“It is my fault,” Blanche said apologetically. “He began by talking about that fairy tale in which the princess pricks her finger on a spindle, and then sleeps for a hundred years. It made me think he was better than his station.”
“He’s got tastes above his station—or below it. I’ll agree to that much,” Ladbroke replied. “He proposed to me to sell Lady Elizabeth’s horses and substitute God-knows-what that look a bit alike to replace them.”
Blanche shook her head. “What a fool. Maybe he believes in fairy tales where the so-called clever lad always tricks his betters!”
Ladbroke looked past her. Blanche did not think he was seeing either the stable wall or the courtyard beyond. He said no more, but Blanche thought he might be seeing the fairy place where he had once lived. To her surprise, she could detect no regret in his face. Whatever he remembered was pleasant, but not longed for.
Blanche continued to spin in silence, but not for very much longer. Less than a full hour had passed when Ladbroke stopped polishing the harness on which he had been working and lifted his head. A moment later, Blanche heard hooves on the hard driveway and Ladbroke went to open the gate of the outer courtyard for the riding party.
When they arrived at the stable, Denoriel did not dismount, allowing Ladbroke to lift Elizabeth from her horse. Denoriel just leaned down from Miralys to touch the girl’s face. “I will be away for a few days,” he said, “but you know the messenger that can reach me in an emergency. Only I do hope there will be none.”
Elizabeth laughed. “What sort of emergency can happen in a virtually empty palace?” she asked. “Unless I am so foolish as to fall down the stairs!”
“God’s kind Grace forefend!” Denoriel exclaimed, making an odd sign in the air. “Remember, if you remain cheerful and all else goes well …”
“We will go … adventuring,” Elizabeth finished, after her lips had formed another word, one she could not say.
Denoriel understood and nodded, and Miralys started down the road to the main gate. Elizabeth sighed, but she was not really sad, and was grateful to Kat for making her ride out. Denno had brought all kinds of joyous messages from Da and such tales of his delight at being with her that her exile seemed worthwhile. She smiled at Tolliver, who was leading her mount away, waved at Ladbroke, and followed Blanche, who had packed away her yarn and spindle, toward the palace.
As she passed the yew hedge, Elizabeth hesitated. Something inside her echoed faintly the feeling of Underhill—
But it was not enough to stir either recognition or warning.So, although she sensed the amulet Rhoslyn had left, she did not recognize it and passed on.
Later in the day—actually while Pasgen was setting and testing his Gate—Ladbroke grew uneasy. He had no Talent and could not feel magic, but he had lived so long with it that a familiar sense of prickling and heaviness in the air teased him. He went all over the barn checking each stall and each animal. There was nothing either amiss or too familiar.
All he found was that Elizabeth’s two mounts were unusually alert for the time of day, eyes wide open and ears cocked. Ladbroke examined them and the whole stall carefully and found nothing; the horses were not nervous, merely expectant. That was odd, but he felt odd himself—as he had when Elizabeth used to ride out to meet Lord Denno. Ladbroke suspected that Denno made her cast and ward against spells. Ladbroke had that same feeling now, so perhaps the mare and gelding associated the feeling of magic with their rider and were waiting for her to appear.
What magic, though? Ladbroke continued his investigation with great thoroughness, but he could not find anything inside or outside the stable. By the time he got to making his way past the yew hedge, Pasgen was finished with his work and had retrieved the amulet. The feeling of magic being done was gone, and Ladbroke found nothing.
But he could not know that was only because there was no longer anything to find.
Chapter 22
Pasgen came to Rhoslyn’s domain to tell her that the Gate was ready and tested. Somewhat to his surprise, Llanelli came down and greeted him with real pleasure and none of her past hysterical pleas and warnings. She was so calm, even amusing, that Pasgen agreed to have a meal with her and Rhoslyn, and actually enjoyed himself. His mother was interested in what he had to say about the chaos lands without being prying, so much so that he engaged in a real, pleasurable conversation with her long past the time when he would usually have departed.
Afterward he took Rhoslyn to see where he had set the Caer Mordwyn terminus of the Gate to the stable. It was concealed not far from Vidal’s own Gate, which now looked as if it was disintegrating. The black glass seemed dull and scratched, the cracks in the floor were wider, the lava no longer bubbled and roiled, and some of the stalagmites had fallen over. Gaps of emptiness showed in the path to the right, and some of the foul black slime had oozed up through the gravel in the middle path. Rhoslyn was not interested enough to test the left-hand path. She wondered, though, what could have caused Vidal to so neglect one of the main ways into his domain.
The noisy overflow of magic from Vidal’s Gate completely concealed Pasgen’s neat working. Rhoslyn would never have found the place if Pasgen had not taken her there and showed her the odd formation of dead trees and brush that marked it.
He regarded it with resignation. “I suppose I can sit behind the brush and wait for you and Aurelia to return, but I hope you will not keep me waiting long. I doubt anyone will notice the Gate in that magical mess that Vidal left over there, but a person’s aura is different. A number of unpleasant things, including Vidal himself, will be able to sense me.”
“I don’t know,” Rhoslyn said, her brow creased with worry. “I don’t know how long we will have to wait for the girl to come. I know she rides out in the afternoon every day that is fine, but I don’t think the time is set.”
Pasgen grimaced. “Why can’t I just leave the Gate for Aurelia to use when she wants? I haven’t tied it into any of the power in this domain. In a few days it will just die.”
“Perhaps leaving Aurelia stranded.” Rhoslyn shuddered. “The Great Evil only knows what she would do then. She’s not to be trusted on her own. And to speak the truth, Pasgen, I don’t want her roaming around a royal palace at her own will, for even the shortest time. If she sees an attractive servant, she would almost certainly abduct him or her. If she did that a few times in a few days … the whole palace would be in an uproar and Elizabeth would know and tell Denoriel.”
Pasgen frowned. “I thought you said Aurelia was more reasonable than she used to be. You could warn her. Couldn’t you?”
Rhoslyn shook her head. “I doubt my warning would have any effect. She is better, but will not remember that mortals are not quite dumb animals; she thinks she can do whatever she wishes, and they won’t notice, or will soon forget. And who knows what else might blunder through an open Gate to the mortal world? Any Unseleighe creatures that found themselves there would certainly cause an uproar.”
“Yes.” Pasgen sighed. “There’s that. But I really don’t fancy being bound to this spot for Dannae knows how long.” He stared contemplatively at Rhoslyn and then, suddenly, laughed. “What an idiot I am sometimes. I will bind the Gate to you.”
“Me?” Rhoslyn actually squeaked with surprise. “The only thing I know about Gates is how to use them.”
Pasgen laughed, his good humor restored. “That’s all you need to know about this one. It’s even simpler than the usual Gate because it has only one terminus. When you—and it will be only you and what you touch—step into the Gate, it will take you to the yew hedge near the stable, nowhere else. Remember that. You will not be able to will it to take you anywhere else. And when you step back into it at the stable, it will take you to this terminus in Caer Mordwyn, nowhere else.”
“All right,” she agreed reluctantly, “but I don’t have the kind of power you now have, brother. If you bind the Gate to me, will it leach from me?”
The statement surprised Pasgen.
Before that terrible night when they had tried to abduct Elizabeth and he, as well as Vidal and Aurelia, had been so severely wounded, Rhoslyn had been fiercely competitive. She would never have admitted that he was more powerful. She would have struggled to find a way to match or overmatch him.
However, Rhoslyn had changed during the time she cared for him while he recovered. And she had cared not only for his body; she had supported his spirit too. She had changed the rooms in which he lived so the furnishings suited his ascetic taste, removing carving and gold leaf, providing bed and chairs in the stark black and white that he preferred. Odd that he had not thanked her or appreciated what she had done at the time, and only remembered it now. He touched her hand.
“No,” he said reassuringly, “the Gate is self-powered. It will not draw on you, but that is why it will last only a few days, a week at most. If you need it longer, you will have to tell me. But it will be simple enough to recharge it.” He paused, and added, “I would prefer if Aurelia and Vidal did not know that it is so easy for me to ingather energy, or they will have me charging up bottomless pits for them to draw on.”
Rhoslyn laughed, then suddenly kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for being so kind to Mother. I think she is really getting over the drug. It means a lot to her when you are willing to be in her company. It makes her struggle worthwhile.”
He shook his head. “Then she is still a fool. It is your approval she should seek.”
That made Rhoslyn laugh again. “Oh no. It is always sons a mother favors; a daughter can be a friend, but the son is her shining knight who is all-in-all to her. Now if our father had lived—”
A brief expression of regret shadowed Rhoslyn’s expression, but she smiled again almost at once and told Pasgen to go ahead with his binding. It was soon done and Pasgen moved away to where Vidal’s confusion of magic would block his influence on his own Gate.
Rhoslyn willed the Gate active, stepped through into a black night in which only the prickly needles and the odor identified the yew hedge, and stepped back. Another thought closed the gate to a small, blacker-than-black hole. Satisfied, she said farewell to her brother and made her way to the palace, where she informed Aurelia that all was in readiness for the removal of Elizabeth’s maid.
Aurelia was delighted with Rhoslyn’s promptness. Her spell was ready and only required her to touch the man on any bare skin. She rose, sipped from the glass of blue liquid, and placed a flask from beside it in her pouch. They walked from Aurelia’s apartment down the grand staircase and then toward the outer door, and talked about the spell while Aurelia summoned transportation for them.
This took the form of a small but elaborate open carriage that would seat two. Shafts protruded from the front, but no animal was harnessed. A clap of Aurelia’s hands brought four dull-eyed human slaves, who picked up the shafts. At Aurelia’s gesture, Rhoslyn climbed into the carriage, wondering why the woman used mortal slaves when constructs were stronger. But when Aurelia was seated beside her, she gestured and black spots appeared on the slaves’ backs. They all gasped, the carriage jerked forward.
“Smoothly,” Aurelia called.
The blackened areas on the slaves’ backs broadened. They moaned but hesitated and then moved again with matched strides. Aurelia breathed in deeply.
Rhoslyn now understood why Aurelia preferred human slaves. A miasma of acrid power flooded out of the pain and fear of the slaves and flowed back toward the carriage. Rhoslyn breathed in also, out of habit, out of need, because it was not wise to refuse extra power when it was available. But the pain was like acid along her power channels.
Why, she wondered, was there so much power awash in the Bright Court? Why were the Unseleighe domains so thin of power that they needed to draw on the misery of humans? She wished there was some other way. Pasgen had found another way, she was sure. Would he teach her? Could she learn?
When they reached Vidal’s Gate, Aurelia looked at it with a total lack of expression. “From here?” she asked.
Rhoslyn shook her head and pointed in the right direction. “No. We need to go where that dead tree is tangled in the brush. We can pass behind this Gate to reach Pasgen’s.”
Aurelia’s gaze sharpened as she looked in the indicated direction. “Where is he?”
“Elsewhere,” Rhoslyn said quickly. “He did not think it wise to, perhaps, draw Vidal’s attention, which his presence might do. Instead he sealed the Gate to me.”
“Why not to me?” Aurelia asked, and there was no mistaking the sour tone of the question.
Rhoslyn shrugged. “Pasgen is impatient. I was here. You would have to be summoned, which, again, might draw Vidal’s attention.”
“Ah, yes.” Aurelia’s tone evened again. “Pasgen is—wise—to avoid Vidal’s attention.”
There was something in Aurelia’s voice that disturbed Rhoslyn, something that hinted Aurelia knew Pasgen was only pretending fear. Or was it that Aurelia thought Pasgen did not understand yet that he had no need to fear Vidal? The slaves meanwhile had somehow been directed to Pasgen’s Gate. They stopped before the tangle of brush and dead tree. Rhoslyn stepped out of the carriage and took Aurelia’s hand.
The Gate opened before them, and they stepped through, right into the midst of dripping yew branches. In moments they were well soaked. Rhoslyn stifled an exclamation of disgust, and was all for simply stepping back through the Gate, but Aurelia held her firmly.
“I want to see the man who will be my tool.”
Rhoslyn was not convinced of the wisdom of this idea. “It will be safest to bespell him just before he must act. You would not want him to attack some other female who just happened to pass this way.”
Aurelia glanced at Rhoslyn with unspoken contempt. “Not because of my spell. It will work on him over the extra time so that it becomes part of the way he thinks, but he will not act, no matter whom he sees or speaks to or touches, until I say the word of release. I will be there to savor my revenge.”
Rhoslyn shrugged. Aurelia had always been good with the spells that manipulated the mind, and Pasgen had told Rhoslyn that she was relearning everything she had lost and more. Rhoslyn gestured and stepped forward, then hesitated and turned back. Aurelia was not following her but had shrunk back into the wet embrace of the yew.
“Iron,” Aurelia breathed.
Rhoslyn carefully kept her face expressionless, but she felt a wash of relief. Aurelia was still too sensitized to iron to find the mortal world easy to use—or even abide. She said, “Mortals use iron for everything. The building has iron braces and iron nails, and there are a lot of iron objects in the barn—tools and parts of the harness and horseshoes. I can feel it, but if you want, I will—”
“No.” Aurelia felt in the pouch fastened to her belt and withdrew the flask from which she took a long swallow.
“We need the Don’t-see-me spell,” Rhoslyn warned, watching Aurelia straighten up and the frown smooth from her brow. What was in that potion? “Can you cast your own?”
Aurelia took a step forward. Her voice was cold and hard. “Do not irritate me, Rhoslyn. Just be quick about finding this mortal.”
But Stover was not apparent when they first entered the barn and Aurelia started toward Ladbroke, who was standing stock still in the wide aisle between the horse stalls, slowly turning his head from side to side. Not wishing to risk even a whisper, Rhoslyn seized Aurelia by the arm and pulled her away toward the back of the barn.
“Not him!” she muttered in Aurelia’s ear. “He lived long Underhill before he returned to the mortal world. If you touched him, he would see you, spell or no spell.”
As if to affirm her words, Ladbroke’s moving head turned toward them and his gaze fixed. Rhoslyn stiffened, but it was plain enough that he could not really see them. He squinted, trying to force himself to look at them. Then his lips thinned and he picked up a pitchfork and began to swing it back and forth, advancing slowly in their direction.
Instead of sidling away, Aurelia stood
staring at the threatening mortal as if she could not believe her eyes. She began to lift a hand, but Rhoslyn seized it and pulled her away. She turned then toward Rhoslyn, her face scarlet with rage, but Rhoslyn spun her around forcefully, pointing over her shoulder.
At the entry to an empty stall stood the man Rhoslyn had heard Ladbroke call Stover. Where Ladbroke was hard and square, Stover was soft and fat, his gut hanging over the dirty cord that held up his breeches, which were smeared with manure. He was staring too, but not at her and Aurelia; he was watching Ladbroke swing at nothing with the pitchfork, a very ugly expression on his face.
As Ladbroke came slowly forward, Stover slipped out of the stall and slid sideways toward the front of the barn until he was behind Ladbroke. Then he started forward, gripping the handle of the shovel with which he had been mucking out the stall. He was intent on Ladbroke, who was intent on the place where Rhoslyn and Aurelia had been standing. Stover lifted the shovel slowly.
“He is the one,” Rhoslyn murmured, pushing Aurelia forward. “Set the spell quickly, while he is stalking the other man.”
Soft as she had spoken, Rhoslyn saw Ladbroke shift his attention to the place they now stood. He seemed to have extraordinarily keen hearing. Aurelia, however, had darted across the aisle and was gesturing and whispering as she approached Stover. Rhoslyn backed away a few steps before Ladbroke’s advance, even making a small hissing sound to hold Ladbroke’s attention. His movement had put him just out of reach of Stover’s shovel.
Aurelia, teeth set over the pain that the proximity of iron was causing her, stepped forward again and pressed her index finger to Stover’s neck, just below and a trifle behind his ear. He felt her touch or, perhaps, felt the spell flow into him, because he made a sound of surprise and irritation. Ladbroke whirled around toward him instantly, the pitchfork raised.
“Naw, then,” Stover said. “Drunk ar’y?”
Ladbroke did not lower the pitchfork. “I thought I told you to muck out Pleasaunce’s stall.”
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