And Less Than Kind

by Mercedes Lackey

  After a small struggle to slide behind the garments without disarranging them, Elizabeth and Rhoslyn sat quietly on the floor. They did not speak; there was nothing more to say and Rhoslyn was concentrating on gathering her strength. Elizabeth prayed. She seldom mixed Christian religion with her Underhill experiences, but this time she felt that although God might try the faithful, He could not really want a Devil Incarnate to rule England.

  Time passed slowly, but it did pass; then Rhoslyn heard the chamberers returning, exchanging pleasantries with the guard. Both she and Elizabeth stood, hoping their shoes would be hidden by the long skirts of the fine gowns. Now Elizabeth began to grow anxious, not about being found—the maids moved to the bedchamber without looking around the dressing room—but because she was apprehensive about Mwynwyn's task and about whether she could Push the Evil far enough.

  Mercifully there were no setbacks to make her more anxious. Rhoslyn could hear the conversations in Mary's bedchamber while her ladies disrobed her, removed and put away her jewels, and brushed out her hair. She pressed Elizabeth's arm when the queen gave her ladies leave to go, warning her it was almost time to act.

  A few softer murmurs marked Mary and her companion climbing into bed and the chamberers smoothing the bedclothes over them and pulling the bedcurtains closed. Only one of the women returned to the dressing room carrying Mary's dress. She spent a few moments laying it away and then went out, wishing the guard a good and quiet night.

  Now Rhoslyn and Elizabeth extracted themselves from behind the clothing. Rhoslyn listened for a moment at the door and heard nothing. That meant that probably no one was sitting up in bed and chatting. She did not think everyone was asleep; she knew Mary slept very badly—Elizabeth's spell would take care of that—but she did not want anyone's last memory to be of falling asleep in the middle of a sentence.

  They heard someone shift in her bed when Rhoslyn opened the door, but Elizabeth's spell took that person before she could speak or remember waiting for an answer. They could hope that she would think whatever had disturbed her had been unimportant and she had then fallen asleep. They went in, closing the door behind them.

  Because she had been standing in the dark behind the clothes, Elizabeth was able to see well enough by the night candle. She went directly to the token, touched it, and said, "Come." She thought again as she invoked the token that as soon as there was even a small amount of power to waste, Denno had better change the word of invocation to something her women were unlikely to say. She had had the thought many times and as many times it had slipped her mind; when she was with Denno, they had much better things to do.

  Dark as the room was, the spot that formed on the wall was still blacker, or perhaps it was that the black glowed that made it visible. Elizabeth stepped out of the way as Pasgen came through. He looked less strained than she expected and she felt the power of his shields as he, too, stepped out of the way to give room to Denno, also well shielded. He was followed by Hafwen and Mwynwen, naked of protection, as they needed to be to use their Gifts.

  Hafwen gasped as soon as she entered the room, and Pasgen hurried to her side to take her arm and steady her. "There." Her head turned toward Mary's bed. "It is there."

  "Can you mark it for me exactly, Hafwen?" Mwynwen asked. "It would be a tragedy if I killed an unborn and we later discovered the evil was in an amulet or some other artifact Vidal had planted in this chamber."

  Rhoslyn hurried to the bed and drew back the curtain on the side where she knew Mary always slept. Hafwen took a step, then another toward the bed. It was not far to go, but Elizabeth could see she was shaking and that Pasgen was supporting her. However, he was not holding her back or trying to shield her in any way. Denno, Elizabeth thought, could take a lesson from Pasgen; then she bit her lip to curb a smile. This was no time for smiling, but Denno often still thought of her as the three-year-old he had dandled on his knee.

  "Yes, there," Hafwen said, pointing to Mary's belly.

  She had run her shaking hand down Mary, from the top of her head, where she actually rested her fingers on the queen's forehead to be sure the Evil was not in Mary's mind, down her body, down her legs, to her feet. Then with her eyes closed, she seemed to let her hand drift. It wavered slightly and then came to rest on the queen's abdomen.

  "Thank you," Mwynwen said, but her tone was bitter. She had hoped to the last they would find some other site for the Evil.

  Nonetheless, she came to Hafwen's side and ran her fingers over the lips Hafwen had bitten bloody; the lips healed. Then she slid her hand under Hafwen's and looked down at Mary.

  "If you need strength," Denoriel said, moving beside her, "you can draw on me."

  After a moment of silence, Mwynwen gasped. "I may need to," she said, her voice thin and choked. "I have touched it." She shuddered. "It is evil, indeed. And now it is aware of me."

  She bent forward over the bed, one hand on Mary's belly, the other stretched out. Denoriel took it between both of his. He looked away from his fellow Sidhe, looked once at Elizabeth. Her eyes were huge and brilliant with tears but she made no sign, no gesture, to stop him from what he was about to do. She loved her Denno with all her heart, but England was at stake . . . and in the end, Elizabeth knew her realm came first.

  She saw the pain in his face, the way Mwynwyn's hand jerked in his as the jolt of power ran through his body like flame. She saw Mwynwyn's other hand lift a sliver from Mary's body, an ugly yellowish . . . something . . . following her hand. In the next moment her hand slammed down on Mary's belly so hard the queen's body bounced.

  Mwynwen uttered a pained cry and clutched Denoriel's hand tighter. Elizabeth could see a sheen of moisture on his face, which was graying under his sun-darkened skin as Mwynwen drew power from him.

  "Oh, poor thing. Poor thing," Mwynwen sobbed.

  Tears ran down her face as she drew her hand up again, twisting her body to give herself leverage. The yellowish stuff rose higher and Mwynwen seemed to fix her fingers in it. She backed a step away from the bed, drawing the thing with her.

  Inside it Elizabeth could see something red, a tiny, not quite human form with a head as large as the rest of the twisted and deformed body. It twitched. Elizabeth caught her breath and sent more power into her shields. Mwynwen gripped the yellow stuff tighter and pulled harder.

  Suddenly the little red thing, which had seemed limp and quiet, straightened from its coiled position and reached arms? tentacles? thorns? toward the yellow stuff, piercing it, rising toward Mwynwen's hand. Elizabeth cried out, wanting to run away, but she was the only one with power to spare. Swallowing, she cast a shield over Mwynwen. At the same moment the trail of yellow goo still attached to Mary's stomach snapped, and the puslike clot that enveloped the tiny red monster was jerked free of Mwynwyn's grip and flew through the air right at Hafwen.

  She threw up her own shields, but they were gossamer veils designed for playing games among the Bright Sidhe, not really meant for protection. Pasgen shouted and something black and dense formed around the clot of goo. It struck Hafwen, who recoiled with a cry, stumbling backward. The black mass jerked and bulged, the creature within now showing its power and threatening to split the dark mirror spell. But if not strong, Hafwen's shields were slick; the Evil slid down those shields without piercing them.

  Rhoslyn had come forward and was repeating Pasgen's words, pointing at the black mass rolling crazily around the floor. The black grew denser, but what it enclosed only became more violently agitated.

  Denoriel, so drained by Mwynwen's need that he felt as if his body would fall in on itself, grasped at the first thread of power he saw. It was thicker than he wanted, but he dared not take the time to look for a less potent line. He dreaded the consequences; he had drunk lightning twice before in these terrible two days. But the encased thing was not subdued. Twitching and rolling, it then convulsed violently and leapt up at him, forcing a thread-thin hook through the two not-dense-enough mirror spells. Denoriel drew in the undiluted
mortal power, crying out with pain as it burned through his power channels.

  Elizabeth cried out too. If Denno burned himself so badly he could not use magic, she would lose him. She was badly frightened and on the edge of vomiting from the disgusting sensation that had oozed through her shield when she tore a clot of the yellow goo from Mwynwyn's hand.

  Now that thing was attacking her Denno! She watched with starting eyes as a thin red hook, somehow pushed itself through the dark envelope and scraped for a purchase while it slid down Denno's shield. Elizabeth shook with the desire to rush over to him and pull the thing off. Her shields were stronger than his now and it might get its claws into him because he could not say the spell as fast as Pasgen and Rhoslyn.

  They could not help; Rhoslyn was drained and Pasgen still had to hold the Gate. And she could do nothing either! Elizabeth knew the danger to a spell-caster if the spell failed. She dared not interrupt or distract Denno while he was casting.

  Another convulsion within the surrounding black of the mirror spells sent the Evil from Denoriel's hip right up to his face. The red hook caught. Denoriel spat out the last word of the spell. With a shriek, Elizabeth leapt forward, seized the writhing black ball, yanking loose its grip on her Denno, and flung it away.

  Rage and fear and sickness roiled together. Heat rose from her belly to her breast. She opened her mouth and felt flames pour out with her breath.

  "Begone!" she shouted, her eyes fixed on the black ovoid that swelled and sank in furious pulses. "Begone to that empty place from which nothing ever returns."

  And it was gone.

  The room was silent. Everyone stood as if struck to stone for a moment, then Elizabeth flung herself around to clutch at Denoriel, drop her shield, and run her hands over his face. "Are you hurt, Denno? I saw it catch at you. Are you burned?"

  "That was some Push!" he sighed. "I could feel the power lines all around me tremble." He fended off her hands, dropped his shield, and drew her close to kiss. "It's all right, love. If I could feel what you did to the lines of power, I still have magic. And the thing, whatever it was, didn't take hold, only caught for a moment where the shield bulges over my nose."

  "I am very glad we did not need to depend on the mirror spells," Pasgen said with a sigh. "That thing was incredibly strong and it understood mirror spells. It did not try to use magic, only force. We should have considered that. After all, we did suspect that Vidal had held it prisoner with a mirror spell." He smiled faintly. "That was a good Push indeed, Lady Elizabeth. I will do some checking, but I am sure you sent it to the Void."

  He looked at Elizabeth, remembering when she had nearly sent him into the Void. Well, he had been trying to kill her, so perhaps it was justified. He turned his head, saw Hafwen, and moved to stand beside her. He surely did not envy Denoriel, who had to deal with that temper and that kind of power.

  "I do not know what the physical thing was," Hafwen said, nervously clutching Pasgen's hand, "but what was in it was pure Evil." She closed her eyes. "I have never felt anything like that before."

  "The form was that of a very young unborn," Mwynwen said. "Only it was malformed. I do not think it could have lived, even if it had been birthed."

  "Poor Mary," Elizabeth said. "My father was very wrong to see her only as a political pawn. She wished so much to be a wife. She loved children. He should have found her a good husband so she could have been happy . . . instead of ruining England."

  "She will not harm Logres for long," Mwynwen said sadly. She leaned over Mary again, touching her belly and then shook her head. "Poor woman. She cannot live long. There is something growing in her womb. Not a magical thing, a human illness about which I can do nothing."

  Elizabeth's heart leapt within her when Mwynwen said that Mary could not live long. In the next moment she felt a flush of shame at her callousness toward her sister and she bit her lip and buried her face in Denoriel's breast.

  Rhoslyn was looking around the bedchamber. For all the frantic activity, nothing had been disturbed. She pulled up the light coverlet and smoothed it over the queen's still form; her eyes stung with tears. Mary was a good woman, truly kind and loving. Elizabeth was right. It was Henry VIII's desperate need for a son to follow him that had twisted Mary all awry. Tenderly she smoothed Mary's hair. She suspected now that the Evil was gone, Rosamund would be a favorite again.

  Mwynwen had already passed through the Gate, Elizabeth was waiting near it to release the sleep spell, Denoriel right behind her. Then Hafwen went through. Pasgen came and slid an arm around Rhoslyn's waist.

  "This is hard for you, Rhoslyn. I am sorry."

  Although she was surprised by her brother's attention and gentleness, she was glad of it and leaned her head on his shoulder. Torgen and Hafwen had drawn him into Bright Court ways. The Bright Court Sidhe might still be careless and inconstant, but they liked playing with the softer emotions and readily displayed them.

  "I have been her handmaid for over twenty years. It is very strange to think that she will be gone. She is a good person. It is unfair that she should know only sorrow."

  Pasgen, like almost every other living being, had no answer to that. They stepped back so Rhoslyn could close the bedcurtain. Elizabeth released the sleep spell and they went through the Gate which, with a sigh of relief, Pasgen allowed to close.

  When they came through, there was quite a crowd near the Gate platform. No one wanted to carry away for private consideration the disgust and terror the Evil had wakened in them. Harry and Lady Aeron were waiting with Talog, Hafwen stood between Talfan and Torgen, who was all decked out in red eyes, carnivore teeth, and claws. Miralys had made a double saddle to take Elizabeth and Denoriel.

  All, however, were looking after a single drooping figure mounted on an elvensteed that was moving very slowly toward the cottages beyond Avalon.

  "Mwynwen would not stay," Hafwen said. "Healer that she is it cut her to the heart to have to send to death even so evil a thing. And to feel death creeping close to Mary and be unable to ward it away . . ." She sighed and shook her head.

  They watched Mwynwen move away through a darkling gloom. In the vault of the "sky" the stars were either gone or dim. The shining twilight was shading into black night. Elizabeth shivered as she looked at the sad, wilted moss and the dull, lusterless palace in the distance. No flag flew bravely, due to the fact that there was no breeze from the dark staff on the tallest spire.

  Where were Oberon and Titania? After eons, was Underhill dying?

  Elizabeth swallowed hard and glanced around at her friends, her lover. "God willing," she said, making her voice firm, "I will give it all back to you when I rule. I swear I will stint no effort to make a happy realm." She blinked away tears and added in a determinedly cheerful voice. "At least we have warded off the worst threat today. Evil will not rule Logres forever."

  "Let us put this aside," Denoriel urged. "Aleneil and Ilar are waiting at the Inn of Kindly Laughter to hear whether we succeeded. For this one mortal night let us account ourselves victors."

  Chapter 41

  At first Elizabeth did not think waiting for Mary to die would be very difficult. The queen seemed to have given up on either suspecting her of rebellion or trying to get her married and out of the country. Although Sir Edward kept a tight guard and had messengers ready to ride and rouse Elizabeth's liegemen, nothing disturbed the quiet of Hatfield. Mary was totally concentrated on supplying men and money for Philip's war.

  And in the beginning that went very well. The English fleet drove French ships back to their harbors and from time to time did even better and took a prize. Sometimes they even raided the French coast. Pembroke, at the head of his five thousand foot and five hundred horse, accompanied Philip to a share in a striking victory, besieging and taking St. Quentin.

  Mary sent Elizabeth a smug letter to announce the victory and to report that Te Deum Masses were being sung throughout London and the country. Elizabeth promptly ordered that all her estates have Masses sung, l
ight bonfires and serve a feast to all who could come. That was in August. By September there was more good news. The pope and King Philip came to terms and a peace was made. But then the tide that had rushed in began to draw back.

  Through the autumn, October and November, there were strong signs that the king of France was not beaten and intended to revenge his losses by the greatest coup he could deal to England. He meant to take back Calais, which had been ruled by the English since Edward III captured it in 1347.

  Elizabeth was as aware of the threat as Mary and her Council. No one doubted any longer that the queen was failing, and a trickle of courtiers—those who believed Mary would die soon—came to seek favor with Elizabeth and brought news. Elizabeth welcomed them all graciously, but was very careful never to ask a question or say a word of criticism against the queen. She heard enough without asking to chill her blood.

  For once, despite the desperate situation, Elizabeth could not fault Mary's intentions. She was aware of the danger. She ordered the defenses of Calais to be renewed and sent three hundred more men. But Mary was nearly bankrupt. Her government had never been rich and she had poured out money to Philip. The work to protect Calais was never finished, the five hundred more men that Pembroke said were necessary never sent. Rumor was that the best general France had was advancing on Calais.