Page 42 of Dragons of the Great Wyves: Fire and Song
The young man gave a mocking bow. “Just spreading the word, sir. Ladies can be patriots, too. They have their part to play in purging the low blood. Like the Southern Alliance in America. They know how to do it.” The older gentleman growled, and the young man grinned. “I’ll post this in the stable, then. The working men are with us…”
Mr. Knightley emerged from the inn’s door, looking questioningly at me, and the young man’s grin thinned. He strolled off without another word, over-long black coattails swinging insolently.
The sheet felt dirty in my fingers. I set it on the table. The older gentleman picked it up and crumpled it. Then he offered his hand to Mr. Knightley, who, after a pause, shook it.
The gentleman bowed to us both. “My apologies that you should encounter that. You two go right on showing those slaver sympathizers what English freedom is about.” He excused himself and returned to his wyfe.
Mr. Knightley took his seat looking thoughtful.
“You see?” I said. “Do not assume the worst.” But my words felt hollow with that vile paper crumpled on the ground.
15
FAITHFUL AND BOLD
DARCY
A rabbit sizzledon greenwood spits. The sunset stretched purple and violet across the sky. Elizabeth sat on the far side of the fire, staring unblinking into the glowing coals or, with her gifts, seeing far beyond.
The Darcys have a family motto:Fidelis et audax. Faithful and bold. It appeared in 1683, a few Latin words decorating signatures and embossing plaques. But,ex nihilo nihil fit—nothing comes from nothing. An ancestor of mine chose those words. They aspired to those values.
I chose to honor them.
When I lost both parents in quick succession, boldness came easily. I was ambitious, confident, self-righteous. My father had drilled me in business, and I used his lessons to purge the grotesquery of slavery from our holdings, a moral bankruptcy he had refused to recognize during his life.
The other half of our motto—faithful—seemed easy as well. I devoted my life to Georgiana, a child then, and to protecting our household and estate.
Five productive, stultifying years trickled past. Faithfulness calcified into duty. Boldness thinned into pride. Then I fell in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and it was like a tempest blew the walls from my stifling prison. And, incredibly, she loved me, too.
But when the person you love no longer loves you, what is faithfulness? Is it bolder to press yourself on them, or to walk away?
“Darcy.”
I jerked, guilty for my thoughts. Elizabeth was holding out half the roast rabbit wrapped in a handful of bay leaves.
I had learned her new rules. Never approach her. Never touch her. Do not presume intimacy.
Had I imagined her speaking my name?
“I did not hear you,” I said, hoping she would repeat herself, but her hand hung silently. I took the food, hot juices dripping, and thanked her.
After fighting the crawlers, Elizabeth had declined to ride Escalus—she rarely rode when she could walk—so I led him as we left the woods and then, at the farm, arranged for his lodging and amended my letter to Mary.
Elizabeth had waited in silence. She was Elizabeth to me, but the farmer and his wife were awed and whispered in her presence. Would they tell stories of a wordless, unkempt woman in bare feet? No. It would be the angel.
Now, we were camped on a rocky slope dotted with brush and sketchy trees. The rabbit, freshly caught, had been laid at Elizabeth’s feet by a ferretworm. The pair of cream firedrakes had visited for a silent communion, then rose in pearly spirals, more glorious than swans. Around our camp, an endless pilgrimage of draca watched in a reverent circle.
I tossed a rabbit bone into the fire and broke the silence. “I would not think these fields could support so many draca.”
“Some came a long way,” Elizabeth said, cleaning her fingers on a handful of plucked grass. She had, as politely as feasible under our circumstances, devoured her portion of rabbit. I used to tease her about her hearty appetite.
I tipped my chin toward the ring of draca; there must have been twenty. “Draca did not gather around you before. Before the lake, I mean. Are you more powerful?”
“No.” A line furrowed her brow. “I suppose I no longer forbid it.”
Speaking of the lake summoned a memory: Yuánchi falling like a bloody spear, wings tucked close, then the pillar of spray. The despair I had felt then returned like a chest full of broken bones, even with Elizabeth safe a few paces away.
“Do you remember going into the lake?” I asked, my voice rough.
