Page 112 of Dragons of the Great Wyves: Fire and Song
“Easy,” he grunted. “I need to breathe, too.”
Breath seemed irrelevant to me, and he held me just as tight. We inhaled drunkenly when we let go. I smoothed his collar. We were not at a properly decorous distance, but this was as far as I was willing to go.
Eventually, I made a littlehemnoise so Anne and Harriet knew to turn back from their examination of the hall clock.
Anne could not hide her smile. “Whatever happened to Miss Woodhouse, who told me since she was eight years old how she would never marry?”
“I suppose she had not yet met Mr. Knightley,” I replied, giddy and secure at last.
We entered the parlor. Mr. Weston was sipping tea with Augusta in a quietcorner with a platter of sandwiches. A nanny was reading a story to the Westons’ little daughter, who squirmed, more interested in the guests. It was a wonderfully normal scene, and frayed muscles eased in my tired legs.
“Did you get the amulet?” Mr. Knightley asked.
I drew it out by the chain. In the sunny parlor, it shone with radiant fire.
“You are brilliant,” he pronounced.
“Harriet is brilliant,” I corrected. “She did it.” He bowed to her, and she looked down bashfully.
I considered the amulet. It was heavy—the gold chain of course, and the thick jade. Perhaps dragon scale was dense as well. I had not noticed the weight at the school, but one did not notice minor things when frightened. I had scraped my wrist going through the window and not noticed that, either.
I untied my feathered bonnet and passed it to Mr. Knightley, then slipped the chain over my head. It nestled inside my collar, dense and fluid. I tucked the amulet inside my clothes, hiding it completely. The cold jade on my breast drew a shiver, then it warmed. No mystical vision overcame my senses.
Mr. Knightley, with the eagerness of all gentlemen burdened with fluffy things, had passed my bonnet to the Westons’ maid. Relieved, he said, “We have had remarkable success, but it means nothing if we do not escape. We should strike out for the coach. With luck, we can cross the French lines on foot and ride freely to Pemberley.”
“As long as we take the Abbey trail,” I said. “I must check for dragons.” Mr. Knightley’s eyebrows shot up, but I rushed on. “There is something more urgent. Mr. Elton is bringing Mrs. Goddard’s students to Hartfield to bind them to crawlers. We must stop him.”
I had forgotten Augusta was in the room. She jumped out of her chair at her husband’s name, knocking the platter of sandwiches across the floor. Her hands pawed the air, fighting an unseen assailant. She looked disturbing and pathetic and fierce, her gown disheveled and torn where she had ripped off decorations, her gloved fingers furious claws.
I gathered her agitated hands between mine. Her eyes swam before settling.
“Your husband is not here,” I said. “He will not hurt you again.”
Her throat worked, and when she spoke, her shoulders jerked with every word. “I did it.Ihurt them.” She peered around the room and whispered, “We went into houses. I chose wyves to bring to Hartfield.”
I had seen that when we were captive. Mr. Elton had used her and her crawler like a hunting dog, inspecting us to find wyves suitable to bind.
“You did not know,” I said. “You were captive—”
She shook her head violently, launching tears. “I knew! I was afraid, but Iknew.”
I embraced her shaking frame and murmured soothing nonsense. Her hair against my cheek was clean and combed; someone, Harriet I suspected, had helped her wash while I celebrated my wedding night. But even with the grime of her abuse removed, my fingers sank between the ribs of her emaciated frame. How long had she been mistreated? Our cheeks brushed, and my deeper senses woke. I perceived again the burned, ash-like shadow from her connection to the crawler, although now it was etched in detail. I had broken that mockery of a binding, healed it in a fashion, but the scars were like fissures on her soul.
Moments ago, I had celebrated triumphs—clever escapes, recovering the amulet, my wedding. That felt unbearably selfish.
Augusta quieted to snuffling. Harriet took a turn, giving her a handkerchief and patting her shoulder, and I eased Mr. Knightley into the hall.
“Her husband put her through ungodly ordeals,” I whispered. “We must bring her with us when we head north. I cannot imagine where else she would be safe. But I do not think we should take her to Hartfield.”
“Is that our destination?” he asked. He was matter-of-fact about it, and I felt a whirl of affection and admiration.
“We cannot stop their army, but if there are no crawlers when Mr. Elton and the slavers arrive, the girls will be safe.”
“A housecleaning,” he said approvingly.
“Exactly. Hartfield is your home too, if you are not too attached to your Chelsea loft. It is a charming house when not infested with crawlers.”
That drew a brief smile. “How would we remove them?”
