Page 73 of Dragons of the Great Wyves: Fire and Song
Georgiana, crying. A sheaf of papers in my hand. Smoke, raw in my throat. A panicked crowd surged around us, but earlier, there had been music and dance.This was the ball, the London ball where the dagger was stolen, and Jane’s wyvern killed Miss Rees, and Fènnù woke from centuries of sleep.
I ratcheted the memory back through time:
The papers I held were not a book; they were scholarly notes for a lecture on the dagger. The museum researcher had found me, sent by Mr. Darcy. Mystified, I had leafed through the sheets, and amid the flutter of words, glimpsed an illustration…
I blinked, leaving memory to fall into Georgiana’s tear-filled, sapphire gaze.
“The British Museum has the flute,” I said. “It has acatalognumber. It is in London!” A city that would soon fall to Napoleon and the invading slavers.
It took seconds before Georgiana’s throat worked and she said, “I do not understand.”
“I found my lost memory of the flute. It was… overwhelmed by the chaos of the London ball.” Overwhelmed by grief. Joane Rees had just been killed.
Georgiana had a wondering expression, but skeptical, too. “If it is in London, why did Lizzy fly north?”
I dismissed that with a flick of my hand. “She only knew ithadbeen in the north.” The implications were locking into place, a fortress of logic to defeat this deadly spiral. Relief overwhelmed me. Georgiana did not need to be brave. She did not need to sacrifice herself. “Lizzy has the dagger, and Emma will find the amulet, and the flute is in London. That is all three items. I will get the flute, and you can heal the song. This madness—the corruption of crawlers—will end. Thiswarwill end.”
“We will go together,” Georgiana said immediately.
I shook my head. “London could be captured at any moment. The great wyves must stay safe to heal the song. Lizzy will return when she does not find the flute.Keepher here at Pemberley. You and she cannot risk being taken.”
Georgiana grabbed my hand. “Then you cannot go!”
I stretched my mouth into a semblance of a smile. “Of course I can.” The conundrum had resolved itself, like a problem in composition where the right chord bridges two passages that appear irreconcilable. “I am not important. You are.”
“Mary, that is not true—”
Clumsily, I pressed my fingers to her lips, stopping her words and reveling in her tender skin. It was madness to show intimacy with strangers present, but I no longer cared.
“Promise me that you will not summon Fènnù,” I said.
She tangled my fingers in hers and pulled them to her cheek. “I will not if you stay safe.”
“Calling Fènnù would not save me. If she had your power, she would destroy us all.”
Georgiana drew a stubborn breath, then let it out reluctantly. “If we are to heal the song, we will need Emma, too.”
I had considered that problem, but there was nothing to do about it.
“Perhaps she has found the amulet. Perhaps she is already returning.”
23
CELLARSAND COVENANTS
EMMA
“Steady,”Mr. Knightley said, his arm guiding me through a squat, vaulted doorway of old stone. The trim on my bonnet grazed the rock as I ducked.
Lady Catherine’s wyvern was ahead, shining in the gloom. We were in a long, wide cellar as ghostly as a catacomb. Thick columns of ancient brick rose every few yards, the tops merging in shared arches like a forest canopy.
“These are the Abbey ruins,” I said, emerging from my daze. I hardly remembered walking here.
“If you say so,” Mr. Knightley replied. “Miss Bates led us here. She seems to be managing our escape. I must go help her with Mrs. Elton.”
That cleared my stupor. “How is Augusta?” She had collapsed after I broke the infected binding between her and the foul crawler. I remembered Mr. Knightley slinging her over his shoulders.
“She has recovered enough to stand.” His hand tightened on my elbow, drawing me to face him. “How are you? You had one of your… episodes.”
