This Scepter'd Isle

by Mercedes Lackey

  And just as he was wondering if he should concoct something, the great black doors to the hall slammed open.

  Every head turned, and from most came gasps and grunts of surprise, of fear, of anger. A brilliant light put to shame the witch-lights in the skull holders and the ghastly colors of the burning heads. In the center of the clear brilliance stood Lord Ffrancon, the waterfall of his white hair interwoven with chains of diamonds, his white tunic and trews embroidered in gold, and sprinkled with more diamonds.

  "Well, well," Vidal Dhu said, his lips curving into a sneer, "the messenger boy from the High King. All alone, are you?"

  "Messenger, yes," the High Court lord said, smiling very slightly, not in the least discomfited by his reception. "Boy . . . ah, alas, it is a very long time since I was a boy. At about half my lifetime, I can remember you as a puling infant, Vidal Dhu. And alone . . ." He paused a moment, significantly, his smile broadening. "I am never alone. The Thought follows me."

  Before he could control it, Vidal's breath sucked in. Now he knew why he had summoned his court. The Thought had touched him, ordered him, and he had obeyed, without even being aware of it.

  Aurilia laid a hand on his arm. "We are here assembled. What message do you bring us from High King Oberon?"

  "First, that the mortal boy, Henry FitzRoy, Duke of Richmond, is under King Oberon's personal protection and may not be harmed or abducted." A single elegant eyebrow lifted, awaiting Vidal Dhu's reaction.

  "A High King who is not just, who is not impartial, does not deserve his honors!" Vidal spat.

  "Take them from him then," Ffrancon's voice was soft and smooth as if it had been oiled, his faint smile betrayed no real emotion. He paused, waiting for some reply and when none came, shrugged and continued. "Three times you tried to take the child and failed. And twice you used other-planar creatures, chancing exposure of our existence here—"

  "Three times!" Vidal exclaimed, looking past Lord Ffrancon to where Rhoslyn and Pasgen sat.

  "None of the tiny goblins we used were captured. Most of the mortals thought they were mice or rats," Pasgen said. "Your watchers failed us, Lord Vidal. We were told the boy would be in the carriage with his nurse. The plan was to have her carry him away. But he was not in the carriage. He was mounted before my half-brother on an elvensteed."

  "You cannot call it a failure when the High King sends one of his minions to foil my servant's plan," Vidal said to Lord Ffrancon.

  Pasgen's teeth snapped together when Vidal called him a servant, but he had no chance to speak because Lord Ffrancon laughed heartily.

  "That was no doing of King Oberon's. He and the queen have only just returned from a very long journey. He knew nothing of this boy over whom you are quarreling or he would have put an end to the quarrel sooner." Now Lord Ffrancon showed a little—a very little—emotion. A cold, clinical anger, and a hint of distaste. "In the name of Dannae, Vidal Dhu, the boy is the king's son. Did you think he would not be missed, sought after, questions raised if he were not found?"

  "I had a changeling . . ." Rhoslyn began. "And Denoriel killed it! How did he know I was coming? How?"

  "Yes, how did Denoriel always 'happen' to be there when we arranged to capture the boy?" Pasgen added.

  "I am not sure." Lord Ffrancon was smiling, now rather sadly. "Nor do I—or more importantly, the High King—care. It was none of King Oberon or Queen Titania's doing. It is, I think a mortal thing, one of the results of a mortal . . . ah . . . sickness called love. Denoriel is bound to the boy, and the child to him, I believe. Denoriel senses when the boy is in danger. Surely you have seen that before?"

  Vidal snarled softly. He had seen it before. It was not unknown, although it was not common, for the Hunt to be disordered, sometimes even driven away, by those who loved the victim coming out with crosses and weapons of cold iron. He made no other reply, however, and the High Court lord shrugged.

  "In any case the boy FitzRoy is now off bounds. Feel glad that you did not succeed in taking him and making it needful for King Oberon to retrieve him and cover your blunders." Again, that cold, elegant look of disdain. "Attempting to meddle with so valuable a mortal child would have been costly to all the Sidhe, Seleighe and Unseleighe alike. The High King might well have visited a worse punishment on you for using Unseleighe minions to attack the traveling party. Your underling-creatures can be slain. What if one had been?"

  "They were not true Unseleighe!" Rhoslyn exclaimed. "I am no fool. They were constructs, good for only a few hours, and if they were killed they fell to dust immediately. No one would be able to bring an otherworldly corpse as evidence of an otherwise unbelievable tale. The High King is being unfair. He is tilting the board toward the Bright Court."

  Lord Ffrancon turned slightly, and fixed her with a chilly gaze; she paled beneath it, and the unspoken rebuke. "Child, do not presume to instruct your elders in the matter of—politics. The High King does not mete out his judgments lightly. And do not presume that what you have seen in your visions is unknown to him. He knows that the boy FitzRoy will never rule—and yet interfering with him further endangers all of us. In any case the High King is not pleased by your meddling so close to one of the thrones of the mortal world. His order is that none of those close to King Henry, or the king himself, of course, are to be physically harmed or abducted. You have been fortunate, in that the mortals have not sought to discover the truth behind their legends. There will be an end to them."

  Vidal Dhu started to rise, but Aurilia held tight to his arm. Her nails dug into the black velvet sleeve so deeply that she cut the cloth.

  While Vidal was still choking on his rage, she said, "We hear and obey."

  And the brilliance that had enveloped High Lord Ffrancon winked out, leaving the whole throne room by contrast, dark, and those in it blinking.

  The High Court emissary gone, Vidal turned on those at hand. "Three times!" he roared, staring though the dimness to where he had seen Rhoslyn and Pasgen. His anger lanced out in physical form, hot enough to burn.

  "That was very wrong." Aurilia's voice was as smoothly cold as Vidal's had been hot. "You should have told Lord Vidal of your attempts and failures."

  "Three failures!"

  Vidal lifted his hand; Aurilia pulled it down again. "But Vidal, in a way, they did us a favor. They fixed the High King's attention on physical removal or damage. Thus, all is not lost, my love. No, indeed." She smiled placatingly at Vidal Dhu. "We will, as I said, obey to the letter the order of King Oberon."

  He looked at her at last, and she murmured softly, "Dismiss the court, my lord. Order them to stay out of the mortal world, unless they Hunt with you, for the time being . . . until Oberon sticks his nose in someone else's business. One day . . . one day he will anger enough lords so that—"

  Vidal's hand came over her mouth, and she dropped her head. He rose to his feet and virtually repeated what she had said, only omitting the remark about King Oberon. Obediently, still somewhat dazed by a power that had not permitted even the most unruly of them to make any kind of attack on their visitor, though some had tried, they began to leave. Vidal looked at Rhoslyn and Pasgen.

  "Not you two," he said. "I am not finished with you."

  Aurilia smiled and nodded. "You are so clever, my love. They can be used and punished at the same time. But before we get to that, tell us how the Princess Mary progresses."

  A nasty refinement of cruelty to make them wait and waste power by needing to support full shields lest Vidal lash out at them while Aurilia was occupying them. Aurilia's doing, that; Vidal could never wait to apply a torment. She could not only wait, but be interested in what you said, while she made you wait.

  "I have not seen the princess in several months," Rhoslyn reported. "One of King Henry's ways of tormenting Queen Catherine to make her compliant to his desire for a divorce or an annulment is to forbid her to see her daughter. I used to go with the queen quite frequently when she visited Mary, however, and at that time the princess was shapin
g just as we desired."

  "I have no direct contact with the princess, but I am in the confidence of Chapuys, the Imperial ambassador. He knows me as the human mage, Master Fagildo Otstargi, a Christianized Turk. After that disaster perpetrated by Mendoza—the previous ambassador—and his mage Martin Perez, I felt that I had better be available to direct any plans for the use of magic. Perez has returned to Spain." Pasgen's lips twitched. "His grimoire was stolen."

  "There is some point to all this digression, I presume," Vidal said.

  "Let him talk, love," Aurilia purred. "This and that idea has come to me. When you have heard them, of course you will decide what would be best to do."

  Pasgen kept his face blank, but he felt uneasy. He had forgotten for a moment that Aurilia was not the perfectly exquisite and perfectly empty-headed she-Sidhe she appeared to be. To cover his anxiety, he made a half bow.

  "To come to my point. Chapuys visits the princess regularly, sometimes bringing letters, sometimes bringing verbal messages from the queen. I attend him as often as I can. I would say that the princess has continued in the correct direction. She admires, almost reveres, anything Spanish; she thinks her great-uncle, the Emperor Charles, is the most perfect of men and a perfect example of the best ruler. Her faith in the Church is absolute—" his lips twisted "—but only when the Church agrees with her mother."

  "Then you think she will be a suitable instrument for bringing the Inquisition to England?" Aurilia's voice was soft, almost dreamy and her tongue slipped out between her pointed teeth to moisten her full, red lips.

  "Her only fault as far as I can see is that she is very soft-hearted," Pasgen said thoughtfully. "Her nature is gentle and kindly. She really cannot bear seeing anyone suffer without wishing to relieve that suffering. She will need to be taught more strongly that to save the body, to relieve the physical suffering, will condemn the soul."

  Aurilia turned toward Rhoslyn and smiled. Rhoslyn thought that was a mistake. It damaged the image of perfection she otherwise projected; her teeth were jagged and pointed like a shark's. Fleetingly Rhoslyn wondered how she managed not to stab Vidal Dhu when she kissed him.

  "So, Rhoslyn, there is your next task. Find a place close to the princess. It must be a position of respect and one in which your advice will be attended." Aurilia's tone left no mistake that this was an order. "There should be little difficulty in putting steel into Princess Mary's spine since she already believes in the Church, and that to reject the Church and all that it stands for is to bring damnation."

  "I can arrange it for you, Rhoslyn," Pasgen said. "I've already gotten into Chapuys's mind. Just say who you want to be and he'll introduce you to Vives, Mary's tutor."

  "Good enough," Rhoslyn said. "I will deal with Vives. He's an idiot who thinks females are improved by harsh treatment. I'll have him put me in charge of Mary's religious training. It will be easy enough to convince her that faith is everything and triumphs over all small vanities. I'll pander to her love of music and fine clothing as long as she believes. Then, I will convince her that torment of a sinner's body is nothing, so long as the soul is saved—that the only thing that matters is confession of sin and heresy, and if death follows, not only is this no tragedy, it will enable the soul to go to heaven without repeating the sin with a recantation. Which, of course, will mean that anyone who does not believe as she does, believes wrongly and must be forced to accept her belief."

  Aurilia smiled again and stroked Vidal's cheek. "See. See how we obey the High King. No harm will come to Mary. I'm sure Rhoslyn will defend Princess Mary from abduction or any other physical harm with all her skill and strength. And she will shape our tool—"

  "If she comes to the throne," Vidal said, lips twisting. "How are we going to keep the red-haired babe away from it without abducting the child?"

  "By making sure the mother is so disgraced that the red-haired babe is removed from the succession irrevocably. When the child is no longer of any interest to the powers of Logres, then we can set a changeling in its cradle. Then no one will care or think of witchcraft. And then we will have the child, we will have the use of the mind that would have ruled a realm and raised that realm to great heights."

  There was a momentary silence as all four considered that. Rhoslyn and Pasgen had Seen the glory that was England, and the prosperity of Logres, under the rule of the one who had once been a red-haired babe. The creativity that welded a nation of self-seeking, squabbling nobles together and brought peace and prosperity could as easily be turned to the aggrandizement of the Unseleighe Court. What Vidal Dhu was thinking was not clear, but must have been something similar, because his tongue briefly caressed his upper lip, but then his mouth thinned with anger and anxiety.

  "Easily said," Vidal remarked, "but the mother-to-be my FarSeers now say is Anne Boleyn, the absolute center of the king's love and attention. No matter what she does, what she says, the king holds her without fault. By your agreement, Aurilia, we cannot meddle with her; she must be inviolate."

  Aurilia laughed softly and Pasgen stiffened his muscles to restrain a shudder. She looked at once smug and cruel—and satisfied. "Inviolate from physical hurt or abduction only," she said, voice purring. "That was what the High King ordered and to which I agreed. And remember that King Henry is as fickle as any pretty maid. Who knows how long he will think diamonds and pearls drop from her lips with each word, no matter how sharp. If the king casts her away, no one will care what we do with her—or the red-haired babe."

  "Do not count on that. The Seleighe will be watching," Pasgen said. "Nor would I count on Boleyn losing the king's interest. I've heard Chapuys, the Imperial ambassador, speak of her."

  Despite himself Pasgen was growing interested. He was not certain how powerful a sorcerer Aurilia was, but she had a brilliant and devious mind.

  "And this Chapuys says what?" she asked, mildly.

  "That Anne is very clever—infernally clever is the way he puts it. And he calls her a witch, who has ensorcelled the king."

  "I wonder if that can be true?" Aurilia murmured. "If Mistress Anne Boleyn is Talented . . . Oh, if she is Talented and untrained, I have a plan that will destroy her and no Sidhe of the dark court need go near her to bring it about. No spell will be cast on her. We—" Aurilia giggled; Rhoslyn shivered "—we will not be to blame for what damage the girl does to herself."

  "But how?" Vidal asked, pulling her hand away from his face as if he had suddenly become aware that her stroking caress was muddling his mind.

  "Ask rather when than how," Aurilia said. "If she yields to Henry and he casts her off, we can exchange the child at any time. However, if she can manage to hold off the king until he is ready to marry her—if he can get her no other way—we will need to work more carefully. Once she is married and with child . . . Then—" Aurilia closed her eyes for a moment, savoring her plan "—then Anne will get a little gift from an old friend, an adorable little puppy."

  "But if it is bespelled—" Vidal objected.

  "No spell will be on it, nor will any spell manifest unless the dog is in Anne's own hands." Aurilia's smile made Pasgen shiver. "While she holds it and caresses it, her Talented mind will be prodded into an urgent need to express her pride, arrogance, and ill humor. And since those are natural to her, no one will suspect meddling."

  "I hope not, but those accursed half-siblings of ours are likely to be somewhere around Mistress Anne watching and listening," Pasgen pointed out.

  "Aleneil has already given Anne a safeguard, a small golden cross—" Rhoslyn began.

  "A cross is no impediment," Vidal said.

  "No, not the cross," Rhoslyn continued impatiently, "the spells set into every gemstone on the cross. The old Imperial ambassador wanted to cast some kind of spell on her, but his magician's attempts came to nothing. I understand you are not setting a spell, just an urging into her mind, and it may pass the wards, but if Aleneil is anywhere near Anne, won't she feel the effects of the dog?"

  Aurilia shrugged.
"That is a worthwhile warning. Half your pains will be remitted. It will be easy enough to make the dog shy of Sidhe. If Aleneil comes to call, the dog will go hide somewhere."

  "And what are our pains to be?" Pasgen asked.

  The Badger's Hole was just what it said, a very large hole in the ground, large enough for Miralys and Lady Aeron to pass through as well as Denoriel, Harry, and Matka Toimisto. The first few feet were pitch dark and forbidding; Harry tripped over some roots in the ground and would have fallen if Denoriel had not caught him and taken his hand.

  "Sorry," a high-pitched voice with the hint of a chitter in it rang out. "Thought you were all from Underhill. Didn't notice the mortal among you."

  And lights came on. The place, now visibly an earth tunnel with root tendrils hanging down from the roof and showing in the walls, thicker roots making the floor uneven, remained essentially a badger's hole. It widened out noticeably ahead, and the witch lights clustered and following them grew noticeably fainter as they drew nearer what should have been the badger's den.

  So it might have been, if badgers, even mortal human-sized ones, furnished their chambers. Ceiling and walls remained much like those of the tunnel, except that the walls all had torch-holders with blazing torches in them and a huge root shaped into the form of a candelabra holding lighted candles hung down from the ceiling. Still the place was rather dim. FitzRoy craned his neck to see all around.

  There were tables in the center of the room, rough-hewn, as were the benches and a few chairs that surrounded them, some of which still wore the bark of the trees from which they had been made. On them were quite an assortment of animals, some with manlike heads, some with the upright posture that permitted them to sit in humanoid fashion; some sat on their haunches, which was a bit less convenient for leaning over the table, but all had grasping hands with opposable thumbs. Most of them looked up at Denoriel's party, but not one looked surprised, even by the elvensteeds.