Page 49 of Dragons of the Great Wyves: Fire and Song
That was not the end of the quote, but she stopped.
“You do know,” I said, amazed.
“In the north, a wyfe of war held the flute,” she whispered. “But the memory ends… swiftly.” When her gaze met mine, it was veiled. “Is that enough to bring you north?”
It was a path to the flute. My split duties converged, and my conscience cleared. “North, then. Where you go, I go.”Fidelis et audax.But I remembered her veiled gaze, and the motto rang hollow, the resolution too convenient.
Elizabeth, though, actually smiled. Then she reached down and hoisted the tail of my coat, suspending it with a finger hooked through a two-inch rip. “We must make a stop first.”
17
PEMBERLEY BY STEALTH
DARCY
“I should have keptMary’s dress,” Elizabeth whispered, brushing irritably at her white sleeve. “This is too visible.”
We were hiding in a lush grove of sapling oaks. Pemberley House was ahead, shadowed by the deepening evening twilight.
After a harrowing, treetop-brushing flight that hugged ravines and valleys—all aboard a blind steed—Yuánchi had landed two miles from the house. Elizabeth and I had walked from there, choosing the most obscure paths.
I did not comment on her clothes. I was too busy scheming.
Our visit to Longbourn had restored her more to her old self. She no longer felt like a stranger. This was Elizabeth, only moody and guarded. So, when she proposed visiting Pemberly—raiding it, really—I wholeheartedly agreed. The familiarity of Pemberley could only restore her further.
“There is no need for secrecy,” I pointed out, again. “We can walk through the front door. Mrs. Reynolds will gather everything we need.” That was a scheme, of course. Elizabeth would be mobbed when we appeared.
“We only need the saddle.” Elizabeth dashed off, sprinting across fifty yards of meadow and vanishing into the shadows behind the stables. I hurried after her, expecting to hear a shout of recognition, but, incredibly, not a soul was in sight.
That was no more incredible than the rest of our trip. Like many countryladies, Elizabeth had been raised tramping through wilderness, and being an adventurous woman, she had even explored the roughest forest at my aunt’s estate, Rosings. Now, though, traveling with her was like being guided by a master hunter. For the second time today, I thought of Rabb. Elizabeth had the same awareness of her surroundings, every rustle, every sightline, every snapped twig. I was not sure if her skills were gleaned from memories of past wyves, or if she augmented her awareness with unseen draca.
She was intimidatingly fit as well. When I reached the back of the stable, puffing, she was inside. I slipped in and found her greeting the small mare she sometimes rode.
Escalus scented me and whinnied from his stall. I hurried to quiet him. “Good fellow,” I said while he pranced excitedly. “Mary certainly retrieved you quickly.” Feigning a sudden thought, I turned to Elizabeth, “It was good to see Jane and the baby. We could—”
“I do not wish to speak with Mary,” she said.
Apparently, my schemes were transparent. More relieved than anything, I tried honesty. “She will be desperate to see you.”
“She does not know we have come, and you informed her I am well.” That sounded dismissive, but her gaze was earnest. “Mary is safe at Pemberley, safer away from me, and safer yet when I am gone.” She pointed across the stable. “There it is.”
Yuánchi’s saddle hung on a far wall. It was a large affair, rigged for two riders with room to spare. With tack, it would be heavy and awkward—far too heavy for two people to carry for miles.
Elizabeth had considered that. She opened the mare’s stall. “If we strap it loosely, I think she will carry it. If not, we can find a cart.”
“That provides our seating. But we will need more than the clothes on our backs.”
“So you can look pretty?” she asked while leading the mare to Yuánchi’s saddle.
That felt uncalled for; I had looked like a feral hound for days. “A gentleman presents himself properly.” And if on occasion I was fastidious, that was to honor my mother’s reliance on pristine clothing. A reliance shared by Miss Woodhouse, for that matter.
When Elizabeth did not answer, I added, “I thought youlikedthat I dressed well,” which sounded unfortunately peevish. But her jibe about “pretty” had lodged in my head. Could she have been teasing?
I realized she was staring at the saddle. A folded sheet of notepaper was pinned to a strap and addressed in angular script:Lizzy.
Reluctantly, Elizabeth unpinned it:
“Talk to me before you go, or I shall not forgive you.
