Ill Met by Moonlight

by Mercedes Lackey

  Elizabeth recognized the voice of Lord Strange, a very nice boy who often included her in his activities, but her lips tightened when the second boy spoke. Lord Stafford was pleasant enough, but something about him made her uneasy and what he said was terrible.

  “But you surely heard a man’s voice cry ‘Elizabeth’ when we first came to the maze.”

  “I do not know who called the Lady Elizabeth’s name. Perhaps it was one of her guards.”

  “There was no guard with them when we saw them at the pond in the Wilderness. We could search the maze—”

  “You know that’s hopeless,” Lord Strange said, and then, angrily, “Why are you trying to make trouble for Lady Elizabeth, hinting that she goes out to meet a man. She is not even eleven years old. Just because her mother—”

  “No!” Stafford exclaimed, sounding appalled. “I meant no such thing, and I have no intention of making trouble for Lady Elizabeth. I am only interested in what she does because she is so great a favorite with Prince Edward.”

  Denoriel had gripped Elizabeth’s arm hard so that she did not attempt to burst out and confront the boys. He shook her slightly, then pointed to himself and back into the heart of the maze. When she nodded, he put her hand into Blanche’s and pointed to the exit.

  For a long moment Elizabeth stood still, breathing hard. Then she let go of Blanche’s hand and shook out her skirts, making sure they caught the lower branches of the yew and caused it to rustle.

  “Oh,” she cried, “I told you that was a wrong turn. We must go back and turn left at the first cross path to reach the way out.”

  “Sorry, m’lady,” Blanche said immediately, and a little loudly. “I guess I was too sure. You must be right. When we get to the entrance, are you going to go back and tie on the ribbons?”

  “No,” Elizabeth said, stepping out into the path to the exit. “I’ll do it tomorrow after I talk to Edward. I won’t do it without his permission.”

  Denoriel had melted away when Elizabeth first spoke. He would have accompanied her if he had not been afraid to deplete his magical power further with even so small a spell as the Don’t-see-me. He still had to return to London, and opening a Gate from the mortal world to another place in the mortal world took far, far more power than to open a Gate from Underhill to the mortal world. Even the double transit, from mortal world to Underhill and Underhill back to the mortal world was easy in comparison.

  Back at the center of the maze, Denoriel burst into silent laughter when he saw the amulet on the bench. Now that was a heroic entrance if he’d ever seen one, falling flat on his face into a bed of dead flowers. He took the amulet and went back into the maze to hide it deep among the roots of the hedges in one of the deeper dead ends. Someone would have to be grubbing about in that particular spot with some energy before they had any chance of finding it now.

  There, because that false passage went near to the outer wall, he stopped to sense and listen. Elizabeth and Blanche were away from the maze, taking the path on the outer edge of the Wilderness toward the palace. The boys were right across from the entrance to the maze, concealed behind some brush. Denoriel grinned unpleasantly. They would have a long wait.

  He then returned to the center of the maze, stepped up on the bench and passed through the Gate to his London house. He closed the Gate, sighing with relief when the draw on his energies ended. Gathering what strength he still had, he Gated, not to Logres but to Avalon.

  Before he did something stupid, he would ask Treowth or Gilfaethwy if his notions about setting the Gates was sound. He wanted a Gate in the maze that did not function but could be awakened from Underhill. When that was built, he could use the amulet to create a second Gate of the same kind in Blanche’s chamber. Finally he would need a third, ordinary Gate for himself and Miralys, in the park. That one he would have to build from the park to Underhill. How much more difficult it would be, he did not know but Treowth would know, he was sure.

  Meanwhile Elizabeth and Blanche had reached the haven of her apartments. Elizabeth was nearly rigid with rage, but she flung off her cloak and kept her jaws tightly clamped together until she and Blanche had again examined every nook and cranny in her bedchamber. Then she turned to Blanche so swiftly that her skirts belled out and nearly touched the maid.

  “Did you see them?” she whispered furiously. “Did you see them crouching behind the bushes right across from the entrance to the maze? They are going to wait there and see if the man I was talking to comes out. Oh!”

  “But no one will come out,” Blanche murmured comfortingly. “No matter how long they wait, no man will come out of the maze. Lord Denno will go back the way he came.” She waited, watching the girl’s eyes, bright golden and fierce as a lioness’s. Elizabeth was listening to her but still panting with fury. “And you must not be too angry with Lord Stafford,” Blanche added. “It is because of what happened to his father and the loss of nearly all his estates. You cannot blame him too much if he seeks a way to repair his fortunes.”

  “By accusing me of meeting with a man!” Elizabeth choked on the words and then, helplessly, began to laugh bitterly. “And it is just what I was doing, is it not? He surely thinks I am conspiring against Edward, or perhaps Mary. What a shame I am not a few years older. Perhaps he could bring the news to my sister and she, to end my influence on Edward—as if I had any—to my father, and they could have my head off, too.”

  “Nonsense.” Blanche’s voice was sharp. “No one in the court wanted to harm you. It was all in your own head. And I doubt Stafford will tell anyone. Moreover, I am sure Lord Strange will not support his word if he does. Lord Strange is very fond of you.”

  “Yes. I like him too, but he’s—” she gestured vaguely “—he’s so very dull and ordinary. Denno … Denno is more worth talking to … He wakes up my mind! Denno is well worth any trouble that might come of our meeting.”

  “Mayhap, m’lady,” Blanche replied, with a significant look, “but you must be careful about meeting him, very careful.”

  But Elizabeth shook her head. “Despite what I said, I am not afraid for myself now that Denno has assured me that that person cannot touch me. At least, I am afraid only in the sense that I am too happy and I know that happiness could be snatched away.”

  However, Elizabeth’s happiness was not snatched away. If Lord Stafford told his suspicions to anyone, no result came of it. Over the next few weeks, Denoriel established Gates in the park, in the maze, and, for dire emergencies, in the chamber where Blanche slept and Elizabeth’s gowns were kept. An air spirit appeared—an adorable, nearly transparent little creature that looked like a furry, cuddly and friendly cross between a kitten and a bat—only of course Elizabeth could not cuddle it because it could not bear to be so near her cross.

  Soon after the air spirit appeared, the dark Sidhe lady-in-waiting, whose name Blanche had discovered was Rosamund Scot, disappeared. All through January, which turned bitterly cold, Elizabeth’s only regret was the weather, which prevented her from riding out and meeting Denno as often as she would have liked. Stafford watched her, but she saw that he watched everyone. And she did understand. She, too, had been stripped of everything and was doing her best to win back her place.

  In that, Elizabeth thought she was making progress. King Henry smiled on her—when he noticed her—and she knew she was a great favorite with Queen Catherine. Of course the queen was gentle and kind to everyone, warm and friendly to Mary and very motherly to Edward, but on Elizabeth she lavished not only affection but instruction and long, thoughtful conversations. In Catherine, Elizabeth discovered someone besides Denno who could wake up her mind, and who truly appreciated learning and wit. Catherine was not as much of a challenge as Denno, but she was the closest Elizabeth had ever come to his quick wit.

  In February the weather grew milder. Elizabeth was able to ride out with her two guards and her groom. Sometimes she was part of a large group that included her brother, the other boys of the school, and their attendants
. She was the only female, and it was a shock to the older boys that she rode as well as they … and her horses were better. A few accepted her cheerfully; others would have played nasty tricks on her but for the watchfulness of Ladbroke and the guards.

  Other times, when the boys were occupied with instruction in arms or other male pursuits, Elizabeth rode out with only her groom and guards. Whenever she did so, the air spirit disappeared briefly and shortly thereafter, Denno on Miralys rode out of somewhere to meet her. Mostly they had the park to themselves, few taking rides for pleasure in the still-frosty weather. Once in a while another horseman or two would appear in the distance and Denoriel would suddenly be gone from her side.

  A distant cloud now appeared on the horizon. In December of the previous year, the Scots had repudiated the treaty they had made with England after the disaster of Solway Moss. Henry had been furious and ordered retaliatory attacks on the lands of those he believed had betrayed him. However, by the time Elizabeth and Edward had been invited to join the court for Christmas, the king had been dissuaded from acting until spring. Promises had been made to Henry by the Earls of Lennox, Angus, and others that they would capture the infant princess Mary and bring Scotland to heel.

  By the middle of April Henry was complaining to all and sundry, often within the hearing of the pages being schooled with Edward and Elizabeth, that these promises would not be fulfilled. The boys had much to say about the king’s plan to dispatch Lord Hertford with a substantial army to attack Edinburgh and visit such punishment on the Scots that they would bow to his royal will. They were enthusiastic and excited about it, and spoke at length of the great fights to come, and wistfully that they were not old enough to go—and boastfully of what they would do if they were old enough. Only Edward showed no interest in swords and battles, which further kept him by Elizabeth’s side.

  Since her father was in boisterous good humor while plans were made and Hertford sailed for Scotland, Elizabeth was happy enough. She told Denoriel, when they met at the far end of the park at the beginning of May, that Henry was even jubilant over the messages that came back reporting that Hertford had landed at Leith, blasted the main gate of Edinburgh, and burnt much of the city.

  Elizabeth was somewhat disappointed when Denoriel only shrugged and said it would not do. Even when, a week later, she told him that Hertford had successfully carried out all the king’s commands, having withdrawn to Leith, sacked that city, and taken his army home, Denoriel shrugged as he had before. All he said was that Henry was keeping the Dark Court happy, but coming no nearer to controlling Scotland.

  That Denno had been right soon became apparent. Far from agreeing to Henry’s terms, the Scots became more bitter and tenacious, refusing to abide by the treaties with the English and reaffirming their ties to France. Henry snapped at everyone, including his patient and easy-tempered wife and then, quite suddenly, at the beginning of June he departed for Greenwich, leaving Queen Catherine in charge of the children at Hampton Court.

  Elizabeth was terrified, black memories forcing their way out of the places where they had been buried—memories of her mother holding her up at a window and weeping as her father rode away, memories of conversations she was not supposed to have heard about Henry riding away from the palace where Catherine Howard was hysterically trying to deny that she was an adulteress.

  When she told Kat Champernowne, her governess laughed at her and assured her that her father’s mood had nothing to do with the queen. He was upset, Kat explained, because of the recalcitrance of the Scots and because there was little he could do about it. Just now he was committed entirely to another purpose, an agreement he had made with Emperor Charles for a combined assault on France.

  That war, Kat pointed out, would take all the king’s forces and resources. He had neither men nor money to expend on the Scots, and he was enraged because they would not see the benefit of marrying their infant queen to his heir and thus ending forever the continual wars between the nations.

  Elizabeth was still uneasy, despite the fact that everyone she seduced into speaking about the king’s retreat to Greenwich agreed it was only so that he could give all his attention to the preparations for the war against France. Ships and men were already on their way to Calais and the king was due to follow them in a few weeks.

  Queen Catherine showed no signs of anxiety. She wrote to the king every day and messages, some written and some verbal, came from him several times a day. The queen was as calm and loving and even merry as ever—and all Elizabeth could think of was that she had heard the previous Queen Catherine had been gay and laughing and totally unaware of the dreadful fate about to fall upon her.

  She had nightmares about Catherine Howard’s death. Her heart pounded and her food was like sawdust in her mouth. Mostly she disguised how little she ate, even from Blanche, but by the end of June there were black half-circles under her eyes, her hands trembled, and her gowns hung loose on her body. To Blanche’s anxious questions, Elizabeth said that nothing was wrong, nothing. She was sure she was the only one who saw the doom hanging over her beloved Queen Catherine and also that if she spoke of it, that would somehow make her fears come true.

  One night, at her wit’s end, Blanche dosed Elizabeth with valerian and tincture of poppy until she slept and sent the air spirit for Denoriel. Aware that Elizabeth had been avoiding him for two weeks, fearful that her shields had failed, and remembering how Mwynwen had left a thread of spell when she Healed Elizabeth the last time, he brought with him a Healer of such authority that Blanche sank down to the ground in a curtsey and could barely explain what was wrong. And when Ceindrych told her to remove Elizabeth’s cross, Blanche did so without hesitation.

  Although the Healer examined Elizabeth minutely and at great length, she could find no taint of magic and could sense no ill of the body. There was nothing wrong with the girl beyond a violent disturbance of the spirit—and that was so deep-seated, going back to infancy, that even she, Ceindrych said, would not dare meddle. Elizabeth would need to fight that battle with herself by herself. Moreover, Ceindrych added, that turmoil of the spirit was part of what made Elizabeth what she was and what she would be.

  Denoriel thanked the old Healer profusely and shepherded her to the Gate, but he paused at the lip to tell Blanche to bring Elizabeth to the maze the next day.

  “I will soothe her heart,” he promised passionately, “even if I must bring down the moon from the sky to her hand, I will give her peace.”

  The next day, Blanche nearly dragged Elizabeth to the maze. Elizabeth tried all sorts of excuses—she had been making excuses for two weeks not to meet Denoriel—but this time Blanche stood firm. If Elizabeth did not come, she would make Mistress Champernowne tell Queen Catherine that Elizabeth was sick and was refusing to see a physician. Elizabeth knew a physician could do her no good and to worry Queen Catherine was more than she could bear.

  It had to come sooner or later, she told herself. Denno would have one last chance to prove himself. If he did not … she shivered as she seated herself on the bench at the center of the maze … If he did not, she would need to stand alone … forever.

  She turned her head to glance at Blanche, who had gone around the bench and settled on the grass out of earshot of soft voices. Blanche and Kat were loyal and loving, but they were as helpless as she. Denno, she thought, really could save her, but he had lied … and swore his lies were true. But if they were true …

  She sat on the bench in the center of the maze, staring down at the hands folded in her lap. Within minutes Denno came out of the dead-end path. She did not look up, and he dropped to his knees, taking her hands in his.

  “What is wrong, Elizabeth?” he begged. “What is wrong? You are not bespelled. Ceindrych says you are making yourself ill.”

  “I am afraid,” she whispered.

  “There is nothing to fear,” he murmured, bending his head and kissing her hands. “On my life, there is nothing to fear. I have those who are watching the Dark
Court and they tell me that—”

  “I need to see my Da,” she interrupted, as if she had not heard him; her voice was low but its intensity was like a scream. “I need to touch him, to hear his voice, to feel him alive and breathing. Letters are not enough. You could have written those or have had them written—and your swearing to me is useless. I need to be sure he is alive and well.”

  “But he can do nothing for you, Elizabeth.” Denoriel protested, puzzled by her insistence. “He cannot live in the mortal world any longer. I swear I will protect you with my sword, with my skill, with my life. God’s Grace, child, what do you fear?”

  If he had not had elven hearing, he would not have heard her breathe “I fear another Catherine will die under the ax and me with her.”

  “Elizabeth! It is impossible, I swear it to you.” He kept his voice low, but firm. “I have eyes and ears in many places. There is no hint anywhere that the king is displeased with the queen. Unless you know …” He drew a breath and hardly louder than Elizabeth had spoken, asked, “Are there men she favors?”

  “No!” she replied, sure of that, at least. “There are no men at all, except when my father brought his gentlemen and then the queen was no more than polite. She does not laugh and … and flirt like … like … Now we are all women. Even the gentlemen of her household are not favored to join our amusements and none ever sees her in private, only in the common rooms where all can come.”

  “But then—”

  She drew a sharp breath and spoke more normally. “You need not tell me again that there is nothing to fear. My head knows there is nothing to fear, but my heart still leaps and trembles, my belly roils, bile rises in my throat. I cannot eat or sleep. The kinder the queen is to me, the more I cannot help loving her, the greater my terror.”

  He shook his head doubtfully. “This is madness, Elizabeth.”

  “Likely.” Her voice though low was steady now.

  Denoriel took a long breath. “Very well. I will arrange for Harry to come to my house and take you through the Gate in your dressing chamber. You are not likely to be missed for a few hours in the middle of the night.”