Ill Met by Moonlight

by Mercedes Lackey

  Even so, at times she had longed to be at court, to be with her little brother, and to avail herself of all of the opportunities for learning that she enjoyed there. In fact, she and Da had talked about Mary, about the many times, soon after her mother was lost, that Mary had produced a toy or a garment for her little sister despite her own straightened circumstances. In her heart, Elizabeth wished she could recall that “old” Mary again.

  Just now Elizabeth was in charity with the whole world and she wanted to mend matters with her sister—especially since Mary had unwittingly passed to her such precious information. The trouble was that Elizabeth was afraid she would have to reject Edward to be reconciled with Mary, and that she was not willing to do.

  At first Elizabeth had only been warmed and delighted by her brother’s enthusiastic welcome. He had run to her and embraced her and told her how much he had missed her and how glad he was that she had returned. Elizabeth had not given Mary’s reaction a thought; she always thought of Edward as being an ordinary little boy—except for becoming king one day.

  To Elizabeth that seemed infinitely distant; her father still was, and to her would always be, the one and only Great Harry, the King of All England, now and forever. Perhaps, in some dim and far-off future, Edward would take the throne—but not now. Now he was just a little boy, and little boys, Elizabeth thought, often were glad to see sisters who shared their lessons.

  Elizabeth did not even think Edward particularly clever because she was herself so clever—she didn’t praise him unless he deserved it, and she didn’t flatter him as some of the other boys did to gain his favor. But as time passed, because they had been apart for months, she realized that Edward was especially fond of her. She could now see that he was growing into a strange child, far too serious and formal—even more so than herself, and Edward did not have the terrible fears that had made her so careful.

  Edward still played with the young friends that Queen Catherine had chosen for him, but the only one (besides herself) to whom he showed any real warmth was Barnaby Fitzpatrick. And he always had a smile and even occasionally a kiss for her, whereas he treated Mary with great courtesy, but formally, and not as if she was his sister at all.

  On and off, Elizabeth worried about how to regain Mary’s affection without losing Edward’s. She could not be formal with Edward. For one thing, she loved him and would not hurt him for the world; for another thing, Edward would someday be king—even if Elizabeth could not really envision how it would happen—but if it did, he would be more important to her future than Mary. Elizabeth thought and thought and finally came up with an idea that really pleased her.

  She knew that although Mary had publicly accepted King Henry as the head of the Church of England, where and when Mary could, she clung to the strict theology of the old religion. Edward’s tutors leaned the other way. Although they conformed to the king’s interpretation of theology, they went much further in denying the need for good works and ardently supporting a Bible and Prayer Book in English.

  If she asked Mary to explain to her why such wise men supported those ideas, Elizabeth hoped Mary would believe that she could direct her sister into a safer theology. And Mary might be right, Elizabeth thought. Sometimes the things Master Cheke said were startling, and altogether unsettling.

  Feeling very righteous, Elizabeth set forth with only Blanche to accompany her to visit her sister. She really did not want to involve any of the other girls in a discussion of religion. The distance was not great and they met no one along the way. There was a guard outside Mary’s door, but he recognized Elizabeth and simply opened the door for her.

  Elizabeth stopped near the doorway, somewhat at a loss. Mary was not in her reception room. No one was there but a maid, wiping away dust and plumping cushions.

  “Oh,” Elizabeth said. “Is my sister not in her rooms?”

  “I do not believe she has yet come from her bedchamber,” the maid whispered, large-eyed, dropping a deep curtsey.

  “I see I have come too early,” Elizabeth said, but she was surprised; Mary was an early riser. “I am sorry. Can you tell Lady Mary that I was here and will return later in the day?”

  The maid looked frightened and Elizabeth had to assume that she was not accustomed to speaking to Mary or any of the upper servants. Elizabeth was about to say “Never mind,” that she would send Mary a note, when a Sidhe came out of the door to an inner chamber.

  The air spirit that always hung somewhere about Elizabeth fled. Blanche caught at Elizabeth’s arm and reached for the necklace of black iron crosses. The Sidhe abruptly stopped where she was, but she pretended not to see Blanche’s defensive gesture.

  “I am very sorry,” the Sidhe said, “but Lady Mary is unwell today and will not be able to receive you.”

  “Oh, I am so sorry to hear that my sister is not well, Mistress—” Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to the long, pointed ears, the slit-pupilled eyes, but she did not allow the expression on her face to change.

  “Rosamund Scot is my name, Lady Elizabeth.” If there were ever prizes given for maintaining a bland, even blank expression, Mistress Scot would surely take them all.

  “Thank you, Mistress Scot.” Elizabeth decided to err on the side of exceptionally good manners, and since the woman was her superior in age, if not in rank, she bobbed in the token curtsey she would have given someone her equal in rank. “I did not mean to disturb my sister. Would you be so good as to tell Lady Mary that I was sorry to hear of her indisposition and that when she is better and has a little time to spare for me, I have some questions about points Master Cheke has raised on the subject of good works.”

  “Certainly,” Rhoslyn said, already reaching back for the door handle.

  “Wait, Mistress Scot,” Elizabeth said, suddenly deciding that it was more than time to make another set of amends. “It seems to me that when I was a little girl and did not know any better I was very rude to you about your appearance when you came with my sister to visit me.”

  The Sidhe’s eyelids dropped a little, veiling whatever lurked in the back of her mind. “I am sure you were not, Lady Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth smiled slightly and ignored the disclaimer required by etiquette. “I said something about your ears and your eyes, I believe. Please forgive me and be assured that I will never again make such an unwarranted personal remark.”

  The Sidhe might be good at concealing her feelings, but this did take her by surprise; she blinked. “That is very kind, Lady Elizabeth, I thank you but assure you it is not necessary. I do not remember any such incident.”

  “Well,” Elizabeth replied, “I remember, even if you do not.” Once again the Sidhe moved to leave—and Elizabeth braced herself. If this particular fence could be mended—“But wait, don’t go yet, Mistress Scot. There is something else I must tell you. I know you think my Denno did a terrible thing before I was even born, but he didn’t.”

  Rosamund Scot froze.

  Elizabeth continued on, determined to correct what she was sure was a terrible mistake. “He didn’t hurt the—” the word changeling was in her mind but would not come out of her mouth, and Elizabeth finished “—the little boy.”

  Rhoslyn let go of the door handle and came forward. Before she could reach out, however, the baleful influence of the iron crosses sent a mind-fogging miasma of pain washing over her body.

  She stopped in her tracks. She wanted to back away. Blanche had now taken out the necklace of crosses. But Rhoslyn couldn’t move. All the pain, all the grief she had carried over the years held her fast.

  “What do you mean?” She could control the words, but the voice she uttered them in quivered and pleaded.

  Elizabeth’s mouth opened, but nothing came out until she said, desperately. “I can’t tell you here. I know the whole story, but I am forbidden … constrained. I can’t speak about it here.”

  “What story?” Now Rhoslyn’s voice was harsh. “There is no story. He died.”

  “No. No.” Elizabeth w
rung her hands. “At least, he did die, but many years later. Not until I was almost three years old. Denno had nothing to do with that. If I were … elsewhere … I could tell you.”

  “I can take you to a safe place—”

  “No!” Blanche cried. “You mustn’t go, my lady. Only with Lord Denno. She’ll make you put your cross away and then she could take you anywhere, do anything to you.”

  “Where could you take her, Rhoslyn?”

  Elizabeth turned to find Lady Alana just behind her, but the voice was not Lady Alana’s soft, insinuating coo; it was Aleneil’s, only hard and cold rather than teasing and laughing.

  But Rosamund—Rhoslyn—was a changed person. Where her face had worn no expression at all before, now she was clearly desperate and pleading. “Nowhere harmful, Aleneil, I swear. I swear by … by my brother’s life and safety that I mean Elizabeth no harm. I only want to hear … I have to know what happened to the child.”

  Lady Alana looked startled, even shocked. And when she spoke, her voice was softer, and tinged with reluctant sympathy. “Have you grieved for him all these years? I am so sorry. I did not know.” Her voice was softer still. “Where did you want Elizabeth to go?”

  “Only to the Elves’ Market. You know the rules,” Rhoslyn said, her hands outstretched a little. “I could not hurt her there. All the Bright Sidhe would be watching too. And from what Pasgen tells me, she has her own defenses.” She hesitated, bit her lip. “Please Aleneil, let her come with me. Come yourself if that seems safer. Or you tell me.”

  “I only know the beginning,” Aleneil said slowly. “It is Elizabeth who knows the end, having heard it from the other … child … who, of course, is a child no longer.”

  “Please, Aleneil.” Tears shone in the dark eyes. “I must know!”

  “Do you have a Gate?” Aleneil asked. “I dare not show you mine or use it. Denoriel would murder me.”

  “Yes!” Rhoslyn said so eagerly that Blanche pulled Elizabeth backward. When she saw the movement, Rhoslyn uttered a single sob. “It has only one terminus, only one. At the Elves’ Market. That is for my own safety. You can go alone and then return, Aleneil. If anything happens to you, Elizabeth will not go, so I will have lost everything.”

  “My lady, don’t go!” Blanche exclaimed. She remembered Rhoslyn with fangs and claws fighting Aleneil on the floor of Elizabeth’s bedchamber. “Wait until Lord Denno comes. To go you’ll have to cover your cross. That’s dangerous.”

  “I know,” Elizabeth said and looked doubtfully at Rhoslyn. The Sidhe said nothing, but tears streaked the elegant face … and Elizabeth could see they were real tears visible on the cheeks under the illusion. “But I don’t think Denno would let me go because he doesn’t understand how sad this lady is. I really want to tell her what Da told me. My Denno didn’t do anything wrong.” She turned her gaze toward Aleneil. “Please—don’t you see?”

  “Is the Gate far?” Aleneil asked.

  “In the garden,” Rhoslyn replied. “I will bring us back within a few minutes of when we left. If Lady Elizabeth walks with both of us, no one will think ill of a short stroll in the garden.”

  “Lady Alana!” Blanche protested.

  “I know you are worried, Blanche,” Aleneil said, “but I think Rhoslyn is being honest with us. Still, if we are not back before it is time for Elizabeth’s lessons, send the little one to bring Lord Denno and tell him where we were supposed to go and with whom. There will be such a harrowing of the Dark lands …”

  Aleneil’s eyes were very bright and Rhoslyn shook her head, whispering, “No. No. I mean no harm.”

  Blanche returned to Elizabeth’s apartment to make excuses if they were necessary and Elizabeth walked with Lady Alana and Mistress Scot out into the formal garden of Hampton Court. At the end of the Privy Garden, not far from where the stair went down to the river was a small clump of trees. There was no brush, but the grass was rough among them, not as welcoming to those who strolled as the graveled path.

  There were a few small groups of ladies on the path, and Elizabeth and her companions had to go and look down the steps toward the river. After a while their end of the garden was empty, and they hurried to a bench, which stood in the shelter of the trees.

  Rhoslyn looked around once to make sure they were the only ones near, and said, “Gate.” Aleneil stepped into the black maw that appeared. It was gone and almost instantly Aleneil was standing where she had disappeared.

  “Very well,” she said. “The Gate did, indeed, take me to the Elves’ Market and let me open it to return here. Still,” she turned to Elizabeth, “are you sure you want to do this, my love?”

  “I want Mistress Scot—” Elizabeth now knew the Sidhe’s name was Rhoslyn, but she always called the Sidhe in her world by their mortal-world names “—to know that my Denno is not an evil creature and did no harm. I want—” she hesitated “—I want as much accord among us as there can be.”

  Elizabeth had stood up while she was speaking. She too looked around to be sure that no one was watching and walked in under the trees. Then she slipped her cross into its spelled cover; Aleneil took a good grip on her and glared at Rhoslyn who had held out her hand. Rhoslyn retracted her hand and said, “Gate.”

  The Gate appeared. Aleneil immediately stepped into it, pulling Elizabeth with her. Dark. Falling. Elizabeth was no longer in the least afraid and was ready to step out into a cul-de-sac barricaded with empty crates the moment she saw light. Rhoslyn was not with them. Aleneil drew in her breath, looking very disappointed. To Elizabeth she said, “Shield.”

  Obediently Elizabeth raised her shields, both mental and physical, and in that moment, Rhoslyn appeared. She made no comment on Aleneil’s obvious distrust, but her mouth turned down a little at the corners and her voice was not completely steady when she asked if Aleneil wished to walk around to the front and choose a drinking house or would enter through the back of the one where the Gate terminated.

  They went around to one of the main aisles of the Elves’ Market and a full cross lane away from the place they had entered before Aleneil saw a place she liked. Elizabeth saw that Rhoslyn was uncomfortable and asked her what was wrong.

  “The landlord and other patrons of this place will not like it that I am here,” she said.

  Elizabeth looked around. “No one seems to mind. Why should they?”

  Rhoslyn looked resigned. “Because I am of the Dark Court and they of the Bright.”

  Now Aleneil laughed. “How are they supposed to know that if you do or say nothing to tell them? I doubt that many even know that Elizabeth is mortal.”

  “Do they not know?” Rhoslyn asked doubtfully, then sighed. “Another lie.” She shook her head. “Never mind that. Tell me about my poor little changeling. You claim Denoriel did not kill him?”

  “Of course not! What kind of a monster do you think my brother … your own half-brother … is?”

  “All I know is that my Making, my child, was gone and there was no trace of him. If Denoriel had not sucked out the power that held him together, why could I not feel him?”

  “Because Miralys, the elvensteed, had covered him with his aura,” Aleneil said. “We are going about this wrong. You need one whole tale from beginning to end. I do not know how you got into Windsor or convinced FitzRoy’s guardian to give him into your care.”

  “I didn’t attempt that,” Rhoslyn asserted, head high. “I didn’t need to. I came dressed as a nun bringing a gift from Mary to her half-brother. Norfolk … is a self-centered, self-important man. It did not take much of a spell to convince him. It was harder to break the watchfulness of the boy’s men-at-arms.”

  “Da told me that part,” Elizabeth put in. “Da didn’t suspect anything but he was annoyed because he was sure the nun was going to give him a long lecture about something. He was a little surprised about being led to the carriage house, but then he saw Denno, who told him to go back up the path. It was then that he saw his men-at-arms sort of frozen and staring into sp
ace.”

  “And when I went to the carriage, where I had left my poor little copy of Richmond … he was gone.” Her voice almost broke on a sob, then hardened. “And Denno was right behind me, gloating.”

  “He wasn’t gloating,” Aleneil said, then stopped as a dryad with beflowered, trailing willow-withies for hair asked what they would have.

  Elizabeth wanted lemonade—to which she had been introduced on her last trip Underhill. Rhoslyn asked for wine. Aleneil chose ale.

  “Not gloating?” Rhoslyn repeated when the server was gone. “Perhaps. But he was very well pleased with himself.”

  “Likely he was pleased with himself,” Aleneil agreed without much sympathy. “Certainly he wanted to frighten you enough that you would not again try to replace Harry with a changeling.”

  Rhoslyn closed her eyes, remembering the months during which she had built her substitute Richmond and the weeks of joy and pain when she patiently created a mind that could answer questions and hold ideas. Elizabeth put her hand over Rhoslyn’s and patted it.

  “Denno did want to frighten you, Mistress Scot, but that was fair. He was charged with the protection of my Da. However, he had nothing against the little boy you had made. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. He might have been a made-thing, but he didn’t ask to be made.”

  “That’s true, Rhoslyn,” Aleneil said, her voice softer again. “In fact Denoriel was terribly worried about the false Richmond. The enchanted sleep you had put on him was draining his power, and in the mortal world there was no way to supply more. As soon as he was sure you were gone, Denoriel took the changeling to the best healer he knew. Richey—that was what Mwynwen called him—lived with her for seventeen years.”

  “Seventeen years!” Rhoslyn exclaimed, eyes wide. “That’s impossible. The child … he was a child to me, but he was only a construct, and a construct in the mortal world, with no way to replenish its power …”