Ill Met by Moonlight

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Pasgen,” Denoriel said, identifying the mysterious Sidhe without difficulty. “Odd. I never knew him to be a creator, except of Gates. It was always Rhoslyn who made things. I wonder what he was doing there. I hope he was not building a simulacrum to replace Elizabeth!”

  “I don’t think so,” Harry said, looking worried nonetheless. “I think Elidir or Mechain would have felt efforts at creation in the mists. I will ask them more specifically; I’m sorry now it didn’t occur to me, but at the time I didn’t think of Pasgen’s interest in Elizabeth.”

  Denoriel frowned. “Rhoslyn swears he has none. That he is engaged in his own researches—but I am not at all sure that we can take her word. Did he say anything else to your friends?”

  “I don’t think they gave him the chance. Elidir says that they could feel his power, and Mechain said that she saw the mist sort of lining up behind him as if it were making ready to rush forward and engulf them. Anyway, they said they were sorry to intrude and just stepped back through the Gate. But here’s another funny thing. Both said they didn’t sense any threat from the Sidhe. It was only that they were near an Unseleighe domain that made them cautious.”

  Denoriel heaved out a sigh. “I think I liked it better when I knew Pasgen and Rhoslyn to be dedicated enemies. Now I hardly know whether to greet them as potential allies, to ignore them, or to attack them.” He sighed again. “If you think Elidir and Mechain would be willing to take me, I would like to go to that Unformed land myself and confront Pasgen.”

  Mechain and Elidir were perfectly willing, but they had some trouble focusing the Gate. In the end, they found the way, but no one was there, and the mists were not at all friendly. They did not produce anything dangerous or attack, but they resisted blandishment and actively fought command. After some effort to leave a message for Pasgen, Denoriel threw up his hands. He was full charged with power and becoming anxious about what had happened in the World Above in his absence.

  * * *

  In the late morning of 30 January at Enfield Palace, Elizabeth was complaining to Kat Champernowne that the place was like a tomb. It was too cold and nasty to go riding and even her Lord Denno had not been next or nigh her for over a week. She was just about to ask Kat whether it would be thought ill of if she wrote to Denno, when a message came from the gate that Lord Hereford had brought Prince Edward to see his sister.

  Elizabeth jumped to her feet, her face glowing with pleasure, crying, “Edward! How wonderful. Oh, Kat, am I fine enough? Is my hair neat? Will he be able to stay, do you think? Does this mean we are to be together again?”

  “It cannot do harm if you spend a moment tidying your hair and washing your hands, which have ink on two fingers,” Kat said, without any of the enthusiasm she generally displayed when the prince paid a call.

  Elizabeth was so excited that she did not notice that Kat’s voice sounded strained and she rose uneasily to her feet. Her eyes met Blanche’s over Elizabeth’s head, but the nurse’s expression was no help. And when Elizabeth returned a few minutes later, Kat was standing and watching the door. Elizabeth did not see her wringing her hands.

  What Elizabeth did see as soon as the door opened, was four men in the prince’s livery enter the room, look around to make sure there was no threat in it to the prince, and step aside, two right and two left of the door.

  Only—one of the men was not mortal; at the distance Elizabeth could not see the pupils of his eyes, but she could see plainly that the round human ears were a shadowy superposition over long, elven points.

  The Sidhe turned to look at her … and Elizabeth went cold with fear, touched her ear and muttered, “Minnau ymbil!”

  Even as she felt what she imagined as a clear, flexible sheet close around the vague, glowing presence she imagined to be her heart and soul, a blow struck it. Elizabeth blinked, and saw the mortal near the Sidhe look at him with a slight frown as he staggered and gasped. Then she saw no more because Edward was through the door and running toward her with his hands outstretched.

  “Elizabeth!” he cried. “I am going to London, but my uncle Hertford was so kind as to say we could stop and visit you.”

  Elizabeth embraced her brother fondly and kissed his cheek. “I am so glad to see you Edward,” she said, but she had seen that Hertford, who was following his nephew, was not smiling.

  Anxiously, she kissed Edward again, this time on the forehead, afraid the child was fevered. But his skin was cool and dry and his eyes were bright—and that was a stupid idea anyway. If Edward was ill, the physicians would come to him; his uncle would not make him ride to London on such a nasty January day. And why should Edward go to London?

  Elizabeth knew that her father had been very ill in the beginning of January, but she had been quite satisfied with the reports of his recovery. Henry had been ill many times in the past three years, especially after he had returned from the war in France, but each time he had recovered. Now her grip on Edward tightened convulsively and she looked up at Lord Hertford, who was staring down at them with his lips in a tight, thin line.

  “Father?” she whispered. “Is he ill again?”

  “No,” Edward said cheerfully. “I am going to London to be created Prince of Wales …”

  “No, Your Majesty,” Hertford said, in a voice heavy with portent, and tones that made Edward look up, eyes wide. “You are going to London to be crowned king. I deeply grieve to have to tell you, but your father, King Henry, the eighth of that name, died two days ago. The king is dead,” he added, gravely, “And may God protect and save Your Majesty, Edward, my king.”

  The arm with which Elizabeth was holding Edward slipped away, and the boy turned to look at his uncle. “No,” he whispered. “Not Papa. No.”

  There was no comfort to be had from Hertford’s unhappy face and he turned to Elizabeth who was white, with staring eyes, and burst into tears. She did so too, clutching him in her arms. But even as she bent her head over her brother, she saw the men who had been at the door coming toward them.

  The Sidhe was shaking his head and staggering slightly. Elizabeth began to tremble with fear. He had cast a spell at her that had been cast back at him when it touched her mental shield. But God only knew what he would do when he reached her. Elizabeth cast the spell for her physical shield. She felt it fold around her, covering her head and shoulders and her back, but where she gripped Edward to her, it felt thin and light.

  As all the adults in the room moved toward the weeping children, Elizabeth felt a light blow on her shoulder. A long-fingered hand slid over her shield and sank down through the weaker part of the shield onto Edward’s shoulder. The hand patted Edward consolingly and then withdrew. Amid her sobs, Elizabeth sighed with relief. The Sidhe must be a guard for Edward, as Rosamund Scot was a guard for Lady Mary. And then she heard Kat Champernowne sobbing aloud and the full impact of her loss, which had been delayed by her fear and confusion, hit her.

  Her father was dead! Whatever she had ever feared or doubted about King Henry, Elizabeth had known surely and with perfect confidence that so long as she was in his favor, he would never permit anyone else to harm her. Or Edward. Now they were naked to the world. Elizabeth wailed aloud.

  On arrival at his house in London, Denoriel found that two full weeks had passed and he had, indeed, arrived toward the end of the month. It was the twenty-ninth of January. Joseph Clayborne had attended to all the business correspondence and made excuses for any invitations while he was away, but there were several notes with future invitations.

  Denoriel looked through them quickly, saying, “No. No. Yes. Yes, very gladly, thank you. No. No, but very sorry, please try again. Yes. No. Ah!”

  “Ah?” Joseph Clayborne was amused.

  “This is very interesting,” Denoriel said. “Very interesting, indeed. It is an invitation to attend church with Sir Anthony Denny and his family tomorrow. You do not need to answer this. I will simply go and present myself with an apology to say I was away until late today.”

&
nbsp; Denoriel was pleased. This invitation was a step up in Denoriel’s relationship with Sir Anthony. They had been friendly for over two years in the casual way of men and Denoriel had met Sir Anthony’s wife on several formal occasions, but to be invited to a family party was a higher degree of intimacy than Sir Anthony had hitherto offered.

  Thus Denoriel was very puzzled when he was turned away from Sir Anthony Denny’s door on Sunday morning, January 30. The footman offered no excuse, only said that no one was at home. Somewhat nonplused, Denoriel left a note saying how sorry he was to be deprived of the family’s company and asking if he had somehow offended. He did not at first associate the empty house with public affairs.

  Since he was out, dressed in clothing suitable for church, and he had nothing else to do, he went to church. He did not mind; he always found attending the service a rather amusing experience. The music, although primitive compared to elven music, was very interesting and had the attraction of being full of spirit and very original, and the sermon was so ridiculous that he had to grit his teeth to prevent himself from laughing aloud.

  In church he was hailed by a fellow merchant, who asked heartily where Denoriel had been and when he admitted, most mendaciously, that he had been in France, invited Denoriel to come home with him to dinner. Having nothing better to do, Denoriel closed with this offer. It was a good meal and the merchant’s wife saved him from needing to prevaricate about doing business with France by asking him question after question about Lady Elizabeth.

  Nothing delighted Denoriel more than talking about Elizabeth and the merchant was hardly less interested than his wife, so it was nearly dusk when he returned to his house. The footman, who Joseph had hired, told him as he entered that there was a message waiting for him from Sir Anthony Denny.

  The note said no more than that Denny was sorry he had forgotten to inform Lord Denno that Lady Denny and the children had needed to go to the country. If Lord Denno would forgive him and stop at his house for a glass of wine, Denny would explain more fully.

  Needless to say Denoriel hurried to Sir Anthony’s house where a servant led him to the smaller withdrawing room. Sir Anthony rose from his chair by the fire and came forward with a hand outstretched. Denoriel was shocked by his pallor, dark-ringed eyes, and unshaven cheeks.

  “My dear Sir Anthony,” he said softly, coming forward and taking the hand extended to him, “I can see that something is very wrong. If I can be of any help, please tell me at once how.”

  “You are a good friend, Lord Denno. I have heard it from a number of people … including Norfolk … and it is true.”

  “Norfolk,” Denoriel repeated unhappily. “He would not accept any help. He said he had been an obedient servant all his life and if the king wanted his life also, he would still be obedient.”

  “Norfolk is alive,” Denny said, flatly. “It is the king who is dead.”

  Denoriel just stood and stared and then finally managed to blurt out, “When? Just today? There are no bells. The city is quiet.”

  Denny sighed. “No, His Majesty died two days ago, in the dawn of the twenty-seventh. I suppose it is safe to tell you now. It will be announced tomorrow morning. I hope I have done no wrong in agreeing … in supporting the Earl of Hertford …”

  “I am sure you did what you believed to be right and best,” Denoriel said. “But if it can do no harm for me to know—and I will swear on the souls of my murdered family that I will never speak a word of what passes between us here unless you give me leave to speak—I would wish to understand what happened.”

  Denny did not answer at first, just gestured for Denoriel to take the chair opposite the one he had been using. When Denoriel had seated himself, Denny, still silent, rang for a servant and asked for wine and cakes. While he waited, he paced the room.

  Denoriel set a little spell of calm and confidence and trust in his path. He stopped when he had walked into it and nodded, just as the servant came in. When the bottles and glasses and tray of sweetmeats had been set on a small table and the door closed behind the servant, Denny poured two glasses of wine, brought one to Denoriel, and seated himself.

  “You know that I am—was—the First Gentleman of the Privy Chamber,” he began, “and thus I have—had been with the king as he grew weaker and weaker. About midday on the 27th I saw that he could not survive but that he did not yet understand his danger. I—I have—had been with His Majesty for many years. I loved him; I loved him, though many feared him, and I think I understood him better than many a man of greater rank. I could not bear to think that he could die without confession and absolution … so I told him he was dying and asked if he desired spiritual consolation.”

  Denoriel could do nothing more than say, “That was a brave and generous act, Sir Anthony.”

  A very faint smile touched Denny’s lips and he sighed and sipped his wine. “I was aware,” he said. “I knew that men had died for mentioning the possibility of the king’s death. But … but he knew that I would never betray him and never tell him what was not true, and he asked for Archbishop Cranmer. I sent to Croyden as soon as the king had fallen asleep, but by the time Cranmer came, His Majesty could no longer speak. Still, he nodded to Cranmer’s questions and the archbishop gave him absolution.”

  “There is nothing in this for which to blame yourself, Sir Anthony,” Denoriel said, finishing the wine in his glass and rising to refill it. “That you are sorry to lose a master you loved, I understand, but you seem troubled beyond that.”

  “I am, indeed. When I left the room to send for Cranmer I also spoke to the Earl of Hertford and William Paget and told them that … that the king could not live out the next day.” He hesitated, put his wineglass aside, and put one hand to the side of his face, torn with conflicting emotions. “The realm was about to lose its head!” he exclaimed. “Someone had to seize the rudder and steer the ship.”

  “I agree,” Denoriel said, soothingly. “King Henry had been a very strong king. The council had mostly followed his orders. The shock of His Majesty’s death could well have unbalanced the councilors so that they could not agree on how to act and chaos could have erupted.”

  Sir Anthony gave a long sigh. “So you see it the same way? Yes, but somehow … when I saw those two, Paget and Hertford, pacing the dimly lit corridor outside of the king’s apartment and making plans … It seemed so cold-blooded.”

  Now Denoriel refilled Sir Anthony’s glass and put it in his hand. He took a long swallow.

  “And I was just as cold-blooded, I fear,” Denny continued. “I sent away the physicians and everyone else beside Cranmer.” His voice failed and was hoarse and clogged when he spoke again. “And when at last the king no longer breathed, I went out and summoned Hertford and Paget and I agreed when they decided that the king’s death should not be announced immediately.”

  But Denoriel nodded. Cold-blooded? Hardly. Cold-blooded actions would have entailed moving to enrich himself while Henry’s body was still cooling. There was a whole kingdom to think of—and within that kingdom, one small boy who needed to be protected before anyone else learned what had come to pass. One small boy—and perhaps, one not-so-small girl?

  “You fear to have done wrong, but I do not think you did. It was only because I presented myself at the offices of our family’s business with plans for what cargoes to take and a schedule for trading that the business survived. Do you think my heart did not weep tears of blood? That I did not wake in the night with tears on my cheeks? I still grieve. To grieve … one cannot help that. But grief is for the dead—and for those who are not dead, there must be action.”

  Denny nodded. “But it was … is … very hard. Still, there was much to be done if chaos was to be avoided. The first thing was to protect the new king. It was decided that Hertford would go to Edward—now King Edward—and bring the child back to Whitehall Palace. Only when the new king was safe in his uncle’s hands, would the late king’s death be announced.”

  “Hertford is best,” Denor
iel said firmly. “I know somewhat of the man; he is strong, certain of will, and there is nothing that anyone can say touching his honor. Once Edward is secured, no one would dare a rising against Hertford’s military ability. The army is accustomed to his command. He is the boy’s uncle and I have seen that he is fond of Edward when he visited and I happened to be visiting Lady Elizabeth.”

  Suddenly Denoriel swallowed and his heart leapt into his throat. When would Edward be told that Henry was dead? And would they tell Elizabeth? He barely prevented himself from leaping to his feet and rushing out to go to Enfield. For a few more minutes he continued to listen while Sir Anthony explained how and why the Earl of Hertford would be named Lord Protector and rule in Edward’s name. It seemed reasonable enough to Denoriel, but he didn’t care. He needed to go to Elizabeth.

  A whispered spell as he lifted his glass to drain it and Sir Anthony slumped over, sound asleep. Denoriel leapt up in time to catch his glass and place it safely on the table, and a second spell ensured that when he woke, he would recall Lord Denno listening, agreeing with all he had said and done, offering him commiseration, and then leaving after several assurances and expressions of condolence. Then he slipped out of the house. Miralys was at the door waiting for him.

  Chapter 31

  Denoriel did not remember the ride from London to Enfield. He must have stopped at the gates and been passed by the guards, but all he could recall was that Dunstan had muttered, “Thank God you are here, my lord,” as he led him to the door of Elizabeth’s private withdrawing room and Gerrit sighed with relief when he opened the door. It was a small room and with the heavy curtains drawn against the dark and a bright fire burning in the hearth, quite warm.

  Elizabeth was sitting by the fire with Kat Champernowne and two other ladies seated behind her, Aleneil crouched on the rug at her feet, and Blanche stood behind her chair. Nonetheless, Elizabeth’s face, when she turned it toward him, was white as a bone, and he could see she was shivering.