And Less Than Kind

by Mercedes Lackey

"But surely Aurilia and Vidal do not wish any harm to Mary," Denoriel said.

  "No, not at all." Rhoslyn smiled. "I think for once Vidal has no ulterior motive. The physician is just a physician and will do his best for Mary. Vidal wants Mary to live, to marry Philip, to try to force Catholicism on Logres. The greater the unhappiness in the realm, the more power of hate and misery leak down to enrich the Dark Court.

  Chapter 23

  An ogre and two trolls had fallen out over a trembling mortal, too frightened even to scream—but not too frightened to scurry on hands and knees under the benches and between the legs of the other creatures watching the fight. Vidal and Aurilia, seated in their great chairs of bone on the black marble dais veined with red, also watched with amused smiles.

  The mortal was not worth fighting over; diseased and emaciated, it would not have lived much longer if the foraging party from the Dark Court had not taken it. There was not enough life in it to make it worth a Dark Sidhe claiming it, but the fear that was draining what remained of its life force tainted the air of the Court and Vidal sucked it in.

  It did not get far. Two rows down a goblin felt its passing, seized it and twisted its neck. Usually the goblin would have eaten what it could while the mortal was alive, to enjoy its screaming, but if it screamed here everyone would know it was caught and want a piece. The goblin picked out and ate both eyes and then bit off the flesh of one cheek. It only bled a little, but the goblin's neighbors smelled the blood and fell upon their fellow to tear away what they could.

  The flurry of activity alerted the neighbors of the ogre and the trolls, and they rushed to seize what was left from the goblins. Aurilia and Vidal laughed at the antics, and laughed harder as the more fragile but cleverer members of the court, the witches, lamias, succubi, and incubi sneaked away bloody gobbets from the duller but more powerful creatures in the struggling mass.

  One or two of the Dark Sidhe, the weakest and least favored, began to look interested in the remains, but although Cretchar had not been offered any share in the spoils of the foraging party, he only laughed. He and Paschenka had collected a whole family only two days before, and there had been a nice, plump three-year-old that Paschenka did not want. Delicious. He watched the spreading chaos with an indulgent smile.

  The uproar was terrific and more and more of the Court was getting involved. A goblin was thrown and struck one of the Dark Sidhe. He rose from his seat, blue light flickering on one hand. Aurilia laid a hand on Vidal's arm. She was no longer laughing. When levin bolts were loosed serious accidents could happen.

  "Stop!" Vidal roared, and a mist of flickering bright motes drifted from the chair on the dais over the struggling throng.

  The Dark Sidhe who could build shields stood and sat untouched, laughing harder as most of the Court jumped about and slapped at the motes that stung and burned. At the same time, the command Vidal had issued rolled through the room, gaining rather than losing volume. The fighting died down; quiet came faster as they realized there was nothing to fight over any longer—a cracked bone or two, a small patch of straggling hair.

  Vidal gestured and the stinging flickers of light rushed back to him, slipping between the bones of his chair and blinking malevolently out at the battered and torn creatures of the Court.

  "I can see," he said, "that the last hunt was insufficient."

  "The mortals are not so stupid as we hoped," a boabham sith whined. "Once there were many on the doorsteps and drunk or wounded in the alleys. Now they all find places within, and the metal in those places hurts us and makes us weak."

  "So." Vidal looked over the Court. "Why did no one tell me that game was growing scarce?"

  Mutters and murmurs moved through the Court, but no one answered.

  Vidal sighed. "Fools. It is time to move to another town. When my messengers go out to gather you again, I will have decided on a new place to glean. This Court is finished. The mortal was the last prize. Get you gone until the summons goes forth."

  He watched as the creatures straggled out, some limping, some bleeding but none so weak they could not glare around and dare the others to attack. The Dark Sidhe were the last to leave; each bowed to him before turning away toward the door. Vidal watched with satisfaction. There was no mockery in those bows as there had been sometimes in the past. On the other hand, none of them backed out of the chamber so he could watch Vidal all the time. They were becoming trusting. Vidal uttered a brief laugh. So much the better if any became too bold and he had to remove a few. But for now—

  A gesture brought a dead gray mist; another gesture caused the mist to swirl vigorously around the benches and floor that had been soiled with blood and skin and some scales. A few muttered words and the mist gathered itself together and flowed out through the still-open doors. The red floors shone again, glistening almost like freshly spilled blood; the benches, also deep red, grew out of the floors, which was all that kept them from being torn up and used as weapons. The doors closed.

  Aurilia looked around the high, dim chamber; it was dark and threatening but still rich and luxurious. "You used to use cleaning up as a punishment," she said. "I kind of liked that. I was able to add this or that surprise to the cleaning and enjoy the shrieks."

  "The screaming was amusing, but they never did clean the place thoroughly. It was always grimy and greasy. It's true that it smelled of blood and bad meat, and that was rather appetizing, but the smell distracted the simple-minded creatures too much."

  Aurilia laughed suddenly. "Yes, I remember that. The ogres and trolls would try to gnaw on the benches. The grating noise was a nuisance. And I am sure you have no trouble thinking of punishments when you need them."

  "True enough."

  Vidal smiled, rose, and held out a hand. Aurilia placed her hand on his and also rose to her feet. Vidal said a single word and a miniGate took them to his private chamber. Graciously Vidal handed Aurilia to her velvet-cushioned chair; he bowed slightly to her and seated himself in his own chair. A raised finger brought a cringing servant.

  "Do you want more than wine?" Vidal asked.

  "Some sweet cakes would be good."

  Vidal nodded and the servant disappeared. "I do not know why I bothered to summon the servant. There is so much power ready to hand that I could have brought the wine and cakes without him."

  "But he scents the air with fear, which is pleasant."

  Aurilia paused as the servant reappeared pushing a small silver cart; the top opened to display decanters of wine, glasses, and a golden plate piled with glazed cakes. Trembling, the servant backed away from the cart toward the door. Aurilia giggled and snapped her fingers. He flew up into the air and turned a somersault. Before he could hit the floor, Vidal signaled the door to open and flicked his fingers. Wailing softly, the servant flew out of the door. Both laughed at the thud when he hit the floor and laughed harder when a shriek and a series of thuds indicated that the unfortunate creature had fallen down the stairs as well.

  The door closed and Vidal and Aurilia faced each other smiling. "It is a real pleasure to have so much power to play with," Aurilia said as she reached into the cart and poured a glass of wine.

  She offered it to Vidal; he took it, his smile broadening. "And it is even a greater pleasure to know that the flow will only increase, since it does not depend as it mostly does in Scotland on shifting political alliances." He breathed a large sigh of satisfaction. "Queen Mary is all and more than I expected of her. She does not see and does not care that she is making the people hate her. She will continue to enrage them and power thrown off by their hate and fear will flow as nectar to us."

  Aurilia frowned as she poured another glass, from which she sipped before she spoke. "That she is feeding us with power and more power is good, but Mary's stupidity is also dangerous. She nearly lost her throne. Albertus was really frightened. He thought Mary was mad because she would not flee as most of her Councilors advised her when the army of rebels advanced on London."

  "She has cour
age and this idiot faith that her God will protect her." He laughed aloud. "She would regard me as the Devil incarnate, yet it was I who was her shield."

  "Then you knew of the rebellion," Aurilia said in a tone of admiration, which for once was not all pretense.

  The flood of power from the raging passions in the mortal world was making everything in the Dark Court easy. Because there was enough power for all, the constant struggle to absorb a little more, to steal a little from another was in abeyance. The back of Aurilia's mind was no longer full of the temptation to do away with Vidal so he would not seize the lion's share of power that came to the Dark Court. She was more than usually pleased with her position, which gave her luxury and freedom to torment without labor or responsibility.

  "To a certain extent I made it," Vidal replied. "Otstargi's advice enflamed some, assured others, who will never trust Otstargi again—but since they will doubtless be hung or beheaded, that will not matter." He laughed. "And it was I who ensured that the rebellion could not succeed."

  "Well, it came all too close to succeeding."

  Vidal sighed. "Mortals are always a nuisance. Unfortunately I was unable to reach Wyatt himself and he has more courage and less good sense than I hoped. He held that ragtag army together."

  "And the hatred the people have for the Spanish and their fear of the Spanish marriage turned into a double-edged sword."

  "Yes." Vidal's expression darkened. "Imagine the stupidity of sending that old man Norfolk out to stop Wyatt. I had hoped there would be a decent battle with a great many deaths and more lovely bitter pain and dying life force for us. Instead, most of Norfolk's force simply deserted and joined Wyatt."

  "That was when Albertus fled back here and told me that Mary was about to be taken prisoner and perhaps killed."

  "It was not quite as desperate as it seemed," Vidal said and smiled. "The plan for the rebellion had already been ruined. What arrived in London with Wyatt was no longer a real army. It was only a quarter of the intended force."

  "Ah." Aurilia smiled back.

  Vidal shrugged. "I made sure that two of the conspirators, Croft and Carew, were convinced that the earl of Devonshire would raise Devon for them. Courtenay agreed to do so, because he was angry with the queen. He was about to set out for Devonshire when his valet suggested that he had better go to Otstargi to ask about the future. Otstargi suggested that he had better give a warning of the overthrow of the government to his good friend Chancellor Gardiner."

  Aurilia set down her glass because she was laughing so hard she would have spilled the wine. "And he listened to you? He gave a warning to the queen's chancellor?"

  Vidal laughed also. "Courtenay is ultimately stupid." A moment later his eyes narrowed. "Maybe he is not so stupid. He has probably saved his neck by betraying the rebellion. Gardiner 'forgave' him for thinking of rebellion after he extracted all the information from Courtenay. Carew was somehow warned—I was not interested enough in Carew to discover all the details—and fled. Croft also fled, but he is one of those idiots of 'principle.' He did not abandon the rebellion; he rushed off to the fourth conspirator, Wyatt to tell him all was known."

  "But Wyatt did not flee."

  "Another cursed mortal of principle. However in this case it worked just as I had planned. Wyatt had already raised an army and decided to use it, even though he had to strike too soon and without the forces promised by others. I wanted a battle after all. War always brings us the richest flow of life force. But you are right, Aurilia. It came too close. If Mary had not been able to arouse the people of London, and considering how opposed they are to restoring Catholicism and the Spanish marriage she might well have failed—" Vidal ground his teeth. "—Wyatt would have put Elizabeth on the throne. I must be rid of Elizabeth."

  "No!" Aurelia gasped.

  The roiling power that surrounded Aurilia, warmed by flickers of rage and stabs of pain, made rich by the flood of fear and desperation that came with imminent death, suddenly stilled and chilled. Oberon had forbidden Vidal to act against Elizabeth. To do so now, when Oberon must be watching the Dark Court more carefully than usual because of the amount of power it had, would certainly call forth swift and possibly dreadful punishment.

  Aurilia did not care about Vidal, but she enjoyed what he provided for her. He had fulfilled his promise of unlimited power once Mary came to the throne. He had a plan to ensure that Mary would bear a child deeply tainted with Evil so that the power of the Dark Court would not only continue but increase. But if he flouted Oberon now and was destroyed . . . No. She must somehow convince him to leave Elizabeth alone—and not by reminding him of Oberon's threat, which would only incite him to stupid action.

  "I tell you we came within a hairbreadth of having Elizabeth on the throne." Vidal snarled.

  "Oh, no." Aurilia shook her head firmly. "According to Albertus, Wyatt claims he never intended more than to prevent Mary from marrying Prince Philip."

  "Wyatt was defeated and taken prisoner. Of course he would say that. I do not believe it."

  Aurilia giggled. "No one else does either, so for you to act against Elizabeth now would be useless and dangerous. Wyatt will lose his head . . . and so will Elizabeth. Albertus says that Renard, the Imperial ambassador, and Gardiner have both been urging Mary to have Elizabeth executed since Mary first came to the throne."

  Vidal nodded impatiently. Renard's efforts were largely his own doing; he did not need Aurilia's reminder, but it calmed him.

  "So see what will happen of its own," Aurilia continued, "Mary already hates Elizabeth, but she could not order her death because the Council and the Parliament would never have agreed. The whole country would have been enraged. Now Mary can prove her sister has committed treason and everyone will agree that Elizabeth should die. Dear Vidal, let nature take its course."

  It was fortunate, Denoriel thought as he came hurriedly down the stairs of the house on Bucklersbury, that Sidhe did not sleep. If they needed sleep, he would be dead instead of just merely exhausted. Now that Wyatt's rebellion was out in the open, Mary's ladies were watching Elizabeth close enough to count each breath she took. Denoriel knew; his exhaustion was largely owing to their watchfulness.

  He could not take Elizabeth Underhill where they could talk and plan in peace. Elizabeth did not dare be absent from her bedchamber and could only cast the sleep spell if she was there to dismiss it so the lady who slept in her chamber could be wakened. The need to be there and alert was no figment of her frightened imagination.

  It seemed Mary's spies had been warned that no communication between Elizabeth and the rebels must go unmarked and the likelihood was that such secret communications would come in the middle of the night. Thus either Eleanor Gage or Elizabeth Marberry had found excuses to come into Elizabeth's bedchamber several times each night and had roused poor Alice Finch, Dorothy Stafford, and Agnes Fitzalan to answer stupid questions—to be sure they would miss nothing and were not beglamored or drugged.

  After some days of this, Elizabeth was so despairing and frightened—not so much of dying; she knew her Denno would not let her be killed—but of being wasted, of being denied her chance at ruling, that Denoriel had Gated to Blanche's bedchamber in Ashridge and stayed with Elizabeth for most of the next three nights. By the end of that time, he would cheerfully have slain both Gage and Marberry, if he had not known that killing Mary's spies would probably sign Elizabeth's death warrant.

  Denoriel was drained out not only by needing to wear the Don't-see-me spell every time those damned women came creeping in but because he could not ask Aleneil to help him. Matters in Cymry had taken an ugly turn and she was needed there. Thus Denoriel had to find an air spirit to bind to Elizabeth and do the binding himself. He could only be grateful that Lord Denno would not be expected to visit Lady Elizabeth while London was under threat of attack.

  However, he would be expected by his now numerous business acquaintances to be in London, so instead of Gating Underhill, Denoriel came up from the wi
ne cellar in the house on Bucklersbury. He had just set his foot on the first step to the upper floor, when the door of Joseph Clayborne's study flew open and Joseph popped out.

  "Thank God you are come," Joseph said. "I must go down to the warehouse. I do not want our guards and porters to go haring off to join . . . whichever side they favor. They are all men I can trust to carry expensive goods and I do not want them involved in any fighting unless the warehouse is attacked. I hope you will be here today. I do not want to leave the house empty."

  "Cropper?" Denoriel asked.

  "Down at the warehouse too."

  "Very well," Denoriel said, "but do not become desperate in defense of the warehouse. Goods can be replaced. Even the warehouse can be replaced. You, Joseph, cannot. And remember that Mistress Standish will have me skinned if harm comes to you over my property."

  Clayborne colored slightly and smiled. "I am more concerned with keeping the men out of trouble than of real danger. There are a few, I fear, who would rush off to join Wyatt's force if they came near. No matter what I say to them, they insist that the Spanish will arrive in force and overwhelm us."