Only Kat, Blanche Parry, and Denoriel remained in the parlor. Elizabeth broke the seal and read the letter quickly.
“Live with her?” she breathed, and then louder to Kat and Denoriel, “Queen Catherine asks if I would like to live with her! Oh, is that possible? Is it? How can she ask? She must know that the happiest days of my life were when we all lived together at Hampton Court. Nothing would give me more joy than to live with the queen.”
Denoriel laughed aloud. Elizabeth’s eyes were all golden and a faint color had come into her cheeks. “I told her I was sure you would wish to live with her, and I do not think she doubts it. However, a letter from you, saying how sad and lonely you are and how much you miss her company and guidance and would like to be with her would certainly enhance the chances of approval of the plan when she proposes it.”
“She will ask to have me live with her?” There was no trace of the young lady of dignity in Elizabeth now.
“Yes, and if you will write the letter, I will take it back to London—”
“At once,” Elizabeth said, moving toward a writing desk set under a sconce fastened to the wall not far from the door. “Oh Kat, light the candles.” She laid the letter on the desk and turned back toward Denoriel as Kat lit a spill in the fire and used it to set the candles in the sconce aflame. “And, dear Denno, will you ride back today—”
“Elizabeth!” Kat cried. “Lord Denno has just ridden over ten miles in this bitter weather. It will be cruel to send him out again before he even has a chance to eat a bite and warm himself.”
“But it will be dark by then,” Elizabeth whispered, tears standing in her eyes. “And the letter will have to wait until tomorrow.”
“What a selfish, noxious brat you are,” Denoriel said, laughing again. “It will be dark by the time I reach London anyway and, although I will certainly bring the letter to the queen, she might not even be awake by the time I arrive. Moreover, you cannot expect her to do anything with the letter in the middle of the night.”
“Not do anything, no, but Catherine likes time to think over what she will do and say, so if she has the letter tonight, she can plan how best to use it tomorrow.” All child now, she was impatient of waiting, and wanting it all settled now.
“Very well,” Denoriel said, sighing, although he was more amused than put upon. “I will take your letter today.”
“At least go and sit by the fire and warm yourself, Lord Denno,” Kat said, and when Denoriel had bowed and walked over to a stool near the hearth, she turned to lean over Elizabeth who was already writing. “What is wrong with you?” she whispered. “How can you be so inconsiderate? Lord Denno is an old man. I know he seems still hale and hearty, but to demand that he ride again in this bitter weather … What if he took an inflamation of the lungs? Elizabeth, my dear, do not subject him to a chance of a dangerous chill.”
Although he pretended to be staring into the fire and quite unaware, Denoriel would gladly have strangled the kind and well-intentioned Kat Ashley. He was utterly furious that she should speak of him as an old man, weak and frail. Of course Elizabeth knew what he was, but his hair was white and his face was lined, as few Sidhe’s faces were, with pain and anxiety. For the deception he lived in the mortal world, the white hair and lined face were valuable, but he did not want Elizabeth to think of him as old.
Why not? The idea, new to him, was startling. He was more than happy to have Kat and all the rest of Elizabeth’s household think him old. It was safer that way, less likely to waken suspicion that his devotion to Elizabeth was other than fatherly. Hurriedly, Denoriel checked that line of thought, yet he could not wrench his mind away completely. He had to acknowledge that when anyone said to Elizabeth that he was old, he was infuriated. That Elizabeth should think him old caused a pain in his throat and a tightness in his chest.
Denoriel blinked his slightly dazzled eyes and closed their lids to shield them from the brightness of the fire. It would not dazzle a mortal, but his vision was tuned to the much dimmer light of Underhill.
Elizabeth had turned to Kat and said, “Don’t be ridiculous. Denno is—” What she wanted to say was Sidhe, hardly more than a babe in arms among his own people, but she could not form those words. What she did say was “—younger than he looks. It is the white hair that fools you. But he swears his hair went white when he heard that Richmond was dead. And I know he’s very strong.”
She bent again to her writing, by habit making sure that every letter of every word was elegantly formed, as Roger Ascham had taught her. No carelessness must show any disrespect for the queen.
First she wrote formal thanks for the queen’s letter of condolence. Then she mentioned her gratitude to Queen Catherine for all her past kindnesses. And then, allowing a single drop of water to fall from the flask for thinning her ink and carefully blotting it—as if a tear had fallen—she considered how to describe her fear of being alone and lost with no one to teach her or advise her. Last she had planned to write openly of her great longing to be again safe under the protection of the queen’s watchful eye.
Until those last sentences, much of the letter was formula. While she scribed those parts, the rest of her mind was considering what she had said and done that so much disturbed Kat. She had made a mistake. She knew Denno was young and strong despite his looks, but she surely did not want anyone else to know it. God forbid that anyone should suspect how she felt about Denno … even Denno did not know.
Elizabeth’s pen hesitated and she stared blindly down at the beautiful script. It was impossible anyway, utterly impossible that Denno who laughed at her and called her a noxious brat would ever see that she was no longer a brat, that she was growing into a woman. Her lips twitched as she thought that she might still be pretty noxious. Then tears filled her eyes and another small wet spot had to be blotted from the paper.
Now what should she do? She knew but did not like it. She must apologize and bid Denno eat and rest so Kat would not be reminded she had said he was younger than he looked. Elizabeth stared for a moment more at the wall, willing the tears not to fall. A moment longer and she could give her mind to her letter again, working out how to phrase what she must ask for. When the words were straight in her head, she wrote them, ending with the large and elaborate “Elizabeth,” a signature that was already well known.
Kat was back near the fire, talking to Denno. He looked uncomfortable, Elizabeth saw as she approached them, holding out the folded and sealed letter. Denno rose as she neared and Kat straightened up and smiled meaningfully at her.
Elizabeth sighed again. “I’ve been rude and unreasonable, haven’t I?” she asked as he took the letter from her. “Don’t pay any mind to me, Denno dear. Find a place to stay and get warm and have a good meal. I know it can’t matter whether Queen Catherine has the letter tonight or tomorrow.”
“No, it can’t,” Denoriel said, tucking the letter away and taking her hand to kiss, “but I assure you—” Kat had turned away, looking satisfied at Elizabeth’s capitulation, and Denoriel gave Elizabeth a large and deliberate wink “—she will have it as soon as possible.”
Chapter 4
“She is second in line to the throne now,” Aurilia nic Morrigan hissed. “How can we be rid of her? If she comes to rule, we of the Unseleighe will be reduced to pale nothings, to beggars and snatchers of shreds of power.”
Vidal Dhu, prince of the domain of Caer Mordwyn, looked at his helpmeet. Her body was still lush, her golden hair spread over the black velvet pillows that propped her upright and glittered almost as if threads of the metal had been spun fine and attached to her head. His mouth twitched. Perhaps they were metal. He was not absolutely certain how much of Aurilia was Aurilia and how much illusion. Certainly there was just the faintest hint of decay under the lovely outer shell. She had been damaged in her battles with mortals, and only she knew how much of that damage was permanent. Vidal did not mind at all. That hint of decay tickled his appetite.
They were in the outer chambe
r of Vidal’s private rooms. This day the ceiling was draped in swathes of black satin, which glittered back the light from floating bubbles of luminescence. The walls gave back no light. What covered them were drapes of black velvet—all except two cloth-of-gold panels that seemed to hide windows. Vidal’s chair was a stark contrast, a bone-white structure that came by its color honestly, being built of human bones. Yesterday the place had been all red and black. Vidal thought he liked that better. The gold was too cheerful.
“When and how can we be rid of Elizabeth?” Aurilia repeated. “I thought to take her and break her to our purpose but she is too old now and too much trouble.”
“We cannot go near her,” Vidal said.
He restrained a shudder when he remembered how Oberon looked at him when he had ordered that Elizabeth was beyond the right of the Unseleighe prince to interfere with. Then he swallowed. Oberon was not the only danger. Vidal remembered the crushed body of the mage that Elizabeth had pushed into the void. She seemed to have virtually no magic, to be a perfectly ordinary mortal in that respect, but when she was angry or frightened, things—happened.
Aurilia had sniffed her disdain of his words. Vidal was tempted to unleash a lessoning on her, but he needed her to be clever right now and to bespell her might thrust her back into the near mindlessness that her confrontation with Elizabeth’s maid had caused.
Slowly Vidal shook his head. “No. There is a better way. We will help her to destroy herself,” he said. “I have been going about this wrong. I put myself into needless danger. She is as stupid and passionate as any other mortal, and for one in her position, that is deadly dangerous. Each time she has been brought to the brink of self-destruction, that accursed pair of guardians has brought her Underhill for healing and saved her. And that is all that saved her.”
“Ah,” Aurilia breathed. “And Oberon will not interfere in a private battle between Seleighe and Unseleighe.”
Vidal Dhu smiled knowingly. “No, he will not. So if we remove Denoriel and Aleneil … Elizabeth is very headstrong and without their guidance and protection she has no others in her household that can curb her will. No, we need not touch her or her servants. Her place in the succession is dependent on her good behavior and especially on not marrying without the Council’s approval.”
“Marrying?” Aurilia’s brow creased and her expression became slightly anxious. “But she is only a child …”
“Mortal time passes more swiftly than ours, my lady,” Vidal said. “Elizabeth is more than fourteen years old. Mortals ripen faster too. She will be feeling the urges of her body and if we can be rid of her Sidhe guardians, she will tumble into bed or into marriage, either of which will remove her from the succession. Think what happened to Catherine Howard, her cousin—to Mary Boleyn, her aunt, even to her own mother! And they were all women grown. There is hot blood in her veins, and without a guide, it will make itself known.”
Aurilia frowned again and reached over to the table near the sofa on which she lay. She took up a glass of cloudy, faintly blue liquid and sipped at it, the frown deepening.
“That is not sufficient. When Mary tries to turn this country again to her stupid Church, whatever Elizabeth has done wrong will be forgotten by those who support the Reformed faith. They will raise her up as a pretender—”
“Well, I have no objection to a lively civil war in England,” Vidal said, showing his sharply pointed teeth in what was not a smile.
“Nor have I,” Aurilia agreed impatiently. “Unless those who support Elizabeth win. It is too dangerous a chance. We need to be rid of her altogether.”
“Yes, you are right.” Vidal nodded. “But that is no problem. Once she is stripped of her right to succeed Mary, Oberon will no longer care what happens to her. Moreover she is no longer a child and the stupid Seleighe will forget all about her. The only ones who will care are those who have taken oath to protect her, and we have already decided that Denoriel and Aleneil must be destroyed first.”
“Denoriel is no problem,” Aurilia said. “He spends half his life Gating from Underhill to the mortal world and around the mortal world. Get that clever Pasgen to fix his Gates so that they deliver him somewhere fatal.”
“Ah.”
This time it was Vidal who breathed a sigh of satisfaction. Aurilia had, as she often did, solved a problem Vidal had been too close to. He could not trust the Dark Sidhe to remove Denoriel. That misbegotten fewmet of a sick ogre had never been an easy mark for violence. He had been foremost of the riders in Koronos’ Wild Hunt and could withstand Cold Iron far better than any other Sidhe Vidal knew. Too many Unseleighe Sidhe had died in earlier attempts to finish off Denoriel.
Because he would not admit the fear, even to himself, Vidal found reasons not to take on Denoriel again in a duel of magic. He had discovered by his own dangerous depletion that Denoriel was armored against death magic and had some nasty tricks of his own. Vidal’s next thought had been to order Pasgen to kill Denoriel, but he remembered that Pasgen had already tried and failed.
Or had he tried? Vidal’s lips lifted in a snarl. He suspected that Pasgen was not really willing to attack his half brother. There was some stupid remnant of feeling about blood kin in Pasgen. But to redirect a Gate … Yes, Pasgen should be willing to do that much, especially if the terminus of the Gate would not seem to be fatal … as far as Pasgen knew. Vidal himself could arrange what followed.
“As for Aleneil,” Aurilia said with a nasty smile, breaking into Vidal’s thoughts, “life in the mortal world is so dangerous. You know where Denoriel’s house is, I believe. I also believe he is known to be rich. A little gold should easily arrange that mortal thieves armed with mortal weapons attack the house … naturally when the woman is alone. They would be told of jewels in her chamber. A steel knife should finish her without any magic being involved.”
“Very wise, my lady. Once those two are gone, and Elizabeth has been cast out of the line of succession, we will be free of Oberon’s command not to meddle with the royal line.” He nodded decisively. “We can then arrange to have Elizabeth killed without the smallest difficulty.”
“Hmmm. Yes. I think that is, indeed, the best way to go about the business. We have some time. Edward will not fail too soon.” She sipped from her glass again. Set it aside. “Still, it would be best to be rid of Elizabeth as soon as possible, before she becomes well known to the people. Her death should be of interest to no one.”
“That is a wise point. I had better sharpen my tools in the mortal world. Unfortunately the one best broken to my need is no longer trusted by his fellow Councilors. I will need to set hooks into some new members of the Council.” He snorted in disgust.
“Why trouble yourself? You may be needed for more important work. Is this not, my lord, just the sort of task for that upstart Pasgen?”
Vidal’s eyes narrowed. “Upstart, yes. I do not trust Pasgen for more important schemes than altering the terminus of a Gate.”
“Do you think his taste of ruling the Unseleighe has given him ideas above his powers? Will he confront you, my lord, and try to wrest the throne of Caer Mordwyn from you?”
Was there not as much eagerness as doubt in Aurilia’s voice and manner? Interesting. So Pasgen was a temptation and Aurilia was notoriously weak in the face of temptation. Well, that was good to know. If he needed to be rid of her … rid of them both with one blow … Vidal carefully did not stare at Aurilia.
But there was no need to set any traps yet. Vidal had decided long ago that he must eventually be rid of Pasgen, but not immediately. The young Sidhe was powerful and inventive. If he could be cowed to obedience …
Not cowed, perhaps, Vidal thought, remembering Pasgen’s carved-out-of-stone expression, but it should be possible to control him. The sister was not nearly as powerful as Pasgen. If he took her and held her … Would Pasgen even care? Vidal cast his mind’s eye back on the twins. They stood together against him for defense, but he remembered that in most other things they were bitter
rivals. But there was someone else even weaker than Rhoslyn … Yes! The mother!
That stupid simpering Seleighe Sidhe who had followed her children into his domain. Just as well, he supposed. The twins had been feeble, sickly creatures mostly unable to absorb the sharp and spicy power of pain and despair that was drawn into his domain. Likely they would not have survived if … what was her name? Llanelli, yes, he remembered that. If she had not cared for the twins they would have died.
Of course she had tried to subvert her children’s induction into the beauties of pain and horror, but he had stopped that. It all came back to him with the memory of her name. Llanelli had hated the dark joys of his realm so much that she had eagerly taken the syrup of oleander which he promised would bring surcease. Oleander, virulent poison to humans, but a bit of oblivion mixed with febrile joy to Sidhe—a swift addiction to the sad.
In no time she would do anything for the drug. And when he said he had no more she had done everything, including going to the mortal world and selling her body to gross mortals, whoever would steep the essence of the plant for her. Vidal grinned, recalling how many of the men who tried to make syrup of oleander for her died of the poison and she grieved over them, which made her want the oleander more.
Whatever had happened to her? Likely she had drugged herself into Dreaming, which was just as well. For a moment he thought but he could not remember either of the twins ever mentioning her. Perhaps she was dead.
“And what are you grinning about?” Aurilia asked waspishly, reaching for her glass again.
“Oh, a memory of a Bright Court Sidhe who was not very happy here,” he said, and then added, “Do you know how to contact Pasgen?”
“No more than you,” Aurilia replied with a tartness that told Vidal she had tried. “One can leave a message at that house they are supposed to live in … except that they are never there.”
By Slanderous Tongues Page 6