by Maria Grace
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 esta
te 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 eg
g 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.”