"One of the Fair Folk?" Denoriel breathed, his hand going to his sword.
"Now I don't think so," Blanche said, her voice hardly above a murmur although the door between her room and the bedchamber was shut. "Even if I hit him with the cross, would one of the Fair Folk have fallen out of the window and been so clumsy as to land on his head and break his neck? I saw him lying on the ground. You can look. He's still there. I'm pretty sure he's dead."
"What did he want? Was he going to kill me?" Elizabeth whispered tremulously.
"I don't think so, my lady," Blanche said. "He had no weapon in his hand and he was just peeping through the bedcurtain, like to be sure you were there."
"Did he see that the bed was empty?" Elizabeth gasped.
"Don't matter, does it love?" Blanche replied, smiling. "He won't be telling anyone, now will he?"
"But if one man could get in, who is to say another will not?" Denoriel asked, his mouth grim.
"Don't think you need to worry about that none either," Blanche said, giving Elizabeth who was shivering a hug. "When Sir Henry finds that dead man right by your window with every sign he died of a fall, isn't he going to stick bars on your windows and guards below? What we need to worry about is that he'll seal up the whole place with iron shutters, not that he won't make sure no one else tries to get in your windows."
"That's true," Elizabeth said with a wan smile. "And, of course, since he never got through the window—I think I will speculate to Sir Henry that he fell when trying to open it—I will know nothing about him until the body is found." Her voice grew stronger as she spoke and the smile grew broader. "And this will be the perfect reason to insist that my ladies continue to sleep in my bedchamber. Three of them to give the alarm if there should be another intruder."
Denoriel was not smiling in response. "It wasn't one of us this time, dearling, but I would not swear the mortal was not hired by some agent of the Dark Court. And since this attempt failed, and Vidal must know Oberon is gone, he might try a direct attack. They have power enough for anything now and . . . Who knows where Oberon is and when he will return?" He pulled Elizabeth into his arms and kissed her. "I need to find Pasgen. He knows Gates. Perhaps he can tell me a way to make your lodging resistant to Gate magic."
"But then you will not be able to come for me!"
"I do not know where you will be in more danger," Denoriel said, crushing her against him and kissing her again. "I want you to be safe."
"Then do not take my freedom from me. If I am locked in here with Bedingfield, I will go mad." She hung around his neck, kissing his chin and throat." Come tomorrow," she begged. "Promise you will come tomorrow."
"Tomorrow is the night you do not bespell your ladies. I am sure Bedingfield will set a guard right below your window from now on, so I do not need to worry about mortal intrusion. Let me look for Pasgen and hear what he has to say. I will promise not to close my Gate or do anything else until I speak to you about it."
With that, Elizabeth had to be content. Since she truly was reassured about any threat posed by mortal assassins and felt she had her own defenses against the Sidhe, she let her lover go. Perhaps Pasgen could reassure Denno; in any case once dearling Denno was over the shock of hearing about the possible attack, he would understand her need to go Underhill.
Meanwhile she slipped into bed, released the sleep spell on her ladies, and while she waited for them to wake naturally concentrated on how she should react when she was told about the dead man.
Her deception was successful and she polished it by attacking Bedingfield for his carelessness with her safety. On his knees with tears in his eyes, he apologized most sincerely and promised that she should have bars on her windows and men patrolling the building at night. Spitefully, she threatened nonetheless to complain to the Council of his lax care for her.
For a long moment, he stared at her and then said, "If you will do that, and ask them to beg the queen to appoint another warden for you, I will be forever grateful, Your Grace. You could not do me a greater kindness."
For another long moment Elizabeth stared back, mouth a little open in surprise at the subtle attack. Then she laughed heartily and shook her head. "Well, I will not complain," she admitted, pouting. "I only wished to hear what you would say. I may be cross and a fool, but I am not such a fool as to cast out the honest devil I know and welcome one who might be much worse."
Elizabeth believed Bedingfield had merely made a shrewd riposte. Later she discovered he was not as clever as she then thought and had spoken only the plain truth. She did remind herself that Bedingfield, though slow and stolid, was not really a fool. She would have liked a more intellectual and more flexible guardian, but Sir Henry was at least honest and as earnest to protect her as he was to keep her under control.
She paid more attention to studying her keeper for the next few weeks, which was just as well because she had little else to occupy her. Denoriel came the day after, but he would not take her Underhill. As compensation they made love in Elizabeth's bed. It was not much of a compensation. Both were uneasy and constrained, fearing the sleep spell would fail. Denoriel could disappear; there was no real danger of discovery but neither could find a complete release. Then, frustrated, they quarreled bitterly.
Another night passed. Denoriel did not come and Elizabeth did not bespell her women. Mary Dacre complained that the guards who walked their rounds disturbed her sleep. She had slept much better before they were so carefully guarded. Susanna Norton agreed. No harm had come to Elizabeth, she said; bars had been set over the bedchamber windows. Why did they need a herd of flat-footed men tramping round and round and saluting each other as they passed?
Elizabeth was concerned. She would not be able to bespell them for several days, at least. After that if they commented on sudden sound sleep, she could say they had grown accustomed to the noise of the guards. Then Elizabeth Marberry commented thoughtfully on how soundly they usually slept.
Elizabeth hurried to say it was likely because they were all comforted by being together. She, in particular, felt she would not be able to sleep at all if they were not with her. And it was doubly important now, if there should be another intruder, that at least one of the three would surely wake and give warning.
On the next night Elizabeth bespelled her ladies but only for a brief time. When Denno came she told him she would not be able to go Underhill for at least a week. He shook his head, laughing ruefully, and admitted he had decided just the opposite, that she would be safer in Llachar Lle. As to proofing the gatehouse against Sidhe Gates, he had found Pasgen, he said, and Pasgen was delighted to look into the problem since he and Hafwen had still discovered no sign of the Evil and had no idea where else to look.
They kissed fondly and Denoriel returned Underhill while Elizabeth released the sleep spell and went to her own bed. She slept very ill indeed. As a result, she drove poor Bedingfield to tears over her demand always to have ink, pens, and writing paper, which were specifically forbidden. He would write to the Council, he conceded at last, but he would receive no answer since Prince Philip was due to land in England in three days. Through gritted teeth, Elizabeth said she was glad to hear it, but she still wanted her writing materials.
No one was happy when Elizabeth was not. Sharp with frustration, Elizabeth kept all three ladies very busy all day long. She wanted this, she wanted that; having what she asked for, she sent it away, demanded to be entertained. She needed distraction, she cried, after nearly being murdered in her bed. All the ladies prayed for night; at least Lady Elizabeth never asked for any service after she had gone to bed.
Fuming, but grimly cautious, Elizabeth waited four days, then bespelled only Susanna Norton. The other two ladies envied Susanna her ability to sleep through the noise the guards made. On the sixth day, Elizabeth bespelled both Norton and Elizabeth Marberry. Only Mary Dacre was restless, bemoaning her more sensitive senses for keeping her awake. On the eighth day all three slept soundly.
Chapte
r 33
Elizabeth did not recover the full freedom of Underhill as soon as her ladies were safely under control. Denoriel was sure she was safe in Llachar Lle, but not yet willing to expose her to less secure places Underhill. Her disposition still jangled from taking out her frustrations on Bedingfield and her ladies, Elizabeth agreed to remain in Denoriel's apartment.
She was well-rewarded for her meekness because Elidir and Mechain came and taught her two new spells, and Da played at primero with her. She sighed over the exquisite cards, which she knew she could not bring into the mortal world. There was a little silence while everyone else remembered that for safety's sake Elizabeth had been told she could bring nothing from Underhill to the mortal world.
It was Titania's command, and everyone agreed very wise. Likely no ordinary mortal could escape Underhill on his own and even if he managed to escape and carry back some of its wonders, it would not matter. Either that person would be assumed to be lying to protect his source or would be deemed mad. A queen was very different. Elizabeth would not willingly harm Underhill, but if her last hope for the survival of England rested on tearing the wealth from Underhill . . . she would lead an army there and do it. She had to believe Underhill's wealth useless.
Before the silence could be noticeable, Denno offered to get a pack bespelled to survive in the mortal world, but Elizabeth only shook her head.
"Everyone will ask from where they came. What could I tell them?"
He laughed. "Why that you got them from Adjoran, Mercer, of course." And then his eyes widened and he looked horrified. "No. On no account. I could get a good price for them and Joseph will want to take orders, but it is too hard to ken anything now."
Everyone fell silent again and looked anxious. The lack of power in the Bright Court was growing dangerous. There had been word of an attack by Dark Sidhe and their servants on a Bright Court domain. The knights of Avalon had come and driven them off, but not before one of the liosalfar of that domain had been mauled and two of the mortal servants stolen.
It was another reason for Denoriel to resist taking Elizabeth out of the heavily guarded and fortified summer palace, but the entertainments could not keep her satisfied for long. On the third week, when Tuesday came along, Elizabeth insisted on being taken to the Inn of Kindly Laughter.
"No one could touch me when you and I are on Miralys," Elizabeth said testily, "and the Markets are safe, even from the Dark Sidhe. What can they do? Both weapons and spells are forbidden and the markets have their own strange form of security."
"You were taken from a market once already." Denoriel snapped.
"That was arranged by Pasgen, who has a brain. That fat Sidhe seems only to have arrogance." She shrugged. "We are forewarned. I will be careful. I will go, even if I must walk to the Gate."
Most mortals could not make a Gate work, but Denoriel knew that Elizabeth had done so several times when she was frightened or angry—and she was rapidly growing angry enough. Sighing, Denoriel yielded. He could not keep her imprisoned forever, not in both worlds. Her temper was worn very thin; she might do or say something disastrous if she had no relief.
When they arrived, Rhoslyn and Pasgen were waiting, both all smiles. "I am free," Rhoslyn cried, starting up and holding out her hands, which Elizabeth took. "Mary is in a happy dream in which she hardly knows her ladies are there. I think she was glad to be rid of me so there would be fewer watching when she meets Philip."
"What is he like?" Elizabeth asked.
Rhoslyn blinked and her smile faded. "Correct. Polite. He is trying very hard to be agreeable. He was very disappointed when he saw Mary. Well, not very disappointed. In the back of his mind was a memory of having written to one of his friends that he had been ordered by his father to marry his maiden aunt . . . and there she was."
"But you said Mary was in a happy dream?"
"She, thank the Great Mother, cannot look into his mind as I can, and his manner to her is . . . gentle." Rhoslyn hunched her shoulders. "To her it speaks of love. Also they cannot really understand each other, so it is impossible for him to say anything wrong. He speaks Castilian Spanish, which she thinks she understands, but she only understands Aragonese, which is different. And it is many years since she used that language often. She speaks French to him, which he does not understand too well but is too proud to admit."
Elizabeth bit her lip and wrinkled her nose. "More important, does he lie with her?"
"That, yes," Rhoslyn said. "He is doing his duty. He knows he must get her with child for the Empire to hold onto England."
"I had hoped so young a man would not be so dutiful," Elizabeth said dryly. "Mary is no sweet and tender morsel."
Rhoslyn shook her head. "From what goes on in his head, I do not think Philip ever was a young man." she said. "He seems to think only of politics and power."
"Well," Elizabeth said, sighing, "I can only hope that Mary is too old to conceive."
That hope, however, was doomed to disappointment. By the end of September Master Parry had received news from the Court. The queen's physicians believed her pregnant. The news was passed to Elizabeth in the gentlest way possible by Master Dunstan. Because she was forbidden to receive any news, Elizabeth was able for a time to pretend she did not know of Mary's pregnancy. She was able to attribute her bursts of fury and weeping to some small cause.
For the Bright Court Underhill there was a fortunate aspect to the queen's pregnancy. As the news spread, the persistent dissatisfaction with the Spanish presence in England was allayed. A wary acceptance of Philip's servants and supporters spread, and the black pall of resentment that lay over the country lifted. In late November Cardinal Pole's long exile was ended by Queen Mary's invitation to him to return to England. He came bearing a commission to reunite England with the Catholic Church.
The rosy flush of joy the nation felt over the conception of a true and unarguably legitimate heir made the reunion welcome, particularly since Pole confirmed the permanent transfer of what had been Church lands to those to whom Henry VIII had given them. A spirit of relief that everything was now settled swept over the nation. Celebrations small and large took place all over the country. The power of contentment and in some cases of joy sifted down into the Bright Court.
The attenuation of the power of misery very soon disquieted Vidal, who had gladly dismissed the doings of the mortal world as long as his Court was well fed on pain and fear. By mid-December he was alert and angry. He could not afford to be starved of power. The number of Dark Sidhe who filled the seats before his throne had increased and the dark forces of witch and were, ogre and troll, and all the evil creatures of the night had multiplied most satisfactorily. He would have to act to reestablish the correct flow of power.
Act how? He seemed somehow to have lost his tight grip on Renard and he could not deal with him until he knew the true situation. Who at Court . . . Of course, Aurilia's servant was a only a lowly physician, but he was physician to the queen. That was an ideal position from which to gather gossip.
Vidal appeared in Otstargi's parlor shortly before Albertus came in for the night. An imp caught at Albertus's hair and dragged him into the room. The door shut with a slam behind him.
"You have accomplished nothing," Vidal snarled. "Elizabeth is safe and well and power drains from the Dark Court to the Bright."
"Only for a very short time, Your Highness," Albertus gasped, falling to his knees. "Believe me, soon there will be anger and grief in plenty. Now is only a small time of celebration, of joy because the queen has conceived—"
"Mary is with child," Vidal said, the words trailing off. A memory of something dim but very evil flickered in his mind.
"Yes. Yes," Albertus cried, his voice louder, sharper than normal. "That she has conceived is a near miracle, and this further demonstration of what she believes is God's favor has emboldened her to invite Cardinal Pole back into England and to sue for reconciliation with the pope. Parliament has passed strong laws about the punishment
of heresy, and Pole, I have heard, speaks softly but is a fanatic eager to bring in the Inquisition. He is determined to root out all the reformists in the country."
Albertus poured out his news in a rush of eager words. He was trying to distract his master from the failure of the attempt to abduct or kill Elizabeth. The tool he had used with considerable success to help Mary gain the throne had not only failed but broken. The men Francis Howard had taken to Woodstock were dead and Howard himself had disappeared.
He succeeded better than he knew. Vidal stared at Albertus as the half memory that had tickled his mind when the physician said Mary was pregnant slipped away. The mention of the Inquisition had fixed his attention. Once the Inquisition got a grip on a country, it was very difficult to be rid of it. It had held Spain for several hundred mortal years.
"The Inquisition? Are you sure?"
"My lord, I am no intimate of Cardinal Pole. I will try to get Mary to recommend me to him as a physician; then I will be more sure. But rumor in the Court is very strong that it is Pole's intention to bring in the Inquisition."
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