Ill Met by Moonlight

by Mercedes Lackey

  “You sent a message,” Elizabeth wailed, “why would he not get it?”

  “Possibly because Harry was not at home. It is my fault, love.” Denoriel tried to think of excuses that would not leave the child hating Mwynwen for her foolish jealousy. “I knew we would be very busy. I had no idea how long Queen Titania would keep us but I suspected she might send us to a mage to teach you to close off your mind. I didn’t want poor Harry to be waiting for Dannae knew how long, so I didn’t make the message urgent. And constructs—the servants most Sidhe use—sometimes have poor memories.”

  That last was a flat lie. Because of her work as a healer, Mwynwen’s constructs could not only remember word perfect whatever was said but the speed of one’s heartbeat, the way one breathed, the heat of one’s body, and probably a host of internal signs of which the person him or herself was unaware.

  “Can you send another message?” Elizabeth asked, her expression teetering between hope and defeat.

  Fury washed through Denoriel. He could not remember ever having been so angry with Mwynwen. At her age, how could she be so childish, so jealous of a mortal child that she would lie to her lover and inflict so much pain on a little girl? And for Mwynwen’s own sake, it was stupid. If Harry found out—and he would—he would not only be bitterly angry but become untrusting and suspicious of her.

  “I can do better than that, love,” Denoriel said. “We can go to the house where Harry lives and catch him when he comes home or find out where he has gone and follow him.”

  “Oh, Denno!” she caught him around the waist and buried her face in his clothing. “Oh, thank you. Thank you.”

  It took no time to summon Miralys and ride across Logres to where Mwynwen’s house stood just on the edge of a wood of delicate birch and ash trees. The path to the front door between pastel-colored flowers with sweet but not overpowering scents was obviously wide enough for two elvensteeds abreast. Miralys took them to the door which opened welcomingly as they dismounted.

  A gentle-faced girl—except that her skin was quite green and her hair looked very much like trailing willow withies—came down the corridor to meet them, asking anxiously whether either were hurt or ill.

  “No, I thank you,” Denoriel said. “We have come to see Harry FitzRoy. Is he at home?”

  “No, nor Lady Mwynwen either,” the girl said.

  “Too bad,” Denoriel said, feeling Elizabeth’s hand steal into his. “But I am a long-time friend of Harry’s. I will just go back to his apartment and wait there for him.”

  “But I do not think they are coming back, not anytime soon,” the dryad said. “Lady Ceindrych is here to attend to those who were under Lady Mwynwen’s care and to treat any new patients.”

  “I see.” Denoriel barely kept himself from cursing the poor dryad, who sensed his anger and shrank into herself (but like her tree, which bent to every blast of wind, stood still firmly rooted). “May I speak to Lady Ceindrych then?”

  “Yes, of course. Come, please.”

  She led them to the end of the corridor and opened the door there, standing aside to let them enter. The room was not very large, only of a comfortable size, and all in soft, slightly glowing colors, one little gathering of chairs around a low table in faded golds and soft reds, warm and caressing; another group in gentle blues and greens touched with silver, cool and refreshing. At the back was a window that seemed to look out on the lovely garden in the front of the house, which was impossible, since this room was at the back. From a pair of chairs rose a woman with large blue eyes and silver hair pulled back from her face with a band of blue sapphires.

  “Lady Ceindrych.” Denoriel bowed and Elizabeth, taking the cue, made a respectful but not exaggerated curtsey.

  “So this is the fearsome Lady Elizabeth,” the old healer said, smiling at Elizabeth.

  “Fearsome?” Elizabeth repeated, and uttered a sob. “Oh you cannot mean that my Da ran away from me!”

  “Oh no, child, no,” Ceindrych murmured, going down on her knees and holding out her arms. “It was not Lord Harry who fled.” Elizabeth went into those open arms and Ceindrych continued comfortingly, “I do not think he had the faintest idea why that silly Mwynwen suddenly decided she needed a rest and freedom from the demands of patients.”

  “No, I am quite sure he did not,” Denoriel said. “My sister, because of my stupidity, doubtless gave Mwynwen the message really meant for Harry. She simply did not tell him and pretended she needed to go away.”

  “Yes,” Ceindrych agreed, releasing Elizabeth as the child straightened up. “He was totally unaware. When he came to ask me to care for her patients and anyone else who came for help, he also asked me if I thought it was his continuing sickness that was draining her and if there was another healer who could keep him healthy and so spare her.”

  Denoriel could barely contain his fury when Elizabeth’s tear-stained and tragic face was lifted from Ceindrych’s bosom. “She should be careful what she says,” he snarled, “or Harry will refuse treatment from her to save her and kill himself.”

  “Oh, my poor Da,” Elizabeth sobbed. “He was always too good, never caring enough for himself.”

  “And that is the Mother’s pure truth,” Denoriel said, pulling Elizabeth against himself and hugging her.

  “Well, you are both silly as day-old chicks,” Ceindrych said, shaking her head. “He is the light in Mwynwen’s life and I assure you she will not allow him to harm himself nor anyone else to harm him.” Then she rose from her knees and sighed. “You might as well take Elizabeth home, Denoriel. There is no sense in waiting here or in your home for him to return. I think what Mwynwen is doing is stupid. I told her so, but she would not listen and I am quite sure she will not bring Lord Harry back to Logres until Elizabeth is gone.”

  “I will go after her and see that Harry learns—”

  “Where will you go, silly boy? Do you think she told me or anyone else where she was going so you could pick it out of our heads? To speak the truth, I do not believe she has allowed herself to think about a destination.”

  Denoriel sighed defeat, but Elizabeth took his hand and said to Ceindrych, “But my Da—the one you call Lord Harry—he is alive and well? You saw him with your own eyes?”

  The healer put a gentle hand beneath Elizabeth’s chin, and tilted her face so that she could look straight into the Sidhe’s eyes. “Yes, indeed I did, and I spoke to him also. I promise you he was in the best of health, only worried about his … his lady. Now go back to Llachar Lle with Denoriel and don’t worry about your Da anymore.” Then she smiled. “Mwynwen will not always be able to keep him from you, and the day you and he meet, she might realize how foolish she has been.”

  Elizabeth tightened her grip on Denno’s hand, expecting to next see the portal of Llachar Lle or some room in Denno’s apartment, but nothing happened. Denno said something she didn’t catch to Lady Ceindrych, then turned around and went out the door in the most ordinary way. They went down the corridor and out the front door where Miralys was waiting and then rode, just as if Miralys was her own, ordinary horse, to the palace where Denno helped her down from the saddle and they went inside.

  “I’m sorry, love,” he said after shepherding her into the dining room and gesturing to the servants to bring food and drink. “I was stupid, and you are being punished for my stupidity.”

  “But why?” she asked. “Why does this lady hate me so much? What have I done? Can I somehow amend it?”

  Denno patted her hand. “She doesn’t hate you, love,” he said, smiling. “She likes all children, but … but you frighten her because Harry loves you so dearly. It is what Lady Ceindrych said about protecting Harry from being hurt. She is afraid that if Harry sees you, he will long for you so much that he will want to go back to the mortal world and he cannot live in the mortal world. His sickness would return and kill him. As long as he is Underhill, he will remain strong and well, but Overhill will kill him.”

  “Then how could she believe I would
try to make him come to me where he would be hurt? I am, it is true, a child, but not so spoiled or silly as that!” She looked at the plate of cheese and cold meats that had settled gently in front of her and the tall glass of milk.

  “I know that, and you know that, but Mwynwen—” he shrugged. How to explain to a child of eight that a woman, mortal or Sidhe, is not always sure of the steadfastness of her lover’s heart? “Eat something, love. You will feel better when your belly is not so empty.”

  “At least I know now that you told me the truth when you said my Da was alive and well. I no longer feel that the last person of my own blood that loves me is gone.” Then she looked at Denno and tears again streaked her cheeks. “But am I never to see my Da again, never touch his hand or have him hug me?”

  “Won’t my hugs do?” Denno asked, smiling.

  Before she thought, Elizabeth shook her head vehemently.

  Denno’s smile disappeared and he removed his hand from hers. “I’m sorry, Lady Elizabeth. I thought you liked me.”

  Elizabeth grabbed for his hand and caught it. “Don’t be a silly,” she said. “Of course I like you. But not that way. Not the way I love my Da. You—you’re a man not of my blood, a person different from me in all ways. Yes, you’re a person I want to be with, I like to talk with you … but my Da, to me he’s not separate. He’s like a part of me but outside of me.” She hesitated and her eyes were almost black with fear and sorrow. “He’s a place to be when everything else is gone.”

  Denoriel sat staring at her, grieved at her grief and fear but strangely lighthearted at the difference she drew between her feeling for Harry and for himself. He was not absolutely certain why the fact that she did not include him in the “blood-relation” feeling made him so happy, but he put the problem aside, knowing it was not safe to look too closely at it. He lifted her hand and kissed it, then put it on her fork.

  “As long as you enjoy my company, I am content to leave his own special place to Harry. Now eat up, love, and then off to bed with you. Tomorrow will be a hard day. Tangwystl will show you how to defend your shield and know when it is failing so you must invoke the amulet. It will be hard work and more hard work when I teach you physical shielding.”

  “I am not afraid of hard work,” Elizabeth said, smiling. “But when it is done, you will take me home?”

  Relief and disappointment warred in Denoriel. Elizabeth would never love and long for Underhill as Harry had. “Yes,” he said, “I will take you home to the mortal world.”

  Chapter 15

  Before she was satisfied, Tangwystl had to work with Elizabeth for two full “days,” and it took Denoriel another “day” to teach her several different kinds of physical shields. The child, although delighted with her accomplishments, was too exhausted to be taken back to Hatfield at once. Denoriel fed her and then let her sleep herself out before he opened his Gate, set his mind firmly on sunset on the day they had left, and brought Elizabeth through.

  Alana had taken back the thick silk-brocade pouch that her cross had stayed in while she was Underhill, and had told her to leave her lovely gowns behind as well. She was wearing the silk nightdress in which she had left Hatfield and in her ears, hanging from gold wires that Denno said were from the mortal world, were the green-gold amulets. Denno had hunted high and low for those earring wires—or seemed to hunt high and low for them. And while he did, Elizabeth had detached a long ribbon from one of the gowns Lady Alana had left in the wardrobe and used it to tie around her waist beneath the nightdress the beautiful necklace that had adorned her court robe.

  Elizabeth had a suspicious mind. Young as she was, she understood quite well that the denizens of a place as rich, and as sparsely populated as Underhill, might not want the wealth displayed there to seem ripe for the picking. Thus, she was not taking as true the reiterated statements that the gold and jewels of Underhill would disappear or become worthless when carried into the mortal world until she tested them for herself. Tangwystl had looked surprised, Elizabeth remembered, when she had said that and when Denoriel agreed.

  However, the hope Denno and Alana had lied and the wealth of Underhill could be carried home was doomed to disappointment. As she stepped into her bedchamber from the Gate in Logres, Blanche leapt up from her chair and rushed to embrace her mistress. But a moment after the maid dropped to her knees to hug Elizabeth, there was a wet plop and a mess of slimy, black, stinking material fell on Elizabeth’s feet. Blanche backed away with a cry, looking at the small pile of withered, fungus-streaked leaves, rotten acorns, disintegrating mushrooms, and crumbling twigs with horror.

  Elizabeth regarded it with equal horror, crying, “My necklace. Oh, my pretty necklace.”

  “Pretty necklace?” Blanche exclaimed. “Child, what is wrong with you? Why do you think that is a pretty necklace?”

  Elizabeth’s lips parted to explain, but nothing came out. It was true, too, that she could not speak of Underhill, not even to a person like Blanche who knew of the Fair Folk and their creatures. She was silent another moment, calling memories, glad she could remember. But she was also aware of Blanche’s growing distress.

  “It isn’t a necklace now,” Elizabeth said, tears rising to her eyes. “Never mind. I made a mistake … a mistake I will never make again.” She smiled through the tears. “I am not losing my mind again, Blanche, but I cannot explain. Just clean it up and forget about it.”

  Behind her, Denoriel turned away, ostensibly to examine the Gate but actually to hide the grin he couldn’t completely suppress. Clever, clever Elizabeth. She had been clever enough to doubt the truth of the tale of faery gold, but not quite clever enough to realize that he and Aleneil knew her very well. They knew she would test the statement she did not want to believe and which was, in truth, a lie, so everything Aleneil had created for her was specially spelled to be dependent on the ambience of magic Underhill. Once that magic was gone, it became forest detritus, pulled from the nearest copse in the World Above.

  Now that Elizabeth believed she had proved that constructions of magic could not persist in the mortal world, Denoriel hoped the idea would become fixed, an article of faith she did not need to test again, something she knew. When his expression was under control, he came up beside her.

  “What a stinking mess,” he said. “Too bad. We warned you. But don’t cry, love. Lady Alana will try to replace it for you. Now take out your cross again.”

  “I almost forgot,” she said, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, and then ordered, “Blanche, take that mess out to the midden. It smells too bad to be thrown into the waste pot.” And when the maid was gone she said to Denoriel, “How will I know what to do if anyone ever asks me to put the cross away again?”

  So for all of her disapproval and seeming indifference, she did hope to make other visits Underhill. For Underhill and its wonders or for the sake of the exquisite garments Aleneil had created for her? Denoriel suppressed a smile at Elizabeth’s innocent vanity. She did love elaborate clothing and rich jewels. Which reminded him that the amulets Tangwystl had prepared were now being exposed to the full strength of the iron cross. He “felt” for them and sensed the contained spells bound safe inside the protective armor of the invocation … at rest, waiting.

  “Good, the cross has not affected your earrings, so that’s all right. And you are a clever girl to remind me that I might want to ask you to put the cross away again. Well, that is easy enough. We will have a secret cipher between us, as I had with Harry.”

  “You had a secret cipher with my Da?” Elizabeth’s eyes were bright with interest. “Why?”

  Denoriel sighed. “For the same reason I need one with you. The same people wanted to steal him away. If you ever doubt me, you can ask, ‘Where were you on … whatever day I did not visit you … ‘ And I will reply, ‘I was down at the docks, looking for my ship, The Nereid.’ The key words are ‘docks’ and the name of the ship. I strongly doubt that anyone else will make that particular reply or know the name
of that ship, which no longer exists.”

  He saw that she was relieved and pleased, too. A child loves secrets and Elizabeth was very good at keeping them—which was fortunate. “Good,” she said. “I won’t forget.”

  No, she wouldn’t. She didn’t seem to forget anything. The thought brought a twinge of worry. Titania said there had been a few tendrils of the dissolution spell left tangled in Elizabeth’s Talent. Denoriel didn’t believe that Mwynwen could have done that by accident. Titania said the remnants would not have hurt Elizabeth … only made some memories fade. Memories of Harry? Maybe Titania should have left those remnants.

  But the moment he had the thought, he dismissed it. No, Elizabeth would need her perfect memory. Denoriel smiled at her.

  “And you must not forget your lessons either. You must practice both regularly.”

  She looked suddenly alarmed. “Will you not come to see me to remind me, Denno? There isn’t anyone I can practice with, except you.”

  He took her hand and bent to kiss it. “I will be as frequent a visitor as ever, and it will be very well indeed if you have no one to practice on except me.”

  Denoriel was not able to keep that promise as fully as he intended because within the month Mistress Champernowne received orders to prepare to join households with Edward again. Kat was not pleased but was not alarmed either. She wrote very firm letters to Sir William Sidney, Edward’s chamberlain, and to his steward, Sir John Cornwallis, about the servants they would bring, about separate stabling for Elizabeth’s horses, and about how much she was prepared to contribute to the joint household.

  Kat knew economy was a real necessity; the royal purse was strained to its limit and beyond, and—as Dunstan put it so bluntly—“Great Harry’s by-blows are left sucking hind teat.” When money was spent, it was spent in Henry’s household first, then that of his son and heir, Edward, and Lady Mary and Lady Elizabeth got what little was left. There was war with Scotland—a lessoning to punish the insult of the Scots’ king having failed to keep his agreement to meet Henry in the autumn of 1541. That meant heavy expenses to support and renew the army, which had suffered a defeat at Haddon Rig after Sir Robert Bowes crossed the border at Teviotdale.