"Elizabeth!" Denoriel protested. "One does not ask about another's source of power."
"I beg your pardon," Elizabeth said easily, "but since it is impossible for me to encroach on Pasgen's source . . ." And she addressed herself to her plate.
"That is true," Pasgen said complacently, spearing a last few remnants on the point of his knife. "But I doubt anyone could encroach. I have my own sources of power and owe nothing to the mortal world."
Aleneil looked interested; Denoriel indifferent. With the power-gathering spell that Mwynwen had given him, the ambient strength of Underhill filled him quickly and completely. Then he cocked his head.
"You haven't found a way to take power from the mortal world, have you?" Denoriel asked, also cleaning the last bits from his plate with some of the Inn of Kindly Laughter's very good bread.
"No. And I thank you for your warning about that white lightning. I barely touched it and was well scorched for my temerity. I am thinking about it, though. I promise if I find a way, I will tell you."
"I will be very grateful," Denoriel said. "I try not to do magic in the mortal world, but circumstances can build a trap that makes magic necessary."
"Which brings me back to Albertus—that is the mortal healer who lives in Otstargi's house. I brought him Underhill to see if he could cure Aurilia's headaches. I found him in the basest slum of the city, tending on the whores and criminals. He has an acquaintance that could make the hiring of thugs easy."
"But I am sure the men who attacked me were not brigands," Elizabeth pointed out.
"No," Aleneil agreed. "I thought then and think now that they were idle young gentlemen, possibly men recruited to fight for a cause."
"Cause?" Rhoslyn asked.
"Reestablishment of the Catholic Church," Harry said. "Mary will subject England to the pope again."
"No!" Rhoslyn exclaimed, then added, "Oh, yes, Mary will bring back the Catholic Church as fully as she can, but Mary would never hire men to attack Elizabeth." She flushed slightly. "She does not . . . love Elizabeth, but—"
"That was not what I meant," Harry said quickly. "I doubt, if the men were hired for the Catholic cause, that Mary knew anything about it. God knows, there are enough men who follow the old religion in their hearts, some of them right beside Northumberland. Any one of them could have made up a plan to take Elizabeth prisoner."
"For what purpose?" Elizabeth asked, tensing.
Harry shook his head at her. "Only so that Mary could come to the throne without any challenge. Most of those men fear that the country will rise to keep their new ways and freedom from Peter's pence and push you onto the throne instead of Mary."
Elizabeth shook her head. "That would render the Act of Succession invalid and that Act is what my own claim to the throne rests on."
"Possession is nine-tenths of the law," Harry remarked cynically. And then said, "No, don't think about it. Stay safe. Stay quiet. If Mary and Northumberland fight over the crown, just lie still at Hatfield. If Mary is hurt, I think the country will rise to overthrow Northumberland. Also remember that Mary is many years older than you."
"And she is not strong," Rhoslyn said with tears in her eyes.
"I am sorry Rhoslyn," Harry said, pushing away his plate. "I know you are fond of her—"
"Because she is a good, sweet, kind person."
"Perhaps. But she will make a wretched queen and do great hurt to the country."
Rhoslyn sighed. "I know."
Harry looked at her sadly, then turned back to Elizabeth. "The elder Sidhe and I are going to make another assault on the evil that is lodged in Alhambra and I must go. Is there anything you need from me Bess?"
"No, except your promise to be very, very careful. Da, you have no magic. I do not like to think of you struggling with evil without any defenses."
Harry leaned over and kissed Elizabeth's forehead. "What a silly child you are. I am ringed about with defenders, all rich and tried in magic. And I have my gun loaded with Cold Iron and my silver sword. Do not waste any fear on my account." He rose to his feet.
Pasgen also stood up. "I will Gate to Elfhame Elder-Elf with you. I need to let Gaenor and Hafwen know that I will not be available to them for a few weeks. That mist is doing something, but without going into it we cannot tell what, and none of us is desperate enough to go in after what happened to Vidal." He turned to Rhoslyn. "Making sure Mary is not hurt is not likely to take longer than a few mortal weeks, is it, Rhoslyn?"
"No," Rhoslyn said. "Although Northumberland keeps speaking of improvement, no one believes the poor little king can survive much longer. Lady Catherine tells Mary that the real physicians have given up and that Northumberland has called in any charltan who promises a cure. Poor boy. He is in such pain they keep him drugged almost all the time."
On that somber note they parted, Elizabeth clinging to Denoriel with tears in her eyes and saying, "No, I don't want to go to the market now. Take me home, please, Denno."
Later, Elizabeth acknowledged that she would have done better to go to the market and try to distract herself. Having taken to her bed as a defensive measure against Northumberland, once she was in the mortal world she had little to keep her occupied beyond the wild fluctuations of her hopes and fears. One moment her throat tightened with tears for her little brother; the next a thrill swept her when she realized she would be heir presumptive to the throne when Edward died.
That thrill of eagerness and excitement, however, was always followed by a thrill of fear. Mary did not want her as heir. Mary was rumored to deny that Elizabeth was her father's daughter. Mary was one of the few who had actually believed Elizabeth's mother was a promiscuous whore and that Elizabeth was Mark Smeaton's child—in spite of Elizabeth's resemblance to Henry VIII.
Then her thoughts would skip back to Edward and she would hope a little that the rumors of his mortal illness, which came mostly from Mary's supporters at Court, were only traps to make her seem to desire his death. William Cecil, her own main source of information, so faithful and infallible in the past, had been strangely silent. So maybe Edward was not so desperately ill; perhaps he would recover. A flicker of hope, mixed, to Elizabeth's inner shame, with a hollow regret. Was she a monster after all to desire a chance at the throne at the cost of Edward's life?
Had the enforced idleness lasted long, Elizabeth would likely have made herself truly ill. Within the week, however, warning came from the closed gate of Hatfield that there was come a messenger, not wearing royal colors but openly from Northumberland. Sir Edward came to the gate himself and put out his hand for the packet. The messenger—not the dolt who had carried the order for Elizabeth to turn back from her intended visit to Edward, but a wiry gentleman of middle height with crisp, dark hair and sharp features—did not deliver.
He dismounted from his saddle as the gate was closed behind him and asked, "What is the meaning of locked gates and the guards? Are you arming for war?"
"Not war, defense. My lady was attacked on the road only last week," Sir Edward replied as they started for the house. "I am Sir Edward Paulet, captain of the guard here and taking no chances that the attack was no accident. You may give me the message."
"No, I may not," the messenger replied. "I was sent by the duke of Northumberland himself. My name is Richard Verney and I am enjoined to place this message into Lady Elizabeth's hand and no other."
"Lady Elizabeth is ill and lies abed. She was sadly shocked by the attack, which brought on an inability to eat. She is very weak."
"I have my orders from His Grace," Verney said stubbornly.
"Well, you may come and speak to Mistress Ashley, but I doubt she will give you news other than what you have had from me."
The messenger said nothing more until Sir Edward saw him into the reception room and gave his name to Kat, who rose to greet him, holding out her hand for the message. However, he clutched it tight against his breast and repeated that his orders were to put it into Elizabeth's hand alone.
; "Then you are likely not to deliver it at all, Master Verney," Kat said calmly. "Lady Elizabeth is most unwell. She has not risen from her bed since we were attacked on the road."
"I am sorry to hear of the lady's illness," Verney said, "but I am commanded by His Grace of Northumberland to give this message into her hand, and I assure you that it will be the worse for her if she does not have it."
Kat looked at him for a long moment, but he did not offer the packet and she sighed and said, "I will tell her you are here and see if I can get her to attend to me."
"I will come—"
Verney stopped as the guard at the inner door made an ugly sound in his throat and stepped forward, his hand on his sword hilt. Kat raised a hand and shook her head at Shaylor.
"Very well," she said, "come then."
First Verney felt a fool because he clearly detected a note of satisfaction in Mistress Ashley's voice. She had wanted him to insist, to act as if he thought they were hiding something. But then he swallowed hard. Sir Edward was pacing him behind Mistress Ashley to the door and he had drawn his long knife from its scabbard on his belt. Perhaps they were hiding something and if he detected it he would never leave that inner chamber.
"You will not approach the bed closer than Mistress Ashley leads you," Sir Edward said.
It was not Lady Elizabeth in the bed, Verney thought, that is what they are trying to hide. But it was Lady Elizabeth! She lay still and white under a thin coverlet. And Mistress Ashley only stopped him about a foot from the bed. The curtains were drawn back all the way. He could see her plainly.
Verney's glance flickered down the outline of her body under the coverlet. It was nearly as flat as the bed itself. Not the smallest rounding of the belly to hint at the sin she might have inherited from her mother.
"Lady Elizabeth," Kat crooned. "My dear. Open your eyes, do."
A long moment passed. Mistress Ashley repeated herself. The thin lids twitched, twitched again and opened over dark eyes, almost as black as those of Ann Boleyn.
"Here is a messenger from the duke of Northumberland, Lady Elizabeth, and he says he must give his message only directly into your hand."
"His Grace," Lady Elizabeth breathed.
Verney saw her right arm move a fraction, as if she were trying to brace it to lift herself on her elbow. She did get the elbow bent under her, but slipped back to lie flat at once. Finally, very slowly and with great effort, she raised her hand.
"Give me the message," she whispered.
Sir Edward moved forward with Verney, the point of his knife now pressing hard into Verney's side. Verney hesitated and the knife passed through his clothing and pricked his flesh, a warning and an impatient prod. He withdrew the packet from the satchel in which he had carried it. Elizabeth's hand had fallen to the bed, but it lay palm up to receive the message. And then, to Verney's surprise, a glowering maid took a quick step forward and laid a heavy silk kerchief over Lady Elizabeth's hand, as if contact with the message would in some way contaminate her.
Now Sir Edward laid a heavy hand on Verney's shoulder; as he drew him away from the bed, he sheathed his knife again. "You have delivered your message into Lady Elizabeth's hand," he said. "Your duty is done. Come and refresh yourself."
But his duty was not done. Verney had been told to report on the lady's reaction. "Will not the lady wish to read the message?" he protested. "I am very willing to answer any questions."
Sir Edward uttered a low, indeterminate sound and his lips twisted as he shepherded Verney out. "Does she look as if she could read it or ask a question? If you had given it to me or to Mistress Ashley, you might have had an answer to take back. Now she will insist on reading it herself and that will have to wait until she gathers strength."
"Why did the maid cover Lady Elizabeth's hand? And why did you nearly stab me when I was about to give her the message?"
Sir Edward shrugged. "How did I know that you would not whip out a poisoned pin or even a knife and stab my lady? Nor will you be offered lodging in this house. No strangers are permitted within, lest they do harm. You can have a cup of wine while I watch you, but I will not leave you until you are outside our gate. Someone hired a whole troop of men to take Lady Elizabeth or even kill her. Likely it is fear that has made her so ill. When she is sure she is safe, I hope she will recover."
Verney drank his wine and was escorted out, the gates closed and were barred behind him. No one short of an entire army would be able to reach Lady Elizabeth and do her harm, Verney thought. He himself had no such instructions—and would not have accepted such an order, even from his good friend Robert Dudley's father. But something was brewing connected with the young king's death. Verney rode at a moderate pace, sparing his horse. He would not be sorry to emphasize how well Lady Elizabeth was guarded.
Kat had followed Verney and Sir Edward to the door and watched them through a crack until the outer door of the reception room had closed behind them. Then she closed the bedroom door and said, "He's gone."
Elizabeth popped upright and watched Blanche as she carefully wiped the outside of the message packet with the silk kerchief. "Do you think it is poisoned, Blanche? Do you . . .ah . . . see or smell something? I did not."
She had been about to say "sense something" but the geas Queen Titania had put on her when she was given leave to visit Underhill with her memory intact would not permit her to say anything that would hint of magic or the supernatural. Thus she had to find words natural to the mortal world.
"No, m'lady," Blanche lifted the packet and sniffed at it through the silk. "Don't smell nothing up close either, but the messenger was wearing gloves. No sense in not being careful."
"For the Grace of God, Blanche," Kat said, sounding shocked. "Are you implying that the duke of Northumberland is trying to poison Elizabeth?"
"Don't know, Mistress Ashley. But the men who attacked us wasn't really friendly. Don't know what the men would have done if they'd taken Lady Elizabeth. Maybe, like Lord Denno said, they would've only held her till Northumberland's plans were worked out, but maybe . . . What hurt can it do to be safe?"
"None," Kat murmured. "None. . . . Oh dear."
Elizabeth stared hard at the packet too but could see and sense nothing. She reached toward it, but Blanche told her to wait and hurried off to the dressing room, from where she came back with a pair of gloves. When they were on, Elizabeth broke the seal, turning her head aside so as not to breathe in anything. Then she unfolded the message and read it, crying out softly as if she had been caught by a small pain.
"What is it, love?" Kat asked.
"I am ordered to come to Court to say fare well to Edward. He is dying, Northumberland says. Oh, poor Edward. Should I go?"
"Lord Denno would skin us all alive," Blanche said.
"He would have to be here to skin us, so we are safe enough," Elizabeth said with a spiteful hiss.
"Oh, no, my dear," Kat added, deliberately not hearing what Elizabeth said about Lord Denno and answering the question about going to Edward.
It was true that Lord Denno had left Hatfield as soon as he was sure Elizabeth was calm and Sir Edward had deployed his men and locked the gates so Hatfield was safe. It was also true that Lord Denno had not returned, but by now Kat knew Lord Denno well enough to be certain he was on Elizabeth's business, likely trying to find out who had hired the attackers and/or why the attack had been made.
"There cannot be any question of going to London," Kat went on. "Not after you were so clever at convincing the messenger you were too ill to travel. And . . . and the truth is, my love, that it is more likely the king is already dead than that you will be allowed to see him. I do not think Northumberland would have admitted his key to the royal power was gone until King Edward truly drew his last breath. So why does he want you now, when he did all in his power to keep you away from Court for so long?"
Chapter 6
Not long before Richard Verney passed through the gate at Hatfield, Denoriel learned the answer to
Kat's question. He had returned from a third fruitless attempt to see William Cecil or his wife—but Mildred had gone to be with her father in the country—in a sour temper. It did not improve his mood to find a stranger seated in the entry hall with Cropper standing watchfully near the entrance to the kitchen.
"Yes, what is it?" Denoriel asked impatiently. "It was useless to wait for me. If my man of business cannot or will not accommodate you, neither can or will I."
Denoriel was badly out of temper and his voice was hard, but the man simply jumped to his feet with a pleased expression and bowed.
"I must speak to you, my lord, and alone."
"I just told you that I do little or no business and—"
"My name, my lord, is Henry Carey." The man paused as if he expected Denoriel to react; when he did not, he continued, "And I know you will want to hear the proposition I will make. Come, my lord, in private I will say two names to you. If you are not interested after hearing them, I will leave and trouble you no more."
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