And Less Than Kind

by Mercedes Lackey

  "Oh no, Your Grace!" Mary Dacre exclaimed. "No. We would never leave you all alone with no one but a common maidservant to support you. We would all three like to sleep in your chamber together."

  "All three of you?" Elizabeth's eyes opened wide.

  She looked terribly shocked. She was terribly shocked, but with pleasure. She gazed at them, speechless with delight, furthering their impression that she was appalled. All of them together, she thought. One single sleep spell and they would all be helpless. She would not even need to bespell the door not to open. Blanche could sit by it and answer anyone who came.

  "But . . ." she sputtered, "but there is only one bed."

  "We will make do," Elizabeth Marberry said, trying not to sound like a martyr. "Unless there is some reason why you do not want us in your bedchamber."

  "No," Elizabeth murmured, biting her lip hard to keep from laughing. "No, of course you are welcome to sleep in my chamber. Let me just tell my maid to provide drink and suitable tidbits for all of us."

  Looks flashed from one pair of eyes to another. Elizabeth had to turn away from their anxious faces. She went and stared into the fire, as one sorely disappointed might do. She was consumed by a desire to kiss them all and giggle.

  The innocents! They cannot decide whether to let me speak to Blanche alone or not. They think I want to tell Blanche to warn away any who planned to free me or conspire with me. If Blanche warned them, those dangerous rebels would not come and the silly hens are afraid to try to trap me with dangerous, perhaps desperate, men. On the other hand they know it wrong to let rebels be warned and escape and lose a chance to prove me guilty.

  "Oh, Your Grace," Susanna Norton said, clearly screwing her courage to the sticking point. "Please do not disturb yourself. I will go and speak with your maid."

  "As you wish," Elizabeth said, turning from the fire and seating herself in her chair with an ill-natured thump.

  She was still struggling with laughter. She did not care a bit what Susanna said to Blanche, since she would have plenty of time to discuss what Blanche should do after the women were all bespelled asleep. She turned her eyes to the fire again. Now she only had to find the strength to act in a manner they would consider natural until they went to bed. And then she would have to be strong enough not to claw with impatience at the wall in Blanche's room where her token would call Denno's Gate.

  The Gate opened so slowly that Elizabeth clapped her hands to her mouth to keep from crying out. Mary was destroying the joy of her people and was destroying the Bright Court with it. More than ever Elizabeth regretted Wyatt's failure. She knew that his success would have made her coming to the throne far more difficult, perhaps would have caused a civil war . . . which would have been just as harmful to the power the Bright Court used.

  When Denno forced his way through the narrow Gate, Elizabeth clutched him to her, sobbing softly with mingled joy and fear. He still wore the somewhat ravaged face of Lord Denno Adjoran instead of that of the young Denoriel he usually wore for her visits Underhill. That told her how great an effort he had expended to open a new Gate to the mortal world.

  "Beloved, beloved," he murmured, resting his cheek against her bright hair. "It has seemed like a thousand years to me. I feared for you. I think I would have gone mad, except for Rhoslyn, who kept assuring me that Mary would not let harm come to you."

  Elizabeth raised her head to kiss his lips, and urged him back toward the Gate. With the women who watched her so fearful about what she would do, she was not certain the spell would hold them if they heard the sound of her voice and a man's.

  She and Denno went through the Gate still linked, and it was not an easy passage. Usually Elizabeth found herself securely at the arrival Gate just as she became aware of the sensation of darkness and falling. This time she had a long moment to be terrified. Her lips had parted to scream, although no sound ever penetrated the Otherness of Gating. However, they did arrive safely at the Gate to Llachar Lle and Miralys was waiting.

  Elizabeth examined the elvensteed carefully, fearing the creature would be less solid or show signs of ageing, and Miralys turned his head to look at her. "I feel I should do something," Elizabeth said anxiously to the steed, "although I have not the smallest notion of what I could do. She will not listen to me."

  Miralys snorted loudly, then touched Elizabeth gently with his muzzle. Denoriel hugged her tighter.

  "It is nothing to do with you, beloved," he said, as he lifted her to the second saddle. "Your one duty for now is to stay alive without being sent out of the country or married off to someone who will be repugnant to your people. If you can manage that, we have hope to cling to."

  Llachar Lle, to Elizabeth's relief seemed no less solid or magnificent. Perhaps the white flowers in the moss were not as bright and the palace did not shine with so silvery a light . . . but perhaps that was only her fear darkening her eyes. The slight chill of the spell that acknowledged her as she passed through the small entry portal to the side of Llachar Lle's giant brass doors seemed no more or less than she remembered, and the huge hallway and silver doors were unchanged. But the illusion that masked Denno's doorway seemed dull and flat.

  What was Oberon's, Elizabeth realized as she and Denno went into his apartment, had not been affected by the loss of the power of joy. Where Oberon's power came from . . . Elizabeth's lips parted to ask and then closed without a sound. Likely Denno would not tell her; likely he did not know. But if he did, Elizabeth decided, she did not want to hear. She had enough trouble with religion without adding a pagan god to her belief.

  "Do you want to eat? Something to drink?" Denno asked.

  The odd wavering in the air that signified Denno's servants were present was slow to form. Elizabeth shook her head and turned to face Denno, to put her arms around his neck and press her body against his.

  "I want nothing except to touch you, to be with you. To make myself sure that I have really found a breath of freedom."

  He nodded, smiling, and walked toward the stair that led to the second story (which could not possibly exist) drawing Elizabeth with him. She could not help being a little frightened that he had not, as was usual for him, swept her off her feet and carried her up the stair. As they came through the door of his bedchamber, Elizabeth pulled off her night rail and cast it away, then ran to him and began to undo the fastenings of his doublet. He raised a hand to gesture, but she shook her head vehemently.

  "I need to peel you, stitch by stitch," she said, kissing him again.

  Her Denno's eyes brightened so that he looked less worn. He had taken what she said as a ploy to heighten sexual anticipation. Elizabeth was glad of it, but the truth was that she was trying to save him even the minuscule outlay of power that it would have cost to remove their clothing by magic.

  However as this and that garment was cast away, Denoriel's skin was bared and Elizabeth's mouth found his neck, his shoulder, his broad breast, his small man's nipple. He groaned and caught her to him, his own mouth hot against her neck. She thrust him away a little, enough to open his points and the tie of his slops. And as she nudged the garments off his hips, her hands slid along his flesh.

  Denoriel raised one foot and pushed slops and stockings down on his other leg. Elizabeth's hands wandered from his hips to his groin. Denoriel groaned again, and they were lying on the bed. He was not aware of the power he used to raise them both. It did not seem to cost him any effort. A warmth seemed to flow from Elizabeth into him that filled his empty channels for magic.

  With that warmth came a rush of passion so rich, so raw that he lost awareness of any refinement he had intended to use to please her. He rid himself of the remains of his clothing with two frantic shoves with his feet, rolled over so that he was above her, and thrust.

  Perhaps he used magic again without thinking of it or willing it. Without positioning, his shaft slid home. Elizabeth shrieked and surged up against him. He seized her hips so he could draw, but he did not get far; her legs came up and loc
ked around him, and she ground herself against him, crying out again.

  It was enough. It was too much. His climax drained him and drained him again. He could feel her body pulsing around him. Bliss mingled with pain when he had no more to give. But by then Elizabeth was still also, only her lips touching his chin gently and then falling away.

  Sidhe do not sleep, but a vast lassitude enwrapped Denoriel so that it was an enormous effort to lift himself off Elizabeth and slide to the side. It was true, he thought slowly—even his thoughts moving languidly—that mortals were not healthy for elven-kind. He had had Sidhe lovers and enjoyed them, but he had never been so wrenched, so burnt, so consumed by pleasure. Nothing would ever match his Elizabeth and when he lost her he would go through his long, long life aching for what he would never find again.

  Chapter 30

  After the months of tension and terror, the nights full of nightmares of execution, Elizabeth slept like one bludgeoned. She woke remarkably refreshed. Denno looked better too, the lines of worry smoothed from his face.

  His first words, delivered smiling, were "It is Tuesday. Shall we go and meet the others at the Inn of Kindly Laughter?"

  "Tuesday?" Elizabeth replied. "Oh, so it is, for we set out from London on Saturday. I hope Alana will come. It is so long since I have seen her."

  "I think everyone will be there. I left messages that I hoped you would be Underhill today. What do you want to wear?"

  "I will choose something from my wardrobe, I think," Elizabeth said, popping out of bed. Denoriel, stimulated by the sight of her naked body, made a grab for her. Laughing, she skipped away toward the door. "I would not want Lady Alana to feel that I do not appreciate the lovely gowns she prepared for me." She smiled impishly over her shoulder as she went out. "And you know how often she has warned me about your taste."

  It was the best she could do to save him the power he would have expended to form a gown and clothe her. And when she opened the garderobe door she felt well-rewarded for her small sacrifice. The gowns were lovely. She chose silken undergarments from a small chest at the foot of the bed she almost never used and then chose a relatively simple creation in shades of green.

  The gown was simple enough, but the long chain of emeralds set in gold, which she wound twice around her neck, the large pendant emerald she added to hang between the top and bottom of the long chain, would have been priceless in the mortal world. Elizabeth gave no thought to carrying them with her, knowing they would turn to dross as she passed through the Gate. She busied herself rooting through the jewel chest and came up with a tiara of emeralds she set into her hair, several rings, another long gold chain to tie around her waist, and bright buckles for her shoes. Here she could indulge her taste for jewelry, without having to pay for it or fearing the envy of the Court.

  Elizabeth did not actually remember when Denno had given her the emeralds, but she thanked him for them when she went down to the parlor and found him there. He laughed. "Easy enough to make—" he broke off and sighed "—or used to be." Then he smiled. "I am glad you still had them. They look well with your hair."

  "Thank you, but I am starving. Can we go?"

  Miralys was at the foot of the steps as usual, but instead of taking them to the Llachar Lle Gate, to Elizabeth's surprise he carried them directly to the Bazaar of the Bizarre. How he did so was very strange even for Underhill, she thought, as Denno lifted her down from the saddle. She remembered mounting and looking across the white-starred moss toward the Gate. And then . . . no darkness, no falling, nothing at all except Miralys walking down the broad avenue to the market.

  It was useless to ask Denno. He would only shake his head and admit that the Sidhe knew very little about the elvensteeds although they had been closely bound to them for as long as the Sidhe existed. And then they were at the door of the Inn of Kindly Laughter, as usual no more than a short walk from the Gate into the market—no matter by which Gate they entered—and Lady Alana was jumping to her feet and rushing to embrace her. It was a touching sign of affection, Sidhe being mostly unwilling to touch others.

  "Elizabeth! Dear Elizabeth! I am so sorry not to have been with you when you needed me—"

  Elizabeth shook her head. "It is just as well that you were not among my ladies, Lady Alana. You would not have been allowed to serve me anyway when I was imprisoned. All my ladies, even Kat, have been sent away and replaced with Mary's creatures. But since you were not with me at the time of Wyatt's rebellion, it is possible that when the Council's stupid suspicions about me have faded, you will be allowed to serve me again."

  Aleniel sighed heavily and drew Elizabeth toward the table, where two more chairs had appeared. "Very gladly, if Ilar and I can lay our hands on this monster who is snatching mortals from Cymry. We know who he is now—well, Ilar and I caught a glimpse of him with a dear little child in his arms. Ilar could not reach him and dared not cast a levin bolt at him for fear of hurting the child. And he disappeared—Gated, where no Gate was."

  "Where no Gate was?" Denoriel repeated, sitting down in the chair next to Harry's.

  Harry was already on his feet and had seized Elizabeth in a tight hug and kissed her on the forehead. "We were all worried about you, love. I wanted to bring you here, but Denno said you would not be happy."

  Elizabeth returned the hug and kiss, planting hers on Harry's cheek, but she passed his empty chair without speaking to him to hold out her hand to Rhoslyn. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you so much for all you have done for me. If not for you, I might not have survived."

  "I did not really do so much," Rhoslyn said, taking Elizabeth's hand and smiling shyly. "I only made sure that Mary did not speak out in a fit of rage or despair. She might then have said what she would later, and always, regret. Although she fights the knowledge, she does know you are her sister and though she might well wish you would drop dead, she cannot make herself the instrument of that death. The chancellor and her most trusted advisor have both urged her strongly to be rid of you. But she cannot."

  "Perhaps," Elizabeth said, "but I still feel that it is your effort that has kept me safe. And I know how hard it must be for you to work for Mary's heir. You are fond of her."

  "Yes." Rhoslyn sighed. "But she is hurting Logres and the Bright Court, and my friends—" she looked around the table "—are all suffering for her fixation on this Spanish connection."

  Harry had sat down again and he reached out and covered Rhoslyn's hand with his, but he looked up at Elizabeth. "England is small and not powerful. Its salvation is to play France against Spain, not to marry Spain and be drawn into her wars."

  Rhoslyn sighed again. "I am sure you are right, Harry, but it is hard to blame Mary. Much is the result of the cruelty of her father and her contrary fixation on her mother. That caused her dependence on Emperor Charles. Her Council is so divided she knows not whom to trust and so she leans on the Imperial ambassador."

  "I do understand," Elizabeth said, "and I want to assure you—here, Underhill, where there could be no purpose to any lie—that I had no part in the rebellion against my sister and never tried to hurt her. It would not serve my purpose."

  "We all know that to conspire against Mary would damage your future reign," Denoriel said with a cynical twist to his lips; he loved Elizabeth but also understood how ruthless she could be. "Come here and sit down. You said you were hungry. We will never get the attention of that server if you do not sit down." He looked at his sister, across the table. "Now what were you saying about a Gate where none was? With the lack of power that is plaguing the Bright Court, random Gates are not easy or likely."

  "Cymry is not so short of power as most of the Bright Court," Aleneil replied, "but the power did not come from Cymry."

  "How can you know that?" Pasgen asked, always interested in any aspect of power.

  Aleneil smiled. "The Sidhe of Cymry use very little magic; their mortals do most tasks for them for which we use magic. A spell is noticeable in Cymry and it is not overlaid with dozens of ot
her spells, so it is easy to feel what kind of power created it. That was how Ilar and I discovered that this Sidhe who steals mortals is being aided and abetted by a Dark Sidhe. The Gate by which the mortal-stealer fled was built with Dark power."

  "Did you touch that Gate yourself?" a soft, pleasant voice asked, eager but anxious.

  Elizabeth did not recognize the Sidhe who had spoken, but she was sitting close to Pasgen so Elizabeth assumed it was the Hafwen she had heard Pasgen was working with. The she-Sidhe was quite beautiful . . . well, all Sidhe were beautiful . . . but Hafwen was soft and lovely, not brilliant as many Bright Sidhe were.

  Most Bright Sidhe had hair that really looked as if it were metallic gold and glowing emerald eyes. Nor was Hafwen as pale as Aleneil, with her silver-gilt hair and almost blue eyes. Hafwen's hair was a little darker than gold, a little less bright, like warm honey; her eyes were a softer color too, not silvered or faded as the elder Sidhe were, but barely misted with translucent gray.

  "For the briefest moment," Aleneil replied to Hafwen's question as to whether she had touched the Dark Gate. "I was closer than Ilar. I had felt the Gate first and gone toward it. The Sidhe who had the child was too large for me to stop, and like Ilar, I could not attack him because of the child, but I hoped to catch hold of the child. I thought perhaps I could tear it from his arms."