by Maria Grace
Cownt Matlock slowly rose to his full height, his head above every other on the court floor and strutted toward Shin-dee-a. His blue-green hide shone in the candlelight, oiled and polished for the occasion, orange eyes glittering bright. Ears pricked, wings held just slightly above his shoulders, tip of his tail flicking lightly, he was relaxed and pleased, completely in his element.
He stopped about six feet from Shin-dee-a. She stood on her back feet, extending her forearms to spread her gliding wings, and puffed her body, making herself as large as possible. Each movement was slow and deliberate, a formal greeting, not an act of aggression. Cownt Matlock extended his wings and raised his head a moment to tower over her, then lowered his head to match her height.
It was not a standard greeting, to be sure. According to dragon lore, this sort of meeting had never occurred before. But it contained all the necessary symbolism for the Conclave to understand the honor and deference given and received by both parties.
“Envoy, you are welcome among us. Enjoy our hospitality. Learn who we are, and allow us to come to know the Eastern Dragons.”
Shin-dee-a trumpeted an odd trill in a pentatonic Eastern scale, but the overall sound was melodic and welcoming. “I accept your invitation and bring greetings from the Eastern Dragon Federation. Is our hope this be first of many meetings and start of warm friendship among our kinds.”
Cownt Matlock bugled back a friendly sound, but the final tone was a warning note to the British dragons. He expected exemplary behavior from the dragons of the Conclave and would tolerate nothing less.
From her place on the floor, Barwines Chudleigh rose, wings extended, and bellowed her welcome. Others followed her example until the room shook with the cacophony. The sound died down, and Chudleigh turned to face the Conclave. “A salon will be held after Conclave for you to meet the envoy. Inform the Bondsmen if you wish to attend.”
Cownt Matlock voiced a sound of approval, nodding to Chudleigh and Shin-dee-a as he returned to his place.
Baron Chudleigh, Secretary of the Order, stood just in front of Lord Matlock’s desk. He unfurled his scroll. “The French dragon, known in England as Netherfield, presents himself for membership to the Blue Order.”
The expected murmur rippled through the room.
“Who sponsors this request?” Lord Matlock’s voice boomed. How long had it taken him to perfect that draconic resonance?
“I sponsor him.” Longbourn’s voice echoed from the rearmost ranks.
Elizabeth whipped around to see Longbourn. He stood tall but shifted from one foot to the other as he scanned the Conclave. How had Fitzwilliam managed to garner Longbourn’s cooperation?
Salt. It had to be salt. Now that his hoard was known, Longbourn’s cooperation would likely be guaranteed for some time to come.
“And I,” Fitzwilliam stood, straightening his jacket and pulling his shoulders back. Though certainly not a dragon’s voice, his carried, low and confident, across the cavernous room.
Now that was unexpected. But if the man sent as executioner now sponsored Netherfield, how could the Conclave object?
“Although his immigration into England was not conducted according to strict legal channels, Netherfield did receive permission from the previous holder of Netherfield Keep to reside in that territory. During his time in the territory, he largely obeyed the spirit of the Pendragon Accords and proved himself a reliable dragon citizen.”
Darcy rose and cleared his throat. “With the singular exception of engaging in persuasions among the dragon hearers at Longbourn and Netherfield.”
Elizabeth drew breath to speak, but a quick look from Darcy begged her trust. She pressed her fingers to her lips.
“How plead you, Netherfield?” Lord Matlock asked.
“Guilty, but ignorant, sir.” Netherfield hung his head and clasped his forepaws before him, as contrite as little Samuel Gardiner caught in a transgression. “No such restriction on persuasion exists in France. I had no idea it was considered a criminal offense.”
“Upon learning of the injunctions, he has obeyed them scrupulously.” Fitzwilliam glanced back at Netherfield.
“I have, most attentively. I do not wish to be the source of any controversy or conflict.” Netherfield hung his head.
“His ability to get along with Longbourn in the neighboring estate attests to this fact.” Fitzwilliam gestured toward Longbourn.
Lord Matlock waved Lord Dunbrook forward. “The court has thoroughly examined the case and Netherfield himself. What is your recommendation?”
Lord Dunbrook approached Netherfield, somber as befitting the situation. “The court submits the opinion that Netherfield be provisionally accepted into the Blue Order and assigned a territory in the north, surrounded by reliable Keeps ready to assist his assimilation into English dragon life.”
Of course, such a statement could not go unchallenged, but that was to be expected whenever there was opportunity to display a show of dominance. For the next three quarters of an hour, the lower dragons challenged Netherfield’s worthiness while Matlock, Chudleigh, and Dunbrook stood their ground in favor of his acceptance. Eventually Cownt Matlock called for a vote. A few dissented simply because they could, but the resolution passed, and Netherfield was called from the witness box.
Under the direction of several Bondsmen, he approached Cownt and Lord Matlock, head very low, whiskers scraping the ground.
“By the consensus of the voting members of the Order, we recognize you as a provisional member and assign you the Keep, to be known going forward as Netherford. Your name is now ‘Netherford’ to always remind you of where you belong and for what you will be responsible.” Lord Matlock declared.
“Do you accept these responsibilities and agree to abide by the Pendragon Treaty and Accords for the rest of your life?” Asked with such a growl, how could anyone refuse?
“I do.” Netherford murmured into the floor.
Cownt Matlock tapped the back of Netherford’s neck with a claw, loosening several scales which would be kept by the Order, a sort of signature attesting to the contract just formed.
“There is one further matter to be settled: that of a Keeper.” Lord Matlock scanned the audience in the gallery. “Several volunteers have stepped forward to offer themselves for the service.”
Of course, they had. How many younger sons would be able to resist the opportunity to become established in an estate as a full Dragon Keeper, with little or no expense to himself? All cynicism aside, it was a wonderful opportunity for any young man. Unfortunately, too few younger sons—or daughters—had been trained up to be proper Keepers, especially for a dragon like Netherfield—rather, Netherford—who would need an extraordinary amount of direction for at least a decade.
“At the request of Netherford, we name Richard Fitzwilliam as Keeper to Netherford.”
Fitzwilliam’s jaw dropped, and his forehead creased deeply, almost as though he expected at any moment to be told it was merely a joke his older brothers were playing on him. Darcy clapped his shoulder and nodded vigorously. Had Darcy been consulted on the matter? Considering the way Darcy usually responded to surprises, probably so.
“Step forward, son.” Lord Matlock smiled a very genuine smile.
Netherford turned toward Fitzwilliam and looked him in the eyes. “Will you be Keeper to my estate and help me to establish myself as a proper member of the Order?”
Fitzwilliam rose, his knees trembling, but Elizabeth was probably the only one who noticed. He passed Earl to Darcy and stepped forward, slowly, deliberately, to Netherford’s side. “I had no expectation.”
“That is part of the reason I asked for you. You have no motives for me to question. Besides, we have a great deal in common. You were in France, too.”
“Indeed,” Fitzwilliam bowed his head. “I am honored to accept the appointment, and all that it requires.”
Matlock gestured for Fitzwilliam to kneel beside Netherford and place his hand on Netherford’s head. Matlock
laid one hand on Fitzwilliam’s head and the other on Netherford’s. “Your lives will be linked for all time. Fitzwilliam, your progeny will serve as Keepers. Netherford, you will hold the territory on their behalf, and your offspring will hold it for them after you. This relationship is not just for now, but for all the future generations. With that in mind, I name you Dragon and Keeper. Let the Records show this new bond.”
Applause began in the galleries and drifted down to the floor. Dragons bugled, and the room dissolved into chaotic effusions.
Elizabeth chanced a quick glance at Darcy. His eyes glistened, and he bit his lip though his smile still crept through.
The celebratory din died away, and Fitzwilliam took a step back.
“Stay where you are, Fitzwilliam. Mr. Darcy, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, approach the Chancellor.” What did Lord Matlock have in mind?
No one had apprised them of any charges being brought against them. They had no opportunity to prepare a defense. That was not according to the established protocols. She swallowed hard. Darcy passed Earl to Georgiana and offered his arm, the creases along his eyes revealing as much bewilderment as she felt. She took it gladly.
As they approached Lord Matlock, Cownt Matlock arranged himself beside his Keeper. Both of them? What could they possibly have done to require them to face both Matlocks?
Lord Matlock clasped his hands behind his back and glanced from them to the dragons in the audience and up to the balcony galleries behind them. “Over the past several months, the dragon state has faced perils unseen for centuries, and you three have managed to be in the thick of it all.”
Over Matlock’s shoulder, Papa glowered directly at her. Elizabeth gulped.
“An egg stolen from its Keep, a drakling wild-hatched, then sick to near death, deaf-speakers brought into the knowledge of dragons, a rogue dragon, and a lost foreign envoy—”
“It was not their fault that I became misdirected.” Shin-dee-a called. “In fact, they were quite—”
Cownt Matlock growled a soft warning.
“It is not lost on the officers of the Order the role you have played in these events.”
Breathe. She must remember to breathe. Swooning here and now would be anathema to the dragons—to show such weakness before them. She might never regain their respect after such a display. No matter what Matlock declared, she could endure it in order not to lose her standing among the dragons. Cold air ached in her chest as she forced it in and out.
“It is time that it be officially recognized and dealt with according to the ancient traditions of the Order.” Lord Matlock waved at someone behind his dragon.
Lord Chudleigh appeared, carrying a small stool upholstered in blue velvet with the seal of the Order embroidered in gold thread. Lord Dunbrook followed behind, bearing a substantial sheathed sword. Enamel work along the sheath depicted the Pendragon crest.
The Pendragon sword? Elizabeth’s knee threatened to buckle.
Lord Chudleigh placed the stool on the floor before Lord Matlock as he unsheathed the sword and held it upright before him for the Conclave to see.
The blade itself had been worn with time, no longer sharp as it once was. Bits of rust stained the blade, but the hilt and pommel were brightly polished, inlaid with blue gems matching Lord Dunbrook’s staff. It could be none other than the Pendragon blade.
“The Pendragon Order recognizes your meritorious service to the Order. Richard Fitzwilliam, step forward and kneel.”
Fitzwilliam obeyed.
“By the power conferred to me by Uther Pendragon through the Blue Order, I make you Knight Bachelor of the Pendragon Order.” He tapped Fitzwilliam’s shoulders with the sword.
Cownt Matlock extended his wings to cover Fitzwilliam and Lord Matlock.
The dragons remained oddly silent as if waiting for Cownt Matlock to reveal them once again.
Cownt Matlock folded his wings and Fitzwilliam stood, eyes wide and face a little pale. The corner of Lord Matlock’s lips turned up though, enough to crease the corners of his eyes, as broad a smile as he would ever offer in such company. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, step forward and kneel.”
Fitzwilliam winked at Darcy as they passed one another. Darcy appeared to ignore it as he knelt before Lord Matlock, but the barest twitch of an eyebrow betrayed him.
“By the power conferred to me by Uther Pendragon through the Blue Order, I make you Knight Bachelor of the Pendragon Order.” He tapped Darcy’s shoulders with the sword.
Cownt Matlock received Darcy, and he stepped back to Elizabeth’s side.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Lord Matlock gestured to the stool.
Had she heard that correctly? He had called her name? Darcy nudged her, and she stepped forward, lightheaded and unsteady. Kneeling on the soft stool was a welcome relief from standing.
“What does a kingdom do with a woman such as yourself?” Lord Matlock asked. “You present us quite a conundrum, Miss Bennet.”
“Perhaps to you, but not to us.” Cownt Matlock bumped Lord Matlock aside with his shoulder. “He may have his piece in a moment, but we will have our say first.” He beckoned with his wing. Barwines Chudleigh slithered from her place to settle beside Cownt Matlock. Barwin Dunbrook flanked his other side.
“Over the last ssseveral monthsss, your contributionsss to not just dragon lore, but to dragon medicine, dragon relationsss … nearly all things pertinent to usss has become obviousss.” Chudleigh wove slightly as she spoke.
“Your services are needed by the Order.” Cownt Matlock pulled his head up high and puffed his body. He was about to say something very significant. “By decree of the dragons of the Council, we create a new officer of the Blue Order and appoint you to serve in that role: Dragon Sage. As such, you will be responsible, with the Chief Scribe, for reforming the education of all Dragon Mates, both Keepers and Friends, and for consulting with the same in all matters of draconic difficulties.”
Elizabeth stared slack-jawed. “Sage? There is no Dragon Sage.”
“There will be once you accept your possst.” Chudleigh’s tongue flicked Elizabeth’s cheek, a soft nudge reminding her of where she was.
Elizabeth glanced back at Darcy. He stood stiff and straight, but his eyes said everything she needed to hear. “I accept.”
“Of course, you do.” Cownt Matlock murmured, dismissing Chudleigh and Dunbrook with a flick of his wings.
“May I continue now?” Lord Matlock sounded stern, but his posture seemed more amused.
“If you must.” Cownt Matlock shuffled aside.
“As I said, you present us quite a conundrum, Miss Bennet. You flout convention at every turn, and yet, as our dragons have already recognized, you seem to have an unfailing ability to think like a dragon and understand the real needs of a situation, proving yourself time and again. By the power conferred to me by Uther Pendragon through the Blue Order, I make you Dame Commander of the Pendragon Order.” He tapped her shoulders with the sword.
Cownt Matlock enveloped them with his wings. “We have been observing you for a long time. These accolades are long overdue. You should have been dedicated to Order service years ago.”
Cownt Matlock folded his wings back, but it was several moments before she found sufficient strength to step back between Darcy and Fitzwilliam. The room erupted in an ecstatic roar. In the gallery behind Lord Matlock, Papa shook his head, clearly befuddled by what had just transpired. But his face was soft, not so much displeased as bewildered.
On Lord Matlock’s instruction, they faced the Conclave. “Sir Richard, Sir Fitzwilliam, and Lady Elizabeth.”
Pemberley waddled from her place beside Rosings directly to Cownt Matlock, and the room stilled. “This mean she my Keeper now?”
Elizabeth rushed to her side and wrapped her arm over Pemberley’s shoulders. “Not yet dearling, but very soon.”
“No! I waited! I patient. I learn letters. I learn pencil. I learn gliding. I promised learn, I learn. Now I want Keeper!” She lifted her front foot but
stopped just before she stomped. The little dear had more self-control than Lydia. She looked up balefully at Matlock. “Please, may I has my Keeper now?”
Whispers rippled back and forth across the room, drifting down from the balconies above. The human voices Elizabeth could pick out seemed rather scandalized. The dragons repeated the question amongst themselves as though it carried great weight and merit. Human ceremony, especially regarding betrothal and marriage, made little sense to them.
“I will consider your request.” Lord Matlock strode to the Officer’s gallery and conferred with several officers. He returned with the Blue Order Bishop at his heels and waved Darcy to join them. “The first question is, can it be done?”
The bishop wrung his hands. “Have the banns been read?”
“Yes.”
“It is still forenoon.” He chewed his lower lip. “The ceremony can be conducted in the Order chapel behind us. Under the circumstances, I think it can be accommodated.”
“The bigger question—how do you feel about it, Elizabeth?” Darcy crouched beside Pemberley, “I understand what you want, but you must remember that yours is not the only opinion of import in the case.”
“I want her.” Pemberley wound her neck around Elizabeth’s waist. “I very patient like I promised.”
“Yes, you have been. Barwines Chudleigh has told me you have worked very hard in all your studies. I am very proud of you, my dear.” Elizabeth scratched under her chin.
“Tea has already been ordered for my sssalon after the Conclave. We could make a sssort of wedding breakfast for you of that, to celebrate after the fashion of your kind,” Barwines Chudleigh whispered, her tongue tickling Elizabeth’s ear.
“It is, of course, your choice, but after the anxiety of the recent months, I think it would be a very good thing for the Order’s morale to see their heroes wed in the presence of the Conclave.” Lord Matlock clearly held a strong opinion, but he was trying hard to appear mild and open to their preferences—not succeeding well, but trying.
Elizabeth giggled. “A sort of happily-ever-after to end a dragon fairy-story?”