Chapter One
A great many people only hear what is comfortable and convenient for them to hear. Far oftener than might be expected, that is a very good thing indeed.
***
Twilight was Elizabeth’s second favorite time of day, just slightly less appealing than dawn and nearly as interesting. She settled into her customary spot in the parlor, the little faded chair near the window. Long shadows danced across the worn rose-patterned carpet. Waning sunlight warmed the cozy room to soporific levels, leaving the children yawning even as they protested that they were not tired.
Mrs. Bennet sat back into the sun-bleached sofa cushions and grumbled under her breath. “Children ought to mind the first time they are told a thing. Sister Gardiner is far too lenient with them.”
Neither Jane nor Kitty gave any sign of having heard. No doubt Mama did not intend to be heard, so Elizabeth chose to ignore her.
Sometimes preternatural hearing was more bane than blessing.
Papa and Uncle Gardiner exchanged raised eyebrows over the card table. The long-suffering expression in Papa’s eyes suggested he would like to have words with her, but was unlikely to expend the effort.
Daniel Gardiner bounded up to Elizabeth, hands clasped before him, an unruly shock of blond hair falling over his eyes. “Please Lizzy, Mama says we must go to bed. Will you tell us a story?”
Samuel scurried up beside him, blinking up at Elizabeth, “Pwease, Lizzy, pwease.”
The child was far too adorable for his own good. Elizabeth scooped him into her arms. “If your Mama agrees, then of course, I will tell you a story.”
Joshua and Anna rushed to their mother and tugged at her skirts. “Mama, pray let us have a story.”
Aunt Gardiner took their hands and smiled at Elizabeth. “Are you certain you want to? I do not expect they will allow you to stop at only one.”
“I should be delighted. There is hardly anything I enjoy more than telling stories—”
“With dragons?” Daniel grabbed her hand and squeezed.
“Yes, dwagons!” Samuel bounced in her arms.
Mama huffed and muttered something under her breath, something that it was best Elizabeth pretend not to hear.
“What other kind of story is worth telling?” Elizabeth chuckled and ushered the children upstairs.
With Aunt Gardiner’s assistance, the children settled into the nursery and dressed for bed. The room was awkwardly tucked into a gable, all odd angles and shadows. Had it been drafty and dusty, it would have been a frightening, unfriendly place. But with bright yellow moiré paper on the walls and crisp green curtains at the window, it was snug, comfortable and playful. Exactly what a nursery should be.
“Climb into bed. I shall return in a moment.” Elizabeth looked directly at Joshua, the middle of the three boys, who was most adept at avoiding bedtime.
He hung his head and pouted as his mother placed a firm hand between his shoulders and propelled him to the little bed beside his brothers.
Elizabeth hurried to her room, collected her birdcage and returned.
“Is that her?” Anna asked, pointing at the cage. Her sweet face peeked up above the little coverlet.
“Yes, it is. If you promise to be very quiet and not startle her, I will uncover the cage and you may watch her whilst I tell your story. Perhaps if you are all very good, she might sing for you afterwards.”
“We will be very, very quiet, we promise.” Anna glanced at her brothers with a pleading look. With her wide, dark eyes and silky hair, Anna reminded everyone of Jane, but her personality was far more like Elizabeth’s.
“Boys, do you agree?” Aunt Gardiner folded her arms and cast a stern look at her sons.
“Yes mama,” they murmured, eyes fixed on the birdcage.
Elizabeth nodded and unbuttoned the quilted cover surrounding the cage. The candlelight glinted off iridescent blue and green feathers. Tiny wings buzzed and the creature hovered above the perch.
“You remember April from the last time you were here. April, these are my cousins, the Gardiner children.” Elizabeth gestured at the children.
April looked up at Elizabeth with something resembling annoyance.
Anna pressed up on her elbows. “She is so beautiful. I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life!”
April flew closer to the side nearest Anna and poked her dainty, pointed beak between the bars.
“Oh, she likes me! Lizzy, she likes me!”
“Indeed, she does, but don’t startle her. Here, I will set her cage on the table nearest you if you promise to be very still.”
“I will, I will!” Anna tucked back under the coverlet and held herself very stiff.
Elizabeth sat on the little bed beside her. “So, you wish to hear a story about dragons? Then I will tell you one, but I do not think you will believe it.”
“But we will, surely we will.” Daniel flipped to his belly and propped up on his elbows.
“You think so now, but very few can believe the tale I will tell. It is not one for the faint of heart.”
“We’re not!” Joshua cried in hushed tones.
“That may be, but still, I expect you will be surprised to learn that England is full …” Her eyes grew wide as she pressed a finger to her lips. “… of dragons.” She leaned close and whispered the word.
“Where are they Lizzy? I have never seen one.” Anna’s expressive eyes darted from April to Lizzy and back again.
“Everywhere, they are all around.”
“Why can’t see them.” Daniel huffed.
“Children, if you do not allow your cousin to tell you the story, then I shall put out the candle, and we shall leave.” Aunt Gardiner tapped her foot, and the children ducked a little farther under the covers.
“You see them all the time, but you do not recognize them for what they are. Dragons are very good at hiding in plain sight. They speak spells of great persuasive power, convincing you that they are anything but a dragon, but most people cannot hear them directly. They think the dragon speech is their own thought, and they go about never questioning those ideas.”
“Is there a dwagon in the rwoom now?” Samuel cast about the nursery, breathing hard.
“If there was, it could not be a large one, could it? The room is quite small. Any dragon here with us would be so small there would be nothing to fear from it.”
“There are small dragons?” Joshua’s brow furrowed as he worked over the idea. He was such a perceptive, thoughtful, mischievous child.
“Small ones, medium size ones and very large ones indeed. One of the largest is the monster Saint Columba encountered in the river Ness in Scotland.”
“River dragons? That monster drowned a man! If there are dragons here, aren’t you afraid they will eat you?” Daniel’s words tumbled out almost all at once.
“I am glad you have asked, for that is exactly the story I wish to tell. Now lay back on your pillows, and I will tell you why I am not afraid of dragons.” Elizabeth waited until the children complied.
April zipped around her cage twice and settled on her perch, looking at Elizabeth as if to listen to the tale herself.
“Long ago, back in the age of Saint Columba, dragons ravaged our land. For hundreds of years, man and beast were at war; man against man, dragon against dragon, dragon against man. Chaos reigned. In the year nine hundred, it seemed as though the dragons would wipe out the race of man in the British Isles.”
“Was it like the war in France?” Joshua whispered from behind his blanket.
“As bad as Napoleon is, this was far worse. But Uther Pendragon rose to the throne. He was unlike any man born before him, for he was able to hear the dragons.”
“The dragons’ roar was silent before Uther?” Daniel asked.
“No, it was loud and terrifying, like thunder in a storm. Everyone heard that. But what Uther perceived was different. He heard them speak. Some spoke in very high, shrill notes that sounded like the whine of a hummingbird’s wings.”
“Like April?” Anna whispered.
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose as she glanced at Aunt Gardiner. “Yes, just like that. And others spoke in a voice so deep it felt like the deep rumble of thunder. Uther could detect those voices, not just the fearsome noises. He suddenly understood what the dragons had been saying all along.”
“What did they say?” Samuel pulled the blanket up to his chin and chewed on the edge.
“The dragons were weary of war and they wanted peace as much as men did. So, the wise king Uther invited them to meet with him in a large, deep cave. His advisors warned him not to go into the cavern, for he would never come out again. The dragons would devour him, leaving the race of man without a king, and the war would surely be lost.”
“Did the dragons eat him?” Daniel asked.
“Of course not,” Joshua hissed, “Lizzy would not be telling the story if they had.”
Aunt cleared her throat and tipped her head toward the older boys.
“Uther treated them with respect and the dragons welcomed him as a foreign king. At the end of a fortnight, Uther emerged from the cave carrying a red shield emblazoned with a gold dragon. A mighty falcon with feathers that shimmered like polished steel rode on his shoulder, a gift from the dragon king. Some say a peace treaty was written on that shield, but none could tell for certain, for no one could read the dragon language then.”
“Dragons can write?” Daniel gasped.
“Some of them, just as some men can write, and read as well.”
“Is that why so many men have falcons, like Papa? To be like king Uther?” Joshua rested his chin on his fists and stared at her.
“Indeed, it is. And the reason ladies keep pretty birds, like April, since ladies do not keep falcons.”
“I think April is far prettier and sweeter than a falcon. I should very much like to have one like her someday.” Anna yawned and stretched.
“Perhaps you shall, dear. But now it is time to sleep.” Elizabeth rose.
“Will you not tell us another?” Daniel sat up, but his mother waved him back down.
“It is late. I will tell you another tomorrow. But, since you have listened so very well, April will sing for you. Lay back on your beds, and I will let her out so she can.”
The children obeyed and Elizabeth opened the cage. April zipped out and flew two circuits around the room, hovering over each child and inspecting them as she went. She flew to the middle of the room and hovered low over the beds. Her sweet trill filled the room.
The children yawned. One by one their breathing slowed into the soft, regular pattern of slumber.
April warbled a few more notes and landed on Elizabeth’s shoulder.
Aunt Gardiner smiled, pressed her finger to her lips and slipped out. Elizabeth picked up the cage and followed.
“Will you return to the parlor?” Aunt Gardiner asked.
“After I put the cage away.” Elizabeth turned down the corridor toward her room and slipped inside.
“You called me a bird! How dare you call me a bird!” April shrieked in her ear.
“You need not shout. I can hear you quite well.” Elizabeth held her hand over her ear.
“Why did you call me a bird?” April launched off her shoulder and darted around the room. The candlelight glinted green off her feather-scales.
“You were the one telling them you were a hummingbird, not I.”
“What else should I have them believe? That I am a cat?”
Elizabeth pressed her lips hard. April did not like to be laughed at. “Certainly not! You do not look enough like one for even your persuasive powers to convince them of it.”
“It is one thing for me to tell them I am a bird, but quite another for you.” April hovered near Elizabeth’s face.
“The children are too young. We cannot know if they hear you.”
“They all do. Coming from two parents who hear, what would you expect?”
Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. “Aunt Gardiner does not hear you.”
“Yes, she does. Not as well as her mate, but she does, and so do the children. You must tell their father as soon as you can. They all need to be trained.”
Elizabeth held her hand up for April to perch on. “There is plenty of time. It is not as though Uncle Gardiner is a landed Dragon Keeper, only a Dragon Mate.”
“I do not understand why you humans are so insistent upon making distinctions among us based on size. A Dragon Mate may not have a huge landed, dragon to commune with, but they are Dragon Friends nonetheless. We of smaller ilk are just as important and just as proud. And we are far more convenient, not being tied to a plot of ground or puddle of water.” April flipped her wings to her back and thrust her dainty beak-like nose in the air.
Elizabeth stroked her throat with her index finger. April leaned into her. “There, there now, you do not need to get your feathery little scales in a flutter. You need not be jealous of Longbourn. He is a cranky old thing. Grumpy, and not nearly as pretty as you.”
“Nor as good company.”
“You are the best of company, my little friend.”
“Of course, I am. Who would not rather spend their time with a fairy dragon than a dirty, smelly old wyvern?” April presented the other side of her neck for a scratch.
“I would not let Longbourn hear you say that. He does have quite the temper.”
April squeaked in that special annoying tone she saved for anything related to the resident estate dragon.
“You will wake the children.”
“Then you could begin training them.”
“They will be as cranky as Longbourn, and I will leave them to you.” Elizabeth smoothed the soft scales between April’s wings.
The fairy dragon really did resemble a hummingbird, though she was much prettier and far more nimble.
“Oh, very well. I do not like cranky anythings; not dragons, not people, not anything.” April’s head drooped.
“I must return downstairs. Do you wish to come? I know you do not like being alone when we have company about.”
“Does your uncle have his horrid cockatrice with him?”
Elizabeth chuckled. April had never met a cockatrice she approved of. “Rustle? Of course, he came. But he prefers to keep company with Longbourn in the cavern. He does not favor so much female company.”
“Your mother insulted him when she called him a mangy looking falcon.” April cheeped a little laugh.
“I do not blame him for being insulted. So, do you wish to come or not?”
“I do indeed. I have some very important news to share with the official Dragon Keeper of Longbourn.”
“What else have you not told me?”
“It is my news, and I will share it myself.” April launched off her finger and lit on Elizabeth’s shoulder.
No point in trying to out-stubborn a dragon, even a very small one. “Very well, I shall leave the door open though, in case you tire of mere human companionship and wish to return to your sanctuary.” Elizabeth propped the bedroom door open with a little iron dragon doorstop.
April nipped her earlobe. Fairy dragons did not like to be teased.
Voices wafted up the stairs. Mama complaining—again—about the lack of eligible young men in the neighborhood to marry her daughters. And—lest any of them forget—the cruel injustice that they had no sons, and the estate would go to some horrid cousin at Mr. Bennet’s demise.
“She is right, that is a problem.” April tapped Elizabeth’s ear with her beak.
“I know, but what is to be done? The law is the law and we must abide by it.”
“But what if he cannot hear us? That would violate a far older and more important law. An estate with a dragon must have a Keeper who can hear.”
“We do not know that he cannot. Do not work yourself into a flutter. Papa has invited him to Longbourn. I am sure we shall meet him soon. Then we will know for certain and can decide how to proceed.”
Papa and Longbourn had already decided, quite some time ago. Neither Mama nor April need know that yet.
“So, he has given up on any further mating? I do not blame him; she is rather horrid. He should have found a woman with some sense—or who could at least hear.”
Elizabeth stopped and glared at April. “You are speaking of my mother, you know.”
“What of it? My own was nearly as stupid as a hummingbird and got herself eaten by a cat, not even a tatzelwurm, but an ordinary cat.” A shudder coursed the length of April’s tiny body.
“While your kind may not be attached to your brood mothers, humankind is. I would have you refrain from insulting mine.” Elizabeth gently soothed ruffled feather-scales into place.
April snorted and looked away.
Elizabeth continued into the parlor.
“I suppose you filled the children’s heads with more of your dragon fantasies.” Mama rolled her eyes and stabbed her needle into the bodice she embroidered.
Why was she so opposed to all things draconic? So, determined in her opposition that neither Rustle nor April could persuade her into a fondness for them.
“The children love her stories so much. There is no harm in them.” Aunt Gardiner did not look up from her own sewing, but her jaw tensed just a mite.
“She does not like your mother, either.” April nipped Elizabeth’s ear. Again.
That was not April’s most endearing habit.
“So, my children are fond of dragons, are they?” Uncle Gardiner chuckled and played a card from his hand.
Papa grumbled under his breath and studied his cards.
April launched from Elizabeth’s shoulder and hovered in front of Uncle’s face. “Of course, they do, you nit. They hear us as clearly as you do. You had best do something soon about it or they will be thinking all of us are as cross and crass as that mangy Rustle-creature you keep.”
Uncle began to choke and dropped his cards. Papa’s eyes bulged. He stared from April to Elizabeth. Aunt’s jaw dropped as her sewing sank to her lap.
So, April was correct, Aunt could hear, too.
“I … I just remembered there is a … a business matter I need to discuss with you, Gardiner. Let us to my study. Lizzy, join us. I will need you to write for me.”
“I do not understand why you do not hire a proper secretary. It is not right that Lizzy should be so involved in your business.” Mama huffed, her feathers as ruffled as April’s.
Papa laid down his cards and rose.
That was always a sore point between them. Mama could have at least offered to help him, but no, that was a hireling’s work in her eyes. If only she could understand how he resented the disease that gnarled his hands and pained his joints, taking away his ability to do so many things. Even holding cards was difficult for him now. Mama really should know better than to continue pressing that issue.
Perhaps April had a point about Mama.
Uncle followed him out.
April flitted back to Elizabeth. “Well, come along. Do not give that old biddy consequence by even responding.”
Elizabeth curtsied to her mother and departed. Tomorrow she would probably enjoy an ear full of complaints about allowing that ‘annoying little bird’ out of her cage. No wonder Rustle kept to the caverns when visiting.
Papa closed the study door behind her.
Densely packed with books and papers, the room was cluttered and dusty. But the tomes, some ancient, were part and parcel of Papa’s business. She picked her way past the stacks on the floor and around the desk.
Uncle pulled three chairs into a cluster near the fire and brought a graceful carved perch into the center. Carved of mahogany, the heirloom had been in the family for over a century. Papa said it was carved by the first Bennet to host a companion dragon. That companion, a cockatrice according to family lore, had a fascination with the human chair. He insisted on having one of his own. So, his Dragon Mate carved a perch to match the back of a set of dining room chairs that had long since left the family.
“Will you join us?” Uncle gestured toward the perch.
“His manners are much more pleasing.” She lit on the perch and presented her throat for a scratch.
Uncle took the hint and scratched that particularly itchy spot just behind her left ear. April trilled.
“You will put us all to sleep if you do that, and then you will not be able to share your news.” Elizabeth yawned, a little more deeply than necessary to make her point.
April flittered her wings, the fairy dragon equivalent of a huff and foot stomp.
“Ah yes, Elizabeth is right. It seems you have some rather significant observations regarding my children?” Uncle sat back, eyes fixed on April.
“Your children and your mate. All of them can hear. Your mate is a bit hard of hearing, but she heard me quite clearly in the parlor, about the children.”
Uncle laced his hands together and bounced them off his chin. “You are certain? Entirely certain? All of them?”
“With two parents who hear, it could hardly be otherwise.” April cocked her head one way then the other.
“But Rustle—”
“—is a cloddish old cockatrice with all the perceptive powers of a lump of clay. I doubt he willingly gives your children notice at all.” April tossed her head.
“He does not prefer their company, but I would have expected him to be more tolerant if they could hear,” Uncle said.
“He does not tolerate anyone with equanimity, not even his own kind.” Papa winked.
“He likes Longbourn well enough.” Elizabeth chuckled.
April grumbled low in her throat. From a bigger dragon it would have been a frightening growl, but from her, it was laughable.
“Do you think she is right, Lizzy?” Papa tapped his fist to his chin.
“Fairy dragons are most perceptive to such things. I told them the legend of Uther tonight. Something about the way they listened and watched April—I think she is right.”
A smile lit Uncle’s face and his eyes grew very bright. He threw his head back, sniffling.
“Congratulations—all of your children! That is something to celebrate.” Papa shuffled toward the crystal decanter.
Elizabeth met him there, poured the three glasses he indicated, and passed them around.
“We must drink to the occasion!” Papa raised his glass.
They lifted their glasses and sipped the fiery brandy.
April perched on Elizabeth’s hand and stuck her nose into the glass.
“Be careful, only a sip or two or you will be flying into the windows again.” Elizabeth giggled.
“I know how to handle my brandy, thank you.” April flipped her wing and splashed a few drops on Elizabeth’s cheek.
“I shall begin their training immediately.” Uncle balanced his glass on his knee.
“That is not the only news I have to share.” April returned to her perch.
“You have more? I can hardly imagine what else you could tell with us.” Papa leaned back in his wingback, a funny little half smile lifting his lips. As much as he preferred the estate wyvern’s company, he did have a soft spot for April—she hatched on his study hearth after all. She could say things to him he would tolerate from no one else.
“More good news, I am proud to say. I have made a very important discovery in the orchards, on the sunrise side of the estate. But you must act quickly, very quickly I would say.” April hopped from one foot to the other. “I have found a clutch of eggs, fairy dragon eggs!”
Papa and Uncle sat up very straight.
“Are you certain they are fairy dragon eggs?” Papa set his glass aside and leaned in very close.
“Would you mistake one of your own children for a puppy? Of course, I know my own kind’s eggs!”
“And the brood mother?” Papa asked.
“I have not seen her in at least a fortnight. She is a wild dragon and has forgotten her clutch for more interesting things. Foolish little twitterpate.” April cheeped shrill disapproval.
“Her twitterpation may very well be our good fortune.” Elizabeth chewed her knuckle.
“It would be much better for them to hatch in our presence. Even if they choose not to stay, they will have imprinted upon men, and that is always a benefit. It has been some time since we have had a hatching on the estate.” Papa stoked his chin. “I think you should take Mary as well. It would be good for her to find a Dragon Mate of her own.”
“She has been jealous of me for quite some time. Who could blame her?” April thrust her head up high.
“Would you like to keep company with another fairy dragon? I should worry you would become jealous.” Elizabeth stroked April’s proffered throat.
“If it is your sister’s companion, I will tolerate another. But only one.” April laughed a peculiar high-pitched trill. “I would suggest you speak to Rustle though; he will have a more difficult adjustment in store.”
Uncle gasped. “You would recommend my family as Dragon Mates?”
“If your wife is to learn to hear more clearly, she needs a companion. I hardly imagine Rustle deigns to speak to her regularly. Your children would benefit from being properly taught by a companion of their own. After all, look what I have done for Elizabeth.”
Papa and Uncle snickered.
A sharp rap—Hill’s knock—sounded at the door and it swung open. Her wizened face peeked in. “Sir, a courier just come, with one of those letters you said you always want brung immediately.”
Papa met her at the door. She handed him a thick letter tied with blue tape and fixed with a large blob of blue sealing wax, an embossed wyvern embedded deep in the wax.
He shut the door and trundled back to his seat.
“Are you expecting news from the Order?” Uncle braced his elbows against the chair, ready to spring to action.
“No, I am not.” He fumbled with the seal and handed it to Elizabeth. “Open this.”
“Are you sure, Papa? This looks quite important.”
“All the more reason. If it is, you will be involved in some way, no?”
She snickered. “I cannot argue.”
“Besides, with Collins coming to visit soon, and the chance that he is dragon-deaf, we must face the possibility that you will marry him and take up the role of Dragon Keeper. Even if he does hear, Longbourn may still insist that you marry him. You know how much he hates change. If you are already acquainted with the Order’s business when Collins arrives, he will be less likely to try and keep you from it later if he does hear, and if he does not, the Order’s business will be yours to manage.” Papa rubbed his eyes with knobby thumb and forefinger.
“I am not ready for her to marry!” April squawked, flapping her wings.
“I am inclined to agree.” Uncle’s lips folded into a deep frown. “Surely this cannot be her only option.”
“In this, I am afraid, Longbourn’s opinion outweighs yours.” Papa’s brows creased. “Go on and read the letter for us, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth cracked the seal and unfolded the letter, swallowing back a bitter tang. It was not as if she and Papa had not been discussing it. There were certain decisions dragons were entitled to make for their Keepers. Longbourn had schooled her in her duty to the estate and dragonkind since she was ten years old, but it had always seemed like something far off.
Perhaps Collins inherited the family legacy and could hear dragons. Perhaps he was a decent sensible man who would understand …
Papa coughed. “Lizzy, the letter?”
“Yes, sir.” She smoothed the letter over her lap. “It is from the office of the head of the Order, the Earl of Matlock, addressed to the Most Honorable Historian of the Order. He writes: A serious crime has been committed, one that threatens the Pendragon treaty and the peace between man and dragon. A firedrake egg has been stolen and hatching is imminent.” She gasped and pressed her hand to her chest.
April launched off the perch and hovered at Elizabeth’s shoulder.
“What egg?” Papa joined April in peering over her shoulder.
Elizabeth traced down the spidery handwriting with her fingertips. “The egg of the Lambton Wyrm!”
“The last Lambton Wyrm passed five years ago, at the same time as the master of that estate.” Uncle leaned forward, elbows on knees.
“Five years is the right time for the egg to incubate.” Papa shambled to his shelf and retrieved a thin book bearing the same wyvern image as the letter’s seal.
One of the dragon genealogies. He had such records for every major-dragon in England: every ancestor, every descendant and their Keepers.
He flipped through it as he returned to his seat. “Yes, yes, here is the date. December 1806, the egg was laid. This is very bad indeed.”
April darted around the room. “Bad? Bad you say? It is far worse than bad. It is tragic and dangerous and awful indeed.”
“If a dragon with the power of a firedrake hatches without human presence—” Elizabeth shuddered.
“It will not imprint, leaving us with a wild dragon, seeking to fill its belly with the most convenient prey.” Papa paced the length of the room, a heavy, labored process. “In time, its presence will be discovered and parties will rise up to kill it. I well know the histories, Lizzy.”
Uncle stood and leaned against the back of his chair. “We could find ourselves returned to the days of dragon war. What has been done to recover the egg?”
Pray let it not be so!
Elizabeth held her breath and scanned the letter. “Here, here, there is hope! The egg has been traced to a … a militia regiment from Derbyshire. Several cockatrices, in Norfolk near Caistor where they last encamped, believe they smelt it on some of the soldiers. You have been contacted because the militia is coming to Meryton soon! The Order is sending the keeper of the Lambton Wyrm here as well. You are to assist him in any way possible in the recovery of the egg.”
Papa turned to Uncle. “You will stay on to help me manage this affair, will you not?”
He winced as he spoke. How much did it cost him to ask for assistance once again? This did not bode well for his temper.
“I will need to take a brief trip back to London to arrange business with my clerk, but he is a good man. He can manage for the duration.”
“Whilst you are there, you ought to visit the secretary of the Order for additional news. Lord Matlock seems certain that we will be host to a major-dragon hatching.” Papa raked his thinning hair back. “The first in over a hundred years.”
April settled back on the perch. “I do not see why you should make such a to-do. I was hatched here a decade ago and another clutch is due to hatch soon. Just because it is a firedrake does not make it so different.”
“But dearling, you cannot burn us to crispins when you are irritated. You just nip at ears.” Elizabeth ducked and covered her ears.
“Do not make light of the seriousness of the situation. It is all the more important now that you find those fairy dragon eggs. If they hatch wild, they could interfere with the other hatching—dear little dimwits are likely to think they are protecting an egg from us.” Papa turned to April; deep creases furrowed in his brow. “Can you find the clutch again or shall we send Rustle with you?”
“Your time would be better spent setting him to smell for the Lambton egg. I know exactly how to find my kind.”
“I will be to London tomorrow at first light. I will return in a day, two at the most. Should the fairy dragons hatch whilst I am gone—”
“We shall assist your wife, do not worry.” Papa removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did Matlock say when the keeper of the Lambton Wyrm would arrive?”
“Not precisely, just in the next few days. He is supposed to identify himself to you when he arrives.” Elizabeth pointed to the information in the letter and handed it to him.
“I expect all of us shall be involved, before all is said and done. This business takes precedence even over Mr. Collins. We must pray it is resolved successfully or I shudder to think of the consequences.”
***
Fitzwilliam Darcy’s horse stood in a nondescript little meadow along a nondescript little path, near a house Darcy had neither heard of nor cared about until now. Until it had become central to everything.
He shaded his eyes and looked up into the bright morning sky. Walker circled high above, silhouetted against the thin clouds.
“Your fondness for that bird is entirely baffling.” Charles Bingley pulled his horse alongside Darcy’s. His boyish smile and energy might have been contagious had other concerns not been so pressing. “You care so little for people or society, but for that bird you would move heaven and earth itself.”
“Do not sell yourself short, my friend. You come in a close second.”
Bingley laughed, but it was true. Bingley was a very good friend, but not as good as Walker.
Walker had been with Darcy since Darcy’s birth. He had comforted Darcy through the loss of both his parents and firedrake Pemberley; kept him company through the lonely days at school. What more faithful friend could there be? Of course, Darcy would do anything for him.
“See there, over that hill, I believe that is Netherfield Park.” Bingley pointed into the rising sun. “A beautiful prospect, I should say.”
The dark shadow of a house rose out of the horizon. It would suit Bingley’s purpose well enough. But it suited Darcy’s needs far more.
“The house is handsome at a distance.” Darcy stared into the woods.
The local landscape showed all the signs of karst terrain. No doubt there were several caverns nearby. Some might be large enough—
“But you will scold me that I should not accept anything sight unseen. I assure you I will not. I have an appointment with Mr. Morris, the solicitor for the property, at half past ten. He has consented to tour the house and grounds with me. In the meantime though, I should like very much to peruse the woods a bit and see the grounds I may be hunting for myself.”
Good, he had taken Walker’s suggestion easily—perhaps a little too easily. It was uncanny how well Bingley took dragon direction. Then again, perhaps not. He was awfully apt to follow the opinions of anyone who presented them strongly enough.
“Far be it from me to suspend any pleasure of yours. Lead on.” Darcy gestured for Bingley to ride on.
With any luck, Bingley would happen upon the dragon caverns without realizing what he discovered. And if not, Walker was there to convince him there was nothing of interest to be seen.
The bridle path led into the deeper woods, just right for hunting. The game trails suggested a substantial herd of muntjacs roamed the wood. Enough to feed a wyvern.
So, the local dragon-estate had connections to the Duke of Bedford. No other way to have got a herd here. Was the Dragon Keeper simply frugal, preferring his dragon to feed off wild deer instead of his own flocks or did the dragon prefer wild game to mutton?
Something tiny, blue and fast zipped past Darcy’s face. He started. His horse shied and bolted.
“Mary! Look out!”
A flash of white caught his eye and rushed toward a red cloaked figure standing with her back to him and pulled her away just in time.
He reined in his horse and returned to survey the damage.
“You are a better horseman than that! Pay attention and control your worthless beast!” Walker dove through the trees and landed on a branch several arms’ length above him.
Two young women panted beside the trail. The one in white peered up, past him and into the trees toward Walker.
“Trespasser!” The blue blur buzzed past him and between the young women, disappearing somewhere behind them.
“Pray excuse me. My horse was startled. It is not at all like him.” Darcy bowed from his shoulders.
It would not do to blame the iridescent blur for all the mischief. Did the women even realize what it was?
“Indeed, nor is it like you, Darcy.” Bingley rode up to them. “Pray forgive us for startling you. I have come to see Netherfield Park. Do you know it?”
“Indeed we do, sir, the grounds border my father’s estate, which you are currently traversing.” The woman in white’s eyebrow rose and she cocked her head in a most impertinent fashion.
Walker squawked and flapped his wings. “Do not stare, Darcy. Females of your kind take on all manner of ideas when you do. Follow me, and I shall lead you back to the Netherfield’s grounds.”
“Your … falcon, sir?” Her eyes narrowed just a bit and she slipped her arm over the red cloaked woman’s shoulders.
Darcy nodded.
“I should caution you; my uncle’s falcon is apt to hunt free on our estate. He does not always take well to others in his territory.” She adjusted the market bag on her shoulder.
Something about the way she said ‘falcon’ and stared at Walker made the skin on the back of his neck prickle. If she was a daughter of the estate, then it was entirely possible she knew Walker was no falcon.
“I will keep that in mind. I would not wish to see any conflict between our … birds.” Darcy glanced up at Walker.
“Yes, she does hear, and I am not a bird,” Walker squawked.
“If you follow the path to the left, it will take you back to Netherfield.” She pointed to the fork in the path.
“Then we will be on our way. I hope to properly make your acquaintance soon.” Bingley touched his hat and headed off.
“Get on with you.” Walker launched from the branch and made a low pass over his head.
Darcy hesitated one more moment, then turned to follow Bingley. Walker was right. He had business more important than investigating a woman who heard dragons. Distractions of any kind—and time—were the enemy now.
“So, we have met my new neighbors.” Bingley clucked his tongue. “Unofficially of course, but still. They were both very pretty young ladies, unmarried too.”
“Always the first two things you notice about a woman. Really, Bingley, you are as marriage minded as any of the mamas of the ton.”
“I am tired of all the raised eyebrows and recommendations that I marry. They come from all sides now, men, women, sometimes I swear even the horse would tell me so.”
“I would not,” Walker screeched.
“You see, even your bird agrees.” Bingley threw his hand up toward Walker.
“I am not sure he agrees, Bingley. Besides, when have you begun taking advice from everyone and their horses?”
Bingley stopped his horse and turned to look at Darcy. “I am lonely. My sister is an adequate housekeeper, but I want more than that to come home to. Her tongue and temper are sharp. I want a friend and a comfort, not a litany of complaints and dissatisfactions.”
“It sounds like you want a good hound, not a wife.”
“Just because you are content to be by yourself, does not mean that all men are. I intend to make the acquaintance of our neighbors and every young woman in the neighborhood. I aim to find a wife. What better place to do it than close to home?”
“So, you have decided to take Netherfield sight unseen after all?”
Bingley grumbled and urged his horse into a fast walk.
Though the decision might be rash, and not even in Bingley’s best interest, it could prove helpful. What better excuse for Darcy to stay nearby than to offer Bingley help in leasing his first estate? He might also accompany Bingley in meeting with the local estate’s owner, attracting as little attention as possible to his own presence. Exactly what he needed most right now.
***
Elizabeth held her breath as the two men disappeared into the forest. The clop of their horses’ hooves faded into the noises of the woods. At least one of them was a Dragon Mate, perhaps even a Keeper, it was difficult to tell. Papa would need to know.
“Well that one was a crosspatch.” April darted out from the silk flowers of Mary’s bonnet. “But what can you expect from someone who keeps a ratty old cockatrice as a companion?”
“Do be fair. That was hardly a ratty cockatrice, but a very fine specimen of the species.” Elizabeth held her hand up for April to perch. “What is more, you were being most incautious, flitting about here and there. You look like a tasty snack to one who does not know you. You may not like to be told what to do, but if you are not more careful, I will keep you indoors where you are far safer.”
Elizabeth and Mary covered their ears. April was in such a temper she might well draw blood.
“Do you think the fair-haired one really will take Netherfield?” Mary untied her bonnet and inspected it.
Her hands still trembled, poor dear. She lacked the constitution for such excitement.
Elizabeth took the bonnet. “Oh, really? Another hat picked to pieces? Must you?” She waved it at April.
“I have told you a hundred times—no more than that, I am sure. If you would simply leave me a place to perch—”
“On a hat?” Mary asked.
“Where else? I am certainly not going to ride in your reticule.”
“Enough, enough. We are not here to argue fashion or even to gather gossip about the new neighbors. Though I think it behooves us to discern if both of them can hear, that can wait. We have a clutch to find—assuming it has neither been eaten by a visiting cockatrice, hawk nor weasel, nor hatched on its own.” Elizabeth tweaked the disheveled ribbons and passed it to Mary. “I will repair it for you when we get back.”
“Come along then.” April hovered in front of Elizabeth, then darted ahead.
They wove deeper into the woods until thick branches obscured the sunshine and dropped the temperature. Cool loamy smells with a hint of several varieties of dragon musk filled her nostrils. Papa found the scent unpleasant, but it comforted her soul like nothing else.
The path faded into a narrow, ragged trail that only the muntjacs would use. Was that—yes—a broad, clawed footprint nearly obscured by the swipe of a tail. Longbourn had been here recently, too.
April lit on a tree trunk. “Here.” She gestured upward with her wing.
The branches began ten feet up. The little nest was at least twenty feet high.
“You do realize we do not have wings,” Elizabeth muttered.
“You never asked how high it was.”
April was such a twitterpate.
“What are we to do? I know you are willing to climb trees, but this is too much even for you.” Mary peered up at the nest.
Elizabeth looked about. Nothing to stand upon. The brood mother had made a good choice of nesting sites. That boded well for the intelligence of the hatchlings. Only winged creatures, a weasel … or a tatzelwurm could reach that.
She pulled the market bag off her shoulder and opened it.
“Why are you holding a bundle of dried cod in the air?”
Not merely dried cod, dried cod with a touch of salt, and a sprinkle of white wine.
“Do put those away! They stink!” April sniffed and sneezed.
Elizabeth waved the fish though the breeze. “There is a tatzelwurm that lives in these woods. He is excessively fond of dried cod and a scratch behind the ears.”
“A wild dragon? Why would you call one to us?” Mary gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.
“Not wild. He has no Dragon Mate, but he imprinted. Papa says he hatched in the Longbourn barn. Our great-grandfather assisted the hatching.”
“But why does he not live with us then?”
“Our great-grandmother detested cats. They kept terriers to deal with the rats.”
“But could not the tatzelwurm convince her that he was anything but a cat?” Mary glanced at April.
“I might be able to, for I have such a sweet voice.” April preened her wing. “But most have to content themselves with lesser persuasions.”
A nearby shrub rustled. Elizabeth crouched and peered into it. Two large, emerald eyes peered back. She pulled a piece of cod from the bundle and tossed it toward the bush.
Raspy rumbles, quite like purring, erupted from the leaves. Two large, thumbed paws and a furry head emerged and inched toward the fish, snatched it and pulled back into the branches.
“Good day, Rumblkins.” Elizabeth extended another fish, but did not toss it. “I am pleased to see you still enjoy my offering.”
“It would not hurt for you to bring them to me more often.” His deep voice was raspy and rough as he spoke through a full mouth.
“You could come to the house more often.”
“Not since your housekeeper threw a shoe at me.” He swallowed a huge gulp and emerged from the bush in all his glory.
His face and tufted ears were decidedly feline. Striped tabby fur with white tips on his toes and ears covered his whole front half. Magnificent large paws, with extra toes giving the impression of thumbs, sported razor-sharp claws. Behind his shoulders though, the fur faded into deep brown scales that covered the length of his long, thick, snake-like body.
“It was not our housekeeper, but my grandmother’s. The current housekeeper, Mrs. Hill has quite the soft spot for cats and will put out a pan of milk if she sees one. Rub yourself around her ankles and purr and you shall have fish any day you like.”
“Like this you mean?” He circled her ankles, rubbing his cheeks over her feet and rumbling.
She offered another fish. “Exactly.”
He ate more slowly this time.
“Perhaps you would be willing to assist us with a task of vital importance. I have an entire bundle of cod to offer for your help.”
He looked up, a fishtail hanging from one side of his mouth. “What do you want?”
“Above us is an abandoned fairy dragon nest with eggs near hatching. It is too high for me to reach. We want to bring the eggs back to the house so they can imprint when they hatch.”
Rumblkins licked his broad paw and washed his face. “I like eggs. Almost as tasty as fish.”
April swooped over his head, chittering. “You will do no such thing. I did not bring any of you here for a meal!”
Rumblkins reared up and swiped at her, not trying very hard to hit her.
“You are a horrid, flea-bitten bundle of fur.”
“And you are a senseless bit of flying fluff.” He batted at her again, clipping the edge of her tail.
April spun and wove drunkenly, colliding with Elizabeth. She caught hold of the edge of Elizabeth’s spencer and clung hard.
“Do you really want your woods populated with wild bits of senseless winged fluff?” Elizabeth asked as she righted April on to her shoulder.
“I could just eat the eggs.”
“But then you would not have an entire bundle of cod.”
Rumblkins chirruped in that funny way cats did and curled his serpentine tail around his forepaws. “You have a good point. If I bring the eggs to you, will you keep them away from the woods after they hatch? That would be far less effort than catching them and eating them.”
April squawked and plunged her face under the collar of Elizabeth’s spencer.
“We cannot force them, but they will be made very welcome and encouraged to stay. Some of them might even become companions to my Aunt and Uncle’s family and move to London.”
Rumblkins’ eyes widened and his mouth gaped in a feline rendition of a smile. “And you will give me the fish?”
Elizabeth patted the market bag. “You can smell them, I am sure. They are yours when we have the eggs, safely. There will be no fish if the eggs are damaged.”
His long, forked tongue flicked out and licked his lips. “I like fish very much.”
Elizabeth opened the bag and showed him the contents.
He drew a deep breath, eyes half closed, and rumbled. “I will bring the eggs.”
His front half walked to the tree and his back half slithered to keep up, an odd, awkward looking movement on the best of days. He pulled up with his claws until his tail wrapped around the trunk, then quickly disappeared into the branches. If there was something a tatzelwurm could do well, it was climb.
Elizabeth held her breath. This was risky. He could decide to eat the eggs easily enough and April might never forgive either of them for it. As much as he loved fish, he might just do that for the sport of it. Dragons, tatzelwurms in particular, were not entirely predictable, nor reliable.
But there were few options. She could not climb herself. Cockatrices loved eggs, so appealing to Rustle for assistance would have been certain disaster.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Hopefully the stranger’s cockatrice had not—
Mary leaned into her ear and whispered. “He comes, and I think I see an egg.”
Rumblkins’ decent was far slower than his ascent, but when he made it to Elizabeth’s feet, he placed a tiny, mottled blue egg at her feet.
She picked it up and replaced it with a small piece of fish. “Thank you. How many more are in the nest?”
He held up one paw. “One for each paw. Must I get all of them?”
“Only if you wish not to have wild fairy dragons disturbing your peace.”
He bared his teeth and growled as he made his way back up the tree.
Elizabeth rewarded him for the second egg and produced the promised bundle of cod for the third. Rumblkins pounced on it with savage glee.
As much as she loved dragons, it was difficult to watch them eat.
Mary collected the eggs into her padded reticule and tucked them inside her spencer. “The shells are quite warm. I do not think it will be long before they hatch.”
“Thank you for your help. Remember, you are welcome at the house anytime you wish.” Elizabeth curtsied.
Rumblkins lifted his head and shook it, sending bits of dried fish flying. “I shall keep to my woods if you have a flock of senseless flits about, thank you.”
April squawked, but remained hidden in Elizabeth’s spencer.
“You could be bothered to bring me some of these more often, you know.” He crunched on a fish head.
“I shall consider it. Perhaps you might catch a few of the rats that are plaguing the hens.” Elizabeth tucked the empty bag over her shoulder.
“Perhaps you should get a cat.”
“I am sure he would like fish as well as you, and be far easier to deal with.”
Rumblkins grumbled and growled. “If the housekeeper throws anything at me, I swear to you I shall bite her.”
“You will find her very amiable.” Elizabeth leaned down and scratched behind his ears. “Bring her dead rats and she shall give you a pillow by the fire and all the fish you can stuff your fanged, furry face with.”
He leaned into her hand so hard, he nearly fell over, eyes rolling back in his head.
“I will let her know where you like to be scratched. Good day.” Elizabeth curtsied once more, and they turned back for home.
“Do you think it was a good idea to invite him to the house?” Mary asked.
“A house cannot have too many dragons. Mrs. Hill is a gentle soul who is easily persuaded. Between that and her love for cats, I think they could make each other very happy—and take care of the rat problem in the poultry eaves.”
Mary laughed and pressed her hand over the reticule in her spencer.
“You are not carrying chicken eggs.” April flew between Mary and Elizabeth. “You do not need to be so dainty.”
“Though it pains me, I must agree with her,” Elizabeth said. “The eggs are more leathery than brittle. Unless you fall atop them, there is little chance you can damage them.”
“I know you meant to comfort me, but knowing that, I now have one more thing to worry about.”
Elizabeth put her hand on Mary’s shoulder and stopped her. “What is troubling you?”
“Nothing at all. Why do you think—”
“Mary, please. You do not have to play that game with me. I am not Mama and will not scold you for your concerns.”
Mary’s eyes brightened, and she dragged her hand down her face. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?
“The dragons. Every single one I have seen you deal with, they all like you. You know where each of them lives. You know the right things to say and do to make them happy. You always seem to know just what they want and need. What is your secret?”
“You hear them just as well as I do. There is no secret.”
“I could never have convinced Rumblkins to help us. I would not even have thought to try.” Mary glanced down toward the eggs. “I know Papa has in mind for me to be Dragon Mate to one of these little ones, but I have no idea how I will do it. Why would a hatchling like me in the first place, not when you, Aunt Gardiner and even the children are about? Who would not prefer their company? Rustle is so grumpy to me. Longbourn hardly speaks to me at all. I may be able to hear them, but what matters that if none of them care to speak to me?”
Elizabeth gestured at a fallen log and sat down. She slipped her arm over Mary’s shoulder. “There is no secret, truly. Dragons are very much like people. The only difference is that they do not hide their thoughts or feelings as we do. We are taught to be polite and reserved, but they have no such impediments. If they think it or feel it, they will say it. Their wants are simple and they will let you know them if you ask.”
“You should have heard what Longbourn said to me the last time I went to groom his scales. He did nothing but complain and criticize. How do you tolerate it when they can be so … difficult?”
“I prefer to regard them not so much as critical, but honest.” Elizabeth tipped her head back and peered through the branches into the sky. “All told, I try to appreciate it for the gift it is.”
“You are speaking in riddles.”
“How many times have you wondered what someone was truly thinking? You know that they do not mean what they say, but you do not know what they honestly think. Does that not bother you?”
“Of course, it does.” Mary dusted a leaf off her skirt.
“With the dragons, you always know what they are thinking. I find it refreshing and far safer than dealing with our own kind. If you treat a dragon as you wish to be treated, without false civility and ceremony, but with honesty and respect, you will find them very agreeable creatures.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“I suppose that having a touch of impertinence makes it all a bit easier. But I am certain you are quite up to the task.” Elizabeth rose and pulled Mary to her feet. “Come, we should bring the eggs to Papa. He is probably pacing the floor waiting for us even now.”