Ill Met by Moonlight

by Mercedes Lackey

  From those cuffs protruded a very full lower sleeve of red silk brocade, slashed to show dazzlingly white silk puffs of the chemise. The outer gown was of silver silk, brocaded with darker silver in a pattern of giant leaves, the skirt divided in front to show the second skirt of the undergown beneath. The undergown matched the lower sleeve, a dull red silk brocaded in an elaborate diamond pattern in gold.

  Elizabeth gaped at herself. She had never seen so rich a dress. Not even Catherine Howard, who had adored fine dress before she sinned and was executed, had anything as grand as what Elizabeth was now wearing.

  “Ohhh, it is so beautiful. Can I take it home?” she breathed.

  Lady Alana laughed. “Only if you wish to step through the Gate and find yourself naked, my heart. No, love, you will have to wear your nightdress when you go back, but if you like this gown, Denoriel will save it for you and you can wear it when you come Underhill again.”

  “But I will have outgrown it by then,” Elizabeth said, tears of disappointment rising to her eyes.

  “No, love.” Alana patted her cheek. “Whenever you put it on it will be the right size. But I doubt you will wish to wear it often. I think you will find it too restrictive if you wish to see the sights of Underhill. Never mind.” She waved at a closed wardrobe. “You will find what you need in there, if you should come again, and I pledge you, the gowns you find there will please you just as much. Now, I must run away to keep Blanche out of trouble.”

  Having seen Elizabeth safely back into Denno’s care, Lady Alana stepped out of the door. Denoriel did not watch his sister go but stared at Elizabeth. “God’s Grace,” he said, “can you walk in that?”

  “Yes, certainly,” Elizabeth said, making sure her back was very straight and upright, her head high. “It is really very light, because the skirt is supported by a farthingale instead of layers of petticoats. The fur …” she lifted her arms. “No, the fur is very light too. Denno, why does Lady Alana call you Denoriel, and I heard you call her Aleneil?” Anxiety tightened her mouth. “Are you really my Denno?”

  “Yes, I am,” he said, and took her hand and squeezed it gently. “Aleneil and Denoriel are our names Underhill. Denno and Alana are what we called each other when we were too little to say our full names.”

  “Oh.” Elizabeth was relieved. “The way Edward called me Bess when I first came to Hertford. He could say Elizabeth but only very slowly, so I let him call me Bess.”

  “Exactly. We are the same people. But you had better still call us Denno and Alana in your world.” She began to think that she liked this Denno better than the one in her world, even though his eyes and ears were so odd, and there was no illusion of humanity to concentrate on—he smiled a great deal more. “Are you hungry? Can you eat with those sleeves on your arms?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Yes to both.”

  “Then come into the other room,” Denno said, snapping his fingers at the empty air.

  They entered the dining room in time to see plates settle themselves noiselessly on the polished surface of the table. Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath as soup was ladled from a serving bowl hanging midair into eating bowls at each place and a breadbasket seemed to float through the air and set itself between the places.

  “Sorry, my lady,” Denno said, smiling reassurance. “I never bothered to make my servants visible.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened, but she sat down—carefully arranging her elaborate skirts—in the seat Denoriel indicated and reached for her spoon. “Then how do you know when they are finished serving?” she asked.

  Denoriel grinned. “I just start to eat and they get out of the way or avoid me.”

  Elizabeth did not smile in response. “That cannot make for the growth of loyalty,” she said. “And you cannot even see the expressions on their faces or how they hold their bodies. How can you trust them?”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “And who taught you that, little minx?”

  “Kat, of course,” she replied sharply. “And she is quite right. The servants adore her and would do anything for her … except Dunstan. He would do anything for me! But you haven’t answered me. I would not like to have servants I could not see. One could creep up behind you and …”

  “Not these servants. They are constructs, not people.” He sucked on his lower lip a little, trying to think how to make her understand. “They are made, like the automata you have been shown from time to time. They have no more mind than a clockwork. They can do perfectly what they are designed to do, but they do not really think or feel.”

  Denoriel was a little surprised to see Elizabeth shiver. He remembered how amused Harry had been at being cared for by the invisible servants, how totally delighted and thrilled he had been by the beauties of Underhill. How Harry had longed, even after their disastrous arrival, to stay. Plainly Elizabeth did not feel that way.

  That was just as well, Denoriel told himself, although he felt a little hurt at her lack of appreciation of the wonders and beauties of his world. She was immune, it seemed, from the danger that mortals who were brought Underhill often fell prey to. Even when their memories of the time spent here were removed, they would retain a sense of something wonderful that had been lost, and would go through their lives searching for they knew not what. He thought, watching Elizabeth’s expression as her soup bowl was removed and replaced with a plate of cold meats and fresh vegetables, that she looked more disapproving than enthralled.

  Her expression brought an odd little skipped beat to his heart, but under and beyond his disappointment in her lack of appreciation was a deep admiration. She was so much cleverer than Harry, so much more imaginative—not that he loved Harry less; Harry was a still pool of peace, a strong bulwark of solid affection. But Elizabeth challenged him. There was little peace in her presence. One had to be always on guard, and aware of every word.

  Teasingly, because of her frown, he asked if she did not like her nuncheon. She looked at him, almost blankly, then smiled and said she liked it very well, but her remark was plainly made with more absent politeness than real attention. However, she ate well enough to show her words were true.

  Still, when they were finished, went back into the sitting room, and sat down on the settle before the hearth, she looked at the multicolored flames leaping over and around the crystal logs and shook her head. “Denno, why waste magic on a fire when the temperature is always comfortable?”

  Denoriel explained that there was magic enough and more than enough Underhill, that use was a matter of the Talent of the user rather than how much or how strong the ambient magic was. He had a strong Talent, and the fire was for ornament rather than for usefulness. “As one would set a fountain in the garden—one does not need a fountain to bring water to the plants, but it is a pleasant thing to see and hear.” Elizabeth nodded understanding but disapproval was again in her face.

  “You can make anything you want out of thin air and magic, can you not? If I asked for a garden, doubtless there would be one outside the window in the double-shake of a lamb’s tail.”

  “Outside my window, I could provide the illusion of a garden, yes.”

  Elizabeth sighed and shook her head again. “Everything is too easy here. You want food, you wave a hand. You want fine clothing … I did not even see Lady Alana make a gesture and I was dressed from the skin out in far greater grandeur than I could afford at home. What do you people do after you have made two gestures?”

  Denoriel laughed heartily. “What do you do? Learn. Read. Hunt and play at games. Sing. Dance. Court a fair lady.”

  “Gossip. Speak ill of each other.” She shook her head impatiently. “Yes, I know all about that!”

  Denoriel laughed even harder, but he did not want Elizabeth to think too ill of Underhill and he said, “No, truly. Our lives are not so different from yours. We cannot learn things by magic; magic does not make the words fly from a page into one’s memory. An artist still must wield his brushes and chisels to make a painting or a statue. A musi
cian must practice and take instruction from a master in order to play. Real things, real for Underhill, I mean, can be made here also. That takes much more effort than a gesture to call servants or make an illusion. Real things, like the palace of Llachar Lle, are created by the exertion of will in an Unformed land. Only King Oberon could have created Llachar Lle, I think.”

  “Will I see King Oberon?” she asked with interest.

  “I hope not!” Denoriel exclaimed. “He likes little mortal girls. I am afraid you might be too fascinating for him to resist and he might wish to keep you here.”

  “No,” Elizabeth said, and then clamped her lips tight over the reason for her denial.

  Even to Denno she would not admit that she dreamed of being queen. It was treason for her to dream such a dream; one hint of such a thought and she would be executed. Besides that, she loved Edward and wished him ho harm. She wanted him to live long and be crowned. Sometimes she told herself that her dream of being queen was connected with marriage, that she would marry a king or a prince who would come to the throne. But her heart knew she ruled England.

  “No, indeed,” Denno said. “Did I not promise to bring you home before the evening meal?”

  Elizabeth let herself smile, but she had lost her interest in King Oberon. Another idea was more enticing. “You say I have Talent and power,” she said. “Could I create something in an Unformed place?”

  “I hope not.” Denno grinned at her. “You are quite willful enough without practicing on a poor Unformed land in Underhill. No, seriously love, creation of real life is so difficult that Sidhe have died trying. However, some have succeeded. I am sure a real garden could be created and if you really want one, I will try.”

  She shook her head and said correctly, “I would not want you to endanger yourself,” but the idea of creating something herself, or even seeing Denno make something that would live and grow made her sigh a little.

  To distract her Denoriel said, “There is a place I call Shepherd’s Paradise that I would love to show you. As far as I can tell, it was created for no other purpose than to hold a small herd of sheep, which seem to believe that they are in a sheep’s version of heaven.” Then, thinking of the contented animals—even Miralys and Lady Aeron seemed especially at peace there—Denoriel’s tongue slipped and he added, “It’s where Harry and I go when we want a quiet place to talk.”

  There was a sudden tense silence, then Elizabeth said slowly, voice trembling, “Is he coming? Is my Da coming? Is that where we will meet him?”

  Furious at himself for having reminded her, Denoriel opened his mouth to say again that he did not know—and was saved. In the air between them appeared a sparkling figure, about the size of one of Elizabeth’s hands, sporting iridescent butterfly wings, a tiny, bright purple cap, the sort that fools wore, and shiny black shoes with pointed toes. Other clothing seemed unnecessary as the little creature had skin all over smooth as glass and no sexual organs at all.

  “You are summoned,” the faery sang in a tinkling voice.

  “We are ready,” Denoriel said.

  Elizabeth’s lips parted to object. She wanted her question answered first … but she swallowed her words. She had been rigidly trained in court protocol. When the king demanded anyone’s presence, that person came at once, even she, regardless of the fact that she was his daughter. Here she did not even have that advantage.

  Denno had risen when the messenger spoke, as did Elizabeth, and he went to stand beside her, passing his hand down along his body and ending with as full and elaborate a male version of court dress as Elizabeth wore. A little rod appeared in the faery’s hand and was shaken over Denoriel and Elizabeth, releasing a shower of brilliant sparks.

  Elizabeth blinked at the brightness and when she opened her eyes she was someplace quite different. Denno was still beside her, but this room was empty of the chairs and settles and tables in his reception room. She was still facing a large window, but beyond it was a completely different scene. Here, rather than a rough meadow, was a smooth-mown lawn graced with large trees.

  Beneath one tree, quite close to the window, was a group of children, all apparently human, all perfect, except for one smudged and tattered little boy. The children were playing happily under the eyes of two tall people who had long, pointed ears and eyes with long pupils like Denno and Alana. But had not Denno said that children were rare among his people?

  Oh but—weren’t those ordinary children?

  She never thought further than the question. A slight sound drew Elizabeth to turn her head toward the top of the room. Her mouth dropped open. Her breath drew in. On a dais, on a graceful chair seemingly carved out of a single pearl, was a woman so beautiful that Elizabeth’s heart seemed to stop.

  Beautiful, but not human. Far more than in the case of Denno and Alana, this woman was Other. Denno’s ears were a bit pointed and a little longer than a human’s, the queen’s—for she must be the Queen, Elizabeth thought; power shimmered around her—ears were quite pointed, and carefully exposed through her elaborate coils and braids of hair. The hair itself was beyond human; it glistened and glowed like threads of true gold metal. Her eyes … Elizabeth stopped thinking.

  “This is the child?” the woman asked in so musical a voice that it raised a craving to hear her speak again.

  Denoriel swept a deep bow. “Yes, Your Majesty. This is Lady Elizabeth, daughter of King Henry, the eighth of that name, of England in the World Above.”

  Elizabeth promptly dropped a formal curtsey, right down to the ground with head bent almost to her knee. Denoriel saw the Queen begin to smile.

  “Rise, child,” Titania said.

  Elizabeth straightened and stood with head demurely lowered, hands folded before her, but Denoriel could see that she was looking up at Titania through her lashes.

  “Come closer,” the Queen ordered, and held out her hand. And when Elizabeth, urged again by an unmistakable order disguised as an inviting gesture, had stepped up on the dais and taken the Queen’s hand, Titania asked, “What do you think of Underhill, Lady Elizabeth?”

  “It is very, very beautiful,” Elizabeth replied carefully. “And I am quite amazed by what I have seen.”

  “Amazed? Not enthralled, delighted, not even pleased?” There was laughter in the musical voice.

  Elizabeth’s hand felt gently warm and the sensation was rising up her arm, but she did not dare think about that. She had to respond to the Queen’s question. And she knew she had to answer this queen’s questions every bit as carefully as she answered her father’s, careful of every word lest she say one that he could misunderstand and be offended. But it was not fair! She knew her father. She knew what might be offensive to him. She did not know this queen at all. Ah, but she knew from the Queen’s question that she took great pride in her land.

  “All of those, Your Majesty,” Elizabeth breathed, “but I am only a little girl. I fear to say too much—or even too little. It is all so wonderful that I … I find it hard to believe in it.”

  “Give me your other hand, child.”

  Denoriel felt his whole body tighten. Titania’s voice, though just as beautiful, to his practiced ear held a sharper note, possibly even a thread of stress. He stirred, drew breath to speak but did not dare when he saw that the Queen’s eyes were unnaturally bright, fixed on Elizabeth’s face.

  “Majesty,” Elizabeth said, carefully, as if she were measuring out each word, “This is a wonderful place, better than a dream. But I cannot live in a dream. Although I love to visit there, I could not live here. This place—it is not for such as me. And I think—perhaps—that is a good thing.”

  Denoriel’s breath eased out, silently. All was well. He could not see Elizabeth’s expression, because she was too close to Titania and facing her, but her body, although firmly upright, showed no extra stiffness as of resistance to pain, and the side of her cheek that he could see looked as though her mouth might be smiling.

  Elizabeth had recovered quickly from the
initial impact of Queen Titania’s appearance, but she was deeply awed by the Queen’s power. Yet she was less afraid. She felt that she had some value she did not understand to the Queen and that Titania did not wish to harm her as long as she did as she was asked.

  When the Queen had taken her hand, she felt a little strange, and when Titania held both hands, even stranger, as if a stream of warmth, which she could see as sparkling light—but, somehow not with her eyes—was running up from her hands into her shoulders, and from there spreading all through her body.

  It was pleasant, but when the sparkling light rose into her head it made her just a trifle dizzy. And for a moment, as she stared into the emerald eyes that bound her, it was as if a tale thousands and thousands of years old rolled out into a dream vision. Suddenly she knew that Olympus had fallen when mortals turned away from the old gods, but the gods themselves, magic intact …

  Titania dropped her hands and the door to the long corridor of years closed. Elizabeth blinked, about to complain, but remembered where she was in time and stood silent.

  “Why did you not say what she was?” Titania was saying to Denno, and her voice was thin and hard.

  “Majesty, I do not know what she is,” Denno replied. “Only that she has Talent and that it must be trained if you desire the FarSeeings to be true.”

  “Holy Mother, I have not worked so difficult a weaving in a thousand years. She is—” Titania’s voice checked and then resumed on a puzzled note “—so strong, so strong, but very different. I hope Tangwystl can reach her.”

  Elizabeth’s lips tightened although she maintained her demure stance and her silence. It was very annoying to be talked about as if she were a pot or a cupboard.