Ill Met by Moonlight

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Yes, well, he wasn’t in the mortal world,” Aleneil pointed out. “The healer to whom Denoriel took him was Underhill, of course. And the healer had long desired a child. She kept Richey and raised him as her own. He had everything a child could desire … everything. She doted on him, and he on her. He had a very happy childhood.”

  “How long?” Rhoslyn breathed.

  “He was fourteen or fifteen before the power-gathering spell that Mwynwen had put on him failed and power had to be forced on him. By then he was old enough to understand when Mwynwen explained. It wasn’t like torturing a little boy who didn’t know why he was being hurt. But I …” Aleneil hesitated, then went on hurriedly, “I told Mwynwen she was doing wrong.” She shook her head. “Foolish of me, that was. All that did was deprive Richey of my company.” Suddenly she smiled softly. “He was a darling child, Rhoslyn. It was a marvelous creation.”

  Rhoslyn was now weeping openly. “It was wrong,” she sobbed, “wrong. It was very wrong to make a construct that could think and feel.” She looked pleadingly at Aleneil. “But I thought he would just fade away in a week or two in the mortal world. I did not think he would suffer. Poor Richmond. Poor Richmond. What happened to him in the end?”

  “I know about that because Da told me,” Elizabeth said. “There was a fight over seizing me and Da was barely touched by a nearly spent elf-shot. For a Sidhe that would not have been very serious, but for a mortal … It was bad. In only a few weeks, Da was coughing and soon, he couldn’t breathe.”

  Remembering that night, Rhoslyn shuddered. Vidal and Pasgen both unconscious; Aurelia with the crosses burned into her forehead being dragged across the floor by Blanche.

  Elizabeth saw her shiver but went on with her story. “Meanwhile, my Denno had hurt himself—I’m not sure I understand exactly how; it was something about the kind of power in the mortal world that burned him—and he was in the same healer’s house as Richey.”

  “Denoriel kept asking for Harry,” Aleneil put in. “And Mwynwen said he was so sick that she didn’t dare tell him Harry was dying. Richey was sitting with us. It was one of his good days, when he could get out of bed. He was always interested in hearing about Harry. Then we began to talk about a way to get Harry Underhill where he could be cured without causing a dreadful row when he disappeared—and there was no hope he wouldn’t be missed or that we could get him back soon after he was taken away. He would have to stay Underhill for so long that there would be no reconciling mortal time with Underhill.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “But by then, Da says, Richey wanted to die. He was in awful pain because somehow putting the power into him hurt him and even when he didn’t have to take the power, he was so tired all the time. And … and Da told me his … his flesh was beginning to fall apart.”

  Rhoslyn covered her face with her hands. “I loved him. I never meant for him to suffer.”

  “But he didn’t,” Elizabeth said quickly. “Well, he did hurt, but at first he didn’t mind because he loved Mwynwen and was happy with her. Only at the very end … and that didn’t last long because he made Mwynwen see that his time had come, and they changed him for my Da. Then nothing hurt him anymore, and he finally got to see the World Above, which he’d always wanted to see, and sit in real sunlight. And my Da’s people, they all loved him, and so Richey slipped away peacefully in a few days, never alone, never afraid, always with those who cared for him near. Da’s people loved Da, and they loved Richey just as much, because they thought he was Da, and I think—” her brow wrinkled as she tried to put what she felt into words “—I think that must have made him very, very happy, because now that I’m old enough, when they talk to me about him, they always say how happy and peaceful he was in his last days.”

  “Is it true?” Rhoslyn had dropped her hands and lifted her head, and now she looked from Elizabeth to Aleneil. “Can I believe you? Can I? Or is this some cruel joke?”

  Both Aleneil and Elizabeth looked horrified. “No,” Elizabeth said. “My Da told me because I wanted to know why everyone in the mortal world thought he was dead. And Denno told me to beware of you because you hated him and might hurt me to revenge yourself. But I didn’t think you wanted to hurt me. The bad Sidhe who looks like my Denno, he tried to kill me, but you never did.”

  “In the Bright Court we are sometimes careless and thoughtless in a way that is cruel,” Aleneil said, “but it is not our way to be cruel a-purpose, just to hurt another.”

  “Not even to punish me for such a creation?” Rhoslyn asked.

  Aleneil looked startled. “No. I have had no order from Oberon or Titania. I doubt that they even know what you did. Although it is true that Oberon does not like constructs from Underhill to go into the World Above, sometimes even he has made such things, to substitute for a child we mean to take from a life of pain and sorrow. But it is absurd to imagine that we would make up such a tale. How could it punish you to know that your poor creation had a happy life and a peaceful death? Truly Rhoslyn, Elizabeth and I want to give you a little comfort, not hurt you.”

  Rhoslyn took a deep breath, and blinked hard, as if her eyes were stinging her. “If what you say is true, you will have patched a broken heart. I cannot help but grieve over what I made and loved, but at least I do not need to hate as well. If my poor Richmond was happy … He is still gone, but I do not need to feel that I made him only to die for a cruel purpose.”

  “It is true that he died at peace,” Elizabeth said. “And you do not need to take it on my word alone. Ask Dunstan, my majordomo, when you can catch him alone. The guardsmen, too. Gerrit, Nyle, Shaylor, and Dickson. They were with Richey when he died. Of course, they thought he was my Da and they’ll call him His Grace of Richmond, but now you know the truth. And if you are still doubting, well, Da is alive and Denno will take you to see him if you want; you know that Da cannot possibly be Richey, so the Richmond that died is your little made-boy.”

  Rhoslyn again looked from one to the other. “I do not think I will push Denoriel’s good nature so far,” she said, after a long pause. “But I do not think you would have told me such things if they were not true, for you have given me the means to verify the truth on my own. You have told me the name of the healer—and even a Sidhe of the Dark Court has leave to seek out any healer of the Bright. So I have but to visit—and soon or late, I shall see your Richmond alive.”

  Aleneil smiled a little. “And of course, there is no reason for Mwynwen not to verify what we have said.” She held out her hand to Rhoslyn. “So, if we cannot be friends, at least you and I need not be enemies?”

  “Nor I and Lady Elizabeth, I pledge it by all I hold dear,” Rhoslyn replied, with a light in her eyes that made Elizabeth very glad that she had gone to all this trouble. “But you need not be afraid of Pasgen any longer either, Lady Elizabeth. He is very sorry for trying to hurt you in the past, and will not do so again.” She smiled a little, and it was a wry smile. “In no small part because you have taught him a sharp lesson on the danger of meddling with mortals!”

  Chapter 29

  After Elizabeth, Aleneil, and Rhoslyn had returned safely to Hampton Court and taken up their usual pursuits, Aleneil warned Elizabeth not to trust Rhoslyn despite her appearance of sincerity, and certainly not to trust Pasgen.

  “They are all terrible liars in the Dark Court. They can look so sincere and still be lying.” She uttered Lady Alana’s soft contagious laugh. “Of course the Bright Court is not overly dedicated to truthfulness either, but we do not lie when it is a matter of life and death.”

  “I will be careful,” Elizabeth promised.

  However, as it happened, there was nothing to be careful about. She rarely saw Rhoslyn, and then only from a distance, when in the train of her sister Mary. Pasgen she did not see at all. And in any event, she was not long at court.

  The king returned from France safely in October, but the war, as Denno had predicted, had not gone well. King Henry did take Boulogne, but the emperor Charles did not take Pa
ris. Indeed, Charles’s war went so ill that the emperor made peace with King Francis of France without consulting Henry, leaving Henry open to the full weight of the French army—and added to that a treaty that committed the Empire to support France against any attack.

  Mired in political recriminations with Charles, and nearly bankrupt, Henry pared his court down to what was by previous standards a mere skeleton—and he only kept on necessary officials. However, one of the acts passed by Parliament in 1544 was a new Act of Succession. The act essentially duplicated the provisions in the king’s will—the throne to go first to Edward, second to any lawful issue of the king’s marriage to Catherine Parr, third to his eldest daughter, Mary, but after that to Elizabeth, equal to Mary in all but the date of her birth. Named in an act of Parliament, Elizabeth’s place in the succession was assured more certainly than by a clause in a will, which could be eliminated by a single pen-drawn line.

  Warned to caution by both Denoriel and Aleneil, Elizabeth gave no sign of her feeling of triumph, but she was more at peace than she had ever been. And Denoriel did not choose to break that peace; he never told her that England was facing serious threats, as France and the Empire sealed their new alliance with plans to invade. For security as well as to get them out of the way, the two younger children were sent to Ashridge together. Mary, older and sometimes useful as a diplomatic pawn, remained with the court or retired to her own estates, as Henry or her own health dictated.

  Elizabeth and Edward were delighted to be together again. In the private setting, the prince was less formal and rigid, and their tutors were even more flexible and amusing; there was no need for strictness with two such eager students. The children were well guarded but more to save them from annoyance than from any fear that anyone wished them ill.

  In this climate, Denoriel had easily enough ingratiated himself with Sir Anthony Denny, chief gentleman of King Henry’s Privy Chamber, by bringing secret information from France. He said the news came to him from his ship captains who traded in French ports, but he actually got the information from friends in Elfhame Melusine. When Sir Anthony asked him why he brought such news, ensconced as they were in the privacy of his study, Denoriel laughed.

  “Because in these times any foreigner is suspect, and a foreigner like myself, who has a large trading empire, could be in danger of having his property confiscated and being cast out. I am not much worried about confiscation; most of my worth is in ships spread all over the eastern seas, and I have credit in many cities of the Hanse,” he added, “but I consider this land my home, and I am loathe to find myself barred from it.”

  “No threat is being directed against our merchants,” Sir Anthony said quickly, though his eyes were not on Denoriel when he said it, but rather, looking just past Denoriel’s shoulder.

  Denoriel smiled and shook his head. He knew and Sir Anthony knew that if the choice came between paying the king’s mercenaries and stripping the merchants bare, the merchants would be stripped. But assurances were offered, however mendacious, because no one wanted the merchants to flee.

  “As I said, I am not much troubled about confiscation, but I do not wish to be cast out,” Denoriel repeated. “I have lived in England for over twenty years now. I have deep roots in this country and eagerly desire its well-being. And I have known and loved Pr—I beg pardon, the Lady Elizabeth, since she was a babe.”

  “Ah, yes. I remember. It was you Norfolk was obtaining a pass for.” Sir Anthony laughed, his hands toying idly with a goose-quill. “He is much puzzled by you, Lord Denno. He cannot understand your attachment to the royal children since you never ask them … or him, for that matter … for favors.”

  Denoriel drew himself up. “I do not need any favors. I can and will always make myself useful and valuable to England because it has provided for me a haven, a true home.”

  A small spell accompanied the words; it did not need to do much because Sir Anthony was half convinced already. But when it took hold Sir Anthony would always like and admire Lord Denno and trust him completely.

  “You mean that, I see, Lord Denno,” Sir Anthony said. “Well, I am grateful for the news you brought and hope you will bring more. And I will see that, whatever happens, you remain welcome in this realm and have free access to Lady Elizabeth.”

  “That is the only favor I desire,” Denoriel said, seriously, and with a little bow. “As for the children, Harry—I mean His Grace of Richmond—was such a child and growing into such a man as was reward enough just to know him. ‘Tis said the good die young,” he added with a sigh.

  Sir Anthony nodded sympathetically. “His Grace of Richmond was a fine, open-hearted lad,” he agreed.

  “The Lady Elizabeth—” Denoriel uttered a warm chuckle “—now she is another kettle of fish entirely … a very spicy kettle of fish. She is a refreshment to the mind and the heart and I thank you sincerely for the permission to visit her.”

  Sir Anthony did feel a small qualm of suspicion that permission to visit Elizabeth would bring the foreign merchant into contact with Prince Edward, but Norfolk had accorded the man the same permission with Henry FitzRoy. Despite the spell—it was a little, gentle thing not designed to override clear thought—when Denoriel was gone again, Sir Anthony wrote to the prince’s tutors to ask if Denno seemed to be influencing Edward in any way. He was promptly reassured that Denno did not spend much time with the prince and seemed to have no purpose with either child but amusement.

  It was true that such amusements might lead to friendship and influence when the prince was a man, but that was many years away, and right now Sir Anthony was profiting by bringing the king information no one else had. Denno was always welcome at court, and aside from the information, Sir Anthony found him a most comfortable friend.

  By the New Year of 1546 the threat of invasion had passed. As New Year gifts Denoriel brought Edward a fine astrolabe and a remarkable kaleidoscope. He brought Elizabeth, who was now edging toward her thirteenth year and womanhood, a set of gold pens, some intricate earrings into which her spell-bearing stones could be fastened, and a magnificent necklace—very like that which had turned to dross when she first returned from Underhill.

  She kissed him when she saw the necklace and then said, “I cannot keep it, Denno. It will make all kinds of trouble if anyone sees it. Even Edward would not believe it was a free gift, not shackled to me with promises.”

  “You do not have to wear it,” he said, flushing as he returned the kiss with perhaps a touch more enthusiasm than was fitting. “Put it in your box and only try it on for me. You have such a beautiful long throat.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “I could not resist showing it off. Keep it for me.”

  Denoriel did not continue to protest. He guessed he might not need to keep the necklace for very long, and it might win him another kiss when he brought it back. Henry was desperately seeking allies who would help him drive Emperor Charles into a new alliance that would force the French into peace and permit Henry to keep Boulogne. One way was through marriage, and Henry began offering his younger daughter to any nation he hoped to secure as an ally.

  Most rulers, or their advisors at least, wary of being involved in Henry’s difficulties, offered many speeches about how much they were honored, leading to polite refusals. One or two wished to keep negotiations open for their own reasons and sent flashy but—by royal or imperial standards—inexpensive pieces of jewelry to the proposed bride.

  Elizabeth was frightened at first; she did not want to be anyone’s bride. She knew, deep in her heart, though she could not have said how she knew it, nor why, that a foreign marriage was wrong for her, that she must never leave England. But Denno soon put her mind at rest. Through sources in the Hanse, he himself had brought Sir Anthony the information that one party was angling for trade concessions, not to support Henry’s war.

  As for the other offer, news did not travel only one way; Sir Anthony told Denoriel that the other party was actually too insignificant for Hen
ry to give his daughter, even if he himself had proposed the idea in a fit of temper. Although nothing came of the marriage negotiations, Elizabeth was allowed to keep the relatively valueless trinkets—and to them was added Denoriel’s necklace.

  Both Edward and Elizabeth had been invited by Queen Catherine to celebrate Christmas 1545 and the New Year 1546 with the court. They had received lavish gifts of cloth for clothing and other marks of favor, but no one seemed to be interested in marrying any of the children at this point, and King Henry, suffering now for his lifelong pursuit of pleasure, found the continual full court something of an irritant. Since for the present time the children were useless as diplomatic pawns, there was no purpose in keeping them with the king, and soon after the New Year they returned to the country.

  Edward probably actually preferred living in the country, as he did not seem much to enjoy the entertainments of court. Elizabeth loved being at court, but she was frankly terrified of being a treaty bride and hoped the retreat to Hatfield, which her father had ordered, meant the end of that danger. Also, she loved Edward and was glad to see him happy, and he was never happier than when he was alone with his tutors. She loved her books, too, and Denno was a frequent visitor, so she did not repine.

  In fact Denoriel was so frequent a visitor at Hatfield, where he had long-established Gates and could come and go with great ease, that soon a slip of the tongue here and there revealed to him Elizabeth’s adventure with Rhoslyn. Denoriel was horrified, and warned Elizabeth even more forcefully than Aleneil had to avoid Rhoslyn and never to trust Pasgen.

  “Mistress Scot does not come near me,” Elizabeth assured him, “and I have never seen Pasgen after that time he attacked me in the garden. But I am sorry for the dark lady. She really loved that little boy, and she is very sad. And I do not think she hates you anymore.”