a day, he wondered, how will I survive the rest of my life without her? He had no satisfactory answer save the hope that his emotions would fade over time. The best course would be to avoid her altogether. His heart ached, but perhaps it was for the best. After the Emerys’ ball, he could avoid occasions where she might appear.

The dinner at Hurst House had been nothing out of the ordinary, and the conversation was rather dull. Everyone had inquired politely about Darcy’s visit to his aunt. Caroline had asked rather pointedly whether Elizabeth had accepted Collins’s proposal and was visibly disappointed at Darcy’s response. He had spoken little to Hurst, concerned that the other man might attempt suasion, but their host had mostly confined his conversation to the food.

After dinner, the men had enjoyed some port while Bingley made an impassioned case in favor of supporting Hurst for archmage. Darcy had listened without comment but had made no promises. Hurst himself had not said much but smirked appreciatively at his brother-in-law. It had been a relief to escape the room, with the excuse that he needed to visit the privy.

Darcy slipped inside Hurst’s study. The room was dark, but a small fire in the hearth threw off a little light. Darcy’s witch light hovered near the ceiling, allowing him to examine the room for anything suspicious or out of place. Faint chalk marks on the floor suggested the room had once contained a summoning circle. That itself was noteworthy; Darcy knew of no mages who could construct portals indoors. Had Hurst discovered a way to do it? Unfortunately, proof that Hurst had been summoning goblins would get the man nothing more than a reprimand from the Convocation.

Hurst’s desk was a mess of paper, account books, and correspondence. Darcy sorted gingerly through the piles, careful not to disturb them too much. He found nothing of interest until he lifted the blotter. There he discovered a hastily hidden scrap of paper. Brightening the witch light, Darcy quickly scanned a list of ingredients and an incantation for an unnamed spell. As he mentally translated the first few lines of Latin, his hands shook. This was it. Hurst was in possession of a suasion spell—the one spell no mage should have.

Darcy carefully folded the spell and stashed it in his coat pocket. He would need to take this proof to the archmage. His uncle would likely convene the Council and bring Hurst in for questioning. But Darcy had to act fast; if Hurst won the election, he could influence the investigation.

The archmage conferred regularly with the prime minister and other members of parliament. What kind of damage could Hurst do if he could use suasion on the country’s leaders? His power would be limitless. He could make himself rich. Or become prime minister. He could lead the war against the French. He could lose the war against the French.

The revelation of Hurst’s iniquity would bring crushing shame down on Bingley and Caroline, but there was no help for it. He must be stopped. Darcy examined the desk, twitching a few papers back into place to conceal his search. But when he turned toward the door, he found his way blocked by a dark figure.

“Hurst!” Darcy managed a smile. “I was hoping to find that volume of Roman history I lent to you last month.”

It was a feeble excuse; Hurst did not even deign to address it. I would make a terrible spy. I simply am not built for deception.

“I thought you might suspect me, Darcy. You were so uncharacteristically eager for a dinner invitation.” Hurst’s utter lack of fear was disconcerting; surely the mage should worry about what Darcy had found. What does Hurst know that I do not?

“You are endangering lives,” Darcy said. “The goblin attacks are a result of your actions.”

Hurst’s eyebrows shot upward. “Are they? Hmm…” He appeared genuinely surprised.

“The goblins want to stop you from killing more of their children. You must cease at once before more innocent people are hurt.”

Hurst smirked. “I will stop—as soon as I have become archmage.”

“If you live that long.”

“The goblins have not reached me so far. I am so ably defended by my loyal brother-in-law.” The idea of Bingley being used that way made Darcy’s stomach lurch.

He drew his bespelled sword from the sheath that rendered it invisible and pointed the blade at Hurst. “Such activities show that you are the last man in the Convocation to be made archmage.”

The other man did not even glance at the blade. “I beg to differ.”

“When I tell the Council what you have done, they will have you arrested.”

“I have nothing to fear from them.”

Sweat trickled down the back of Darcy’s neck. What was Hurst planning? “Stand back or I will run you through,” he warned the other man.

Hurst actually chuckled. “No, you will not.” Gazing into Darcy’s eyes, he spoke in a deep timbre that seemed to echo in Darcy’s ears. “Attend to my words. You cannot move.”

Darcy started to scoff. No spell worked in such a way.

But his mouth was frozen. His arm would not move.

Hurst has used suasion on me, and it is far more powerful than I expected. Darcy’s heart thrummed a panicked rhythm as he tried to fight the enchantment—to move his mouth or his arm. But Hurst was in complete control.

A soft scuff in the corridor warned of another person’s approach, but Darcy’s hopes for a rescue were dashed when Hurst smiled at the newcomer. “See what kind of fish I have caught.”

Caroline reached the doorway and peered into the study. Darcy’s humiliation was complete; he had never suspected his fiancée was involved in Hurst’s schemes. She frowned at Darcy. “I am disappointed, Fitzwilliam. I had hoped you might support John of your own accord.” With his mouth paralyzed, Darcy could not respond.

“He can still prove useful,” Hurst said silkily.

Caroline’s gaze was fixed on Darcy. “Indeed.” Her lips curved in a ghastly smile. “With Fitzwilliam in this position, we may be able to solve more than one problem.”

She seemed to have no doubts about betraying Darcy to Hurst. Did I ever know her at all? Darcy could only watch as Hurst gathered strands of ether and began to wind them around Darcy’s immobile body. Coils of ether so thick and tight, he no doubt resembled a mummy.

Hurst’s voice regained the deeper timbre it had earlier. “Attend to me. You will forget…” The threads of ether wound their way toward Darcy’s head, moving like a snake intent on a kill. He struggled to free himself but could not do so much as wiggle a finger.

Ether cannot penetrate the mind, he told himself. It was one of the basic principles of magic. And yet how else could a suasion spell operate?

“You know I have done nothing wrong,” Hurst continued. The ether snake rushed toward Darcy and exploded in his face. He was breathing in the ether. A foul taste invaded his mouth; an acrid smell filled his nose. He tried to hold his breath, but his body did not obey his commands. He imagined that he could feel the spell seeping into his blood, invading his mind. His last thought was that he had underestimated Hurst rather spectacularly. Then everything went dark, and he knew no more.