Vidal nodded. “And there is no trail from that house to where they do live. I have set watchers on them, but none has ever followed to the end. Still, both come there from time to time. I will set watchers again, not to try to follow either of them but when one arrives, I will go myself and make sure of their obedience.”
It took only a little time, however, once Vidal no longer had Aurilia to impress, for him to decide he would do better to confront Pasgen on his own ground. He also chose as a messenger a Sidhe with so little power that Pasgen would both scorn to attack and be subtly insulted.
That messenger’s mouth opened in surprise and terror when a growling ogre rose from beside the Gate platform as he arrived. He desperately called up his shield—not that it was strong enough to protect him from an ogre, but … And then he saw the creature was not an ogre. The face was as bland as a baby’s, the hands relaxed, not fisted to strike, the mouth closed, not half open to show an ogre’s tearing fangs. It stared at him for another moment and then sank down beside the Gate platform again.
Catching his breath, the Dark Sidhe stepped off the platform and started down the well-marked path toward the house. As he went, he swallowed, glad that he was only bearing a message for Rhoslyn and Pasgen. He had realized within a few steps that the path was the only way he could go. The garden to either side was walled off by some powerful shield magic. He hesitated, bitterness welling up in him; he could not even imagine the strength of will it had taken to create those spells and power them to work.
Then he wondered whether Prince Vidal had ever sent a subject he wanted destroyed to this house with its mind full of death and destruction. He assumed that the made thing by the Gate—because it certainly was a construct; Rhoslyn he had heard was a genius with constructs—had the ability to sense danger to its maker and would attack those who meant harm. There would have been no escape. If the construct did not seize him and pull him to pieces right on the platform, it could have pursued him down this walled path.
The door of the house opened as he approached, and another construct asked tonelessly whom he wished to see.
“Mistress Rhoslyn and Master Pasgen. I carry a message from Prince Vidal.”
The construct looked utterly blank, its mouth half open as if it were about to speak but had forgotten the words.
“She is here,” the Dark Sidhe said angrily. “I know she is here. My master’s watcher saw her arrive.”
The construct’s mouth closed and it stepped aside.
“Yes, I am here,” Rhoslyn said, appearing in the doorway in the construct’s stead. “But Pasgen is not. What does Prince Vidal want?”
For a long moment the Dark Sidhe stared at her in amazement. He never went to the mortal world because the Cold Iron permeating the works of humankind was terrible to him. Thus he had not seen Tudor court dress and was astonished.
Rhoslyn wore a kind of close fitting hood that hid all of her hair except the smooth parting and two bands to each side of her forehead. The hood was so heavily embroidered in a floral pattern in silver and varying shades of gray and pale blue that the original color of the cloth could not be distinguished. From the top rear of the hood, a dark veil flowed down over one shoulder.
That shoulder was nearly bare, as the gown she wore was open almost from armpit to armpit. Around her neck were several strands of jet beads, wound together almost into a collar. One strand, much longer than the others, hung down over her bosom and supported, in a black frame, a miniature portrait of a broad-faced man in a fancy hat.
The gown itself was of black velvet, embroidered in silver and from the waist it hung open above a silvery gray underdress, embroidered in black. The sleeves of the gown were slashed open from shoulder to wrist, and through the openings, which were fancy-hemmed in silver, puffs of a white chemise were pulled.
The Dark Sidhe, used to females in leggings and tunics or in beautifully flowing loose garments, gaped at the rigid figure.
“Well,” Rhoslyn repeated, “what does Prince Vidal want?”
“How would I know that?” the Dark Sidhe said bitterly, shaking his head and blinking his eyes as if Rhoslyn’s appearance stunned him. “The prince bid me bring you and your brother to Caer Mordwyn. When do you expect Pasgen?”
Rhoslyn sensed that the Sidhe confronting her was barely Sidhe, so weak were his powers. So he was no more than a messenger. She allowed the shield she had formed around herself to dissipate and stepped back to allow the messenger to enter if he wished. He could do no magical harm and her mental call had brought Cannaid, the “girl” with the white ribbon, silently into the corridor.
“I don’t expect him at all,” Rhoslyn said.
“I don’t believe you. Your brother is trying to avoid his duty to Prince Vidal. I want to look through the house.”
Rhoslyn frowned but stepped aside as the Dark Sidhe came up the three steps and entered the house. She was thinking furiously hard as she backed away and then, when her back was covered by Cannaid, led the Dark Sidhe toward the peristyle. The colonnaded center of the house enclosed a shallow pool of clear water in which brightly colored fish swam. Doors—some open, some closed—broke the smooth line of the marble walls sheltered by the colonnade.
Vidal must want Pasgen and her to do some dirty work in the mortal world during the confusion of the change of rulers. Rhoslyn was sure that Pasgen would refuse, and it seemed that Vidal knew Pasgen was unwilling. That was why the messenger had been told to look through the house.
No, that was stupid. A Sidhe with such weak powers would never find Pasgen if he did not want to be found. And Vidal wasn’t stupid—likely the search was Vidal’s unsubtle message that he was growing impatient with Pasgen’s continued absence and would not give up or forget him. Possibly Vidal still thought that Pasgen feared him.
Rhoslyn suppressed her flash of indignation. That belief was very useful. And it would be just as useful for Vidal not to learn that the bond between her and Pasgen was deep and strong. She would go with the Dark Sidhe and pretend to tell everything she knew about Pasgen’s whereabouts … no, she would tell everything she knew, no pretense about it. Rhoslyn smiled and touched the quiet lindys as the Dark Sidhe turned away to look at the closed doors around the peristyle. Of course she would tell everything; truly she knew nothing.
“So look,” she said to the messenger, gesturing around at the doors and seating herself in a chair that faced the shallow pool under the open roof of the peristyle. “I assure you I have no intention of hiding my brother from Prince Vidal. Pasgen can’t stick me with his problems. Let him take care of himself.”
Her complete indifference to the messenger’s search, which was unfeigned because Pasgen wasn’t there, convinced the Dark Sidhe, who had a modicum of truth sense, that a real search would be useless. He made a casual survey of the rooms, so he could tell Vidal that he had looked, and then returned to tell Rhoslyn that since Pasgen was not there she must come to Vidal alone.
She made a weak protest and even whined a little, saying that she was doing all she could in the mortal world and that if Vidal asked more of her she might lose her place with Lady Mary.
Meanwhile she had ordered Cannaid to get Lliwglas and for the two to meet her outside the house. The Dark Sidhe glanced at them as they fell in behind Rhoslyn when he shepherded her out, but they looked so much like starving children, with their sticklike limbs, huge eyes, and pursed mouths that he did not object to their company.
He told Rhoslyn to set the Gate for Caer Mordwyn, but she looked at him as if he were mad and said that Pasgen had made the Gate and it went only to one of the three markets.
“That is not very convenient,” the Dark Sidhe snarled.
Rhoslyn laughed. “If Prince Vidal was hoping that you would be able to see how to pattern Pasgen’s Gate, he is doomed to disappointment. It has only the one path, to and from the Market. But it isn’t inconvenient at all. From any of the markets, there are Gates that lead everywhere.”
There were i
ndeed Gates to everywhere; in fact before one entered the Market, set in the area in which transport waited, there were Gates that had one terminus to each of the other markets and four blank termini. Those could be patterned to any terminus at all, and that terminus would be erased as soon as those traveling by that Gate arrived. There was even one Gate that responded to a traveler’s mental command. It was not much used, since the command needed to be clear and firm. If not, the traveler might emerge in an unexpected or unwanted place.
Rhoslyn almost headed for that Gate. She used it often and had never had trouble with it. However, she remembered in time that she was trying to act annoyed and bewildered, and stood looking uncertain until the Dark Sidhe chose a Gate. However, she did not wait for him to pattern one of the blank points; she willed the terminus at Caer Mordwyn herself.
For once they arrived at a simple black and red Gate platform reasonably close to the palace. Rhoslyn hesitated nonetheless; Vidal had a nasty habit of emplacing traps on and around his Gates. The Dark Sidhe, however, stepped off without triggering any disaster and so did Lliwglas. Rhoslyn then followed with Cannaid bringing up the rear.
The palace itself was also strangely nonhostile. The doors opened smoothly as their party approached; graceful curvilinear designs in gold eased the oppressive quality of the black marble corridor. No razor-edged, bloodsucking ribbons launched from the pillars; no tripwires rose from the corridor floor; nothing corrosive or simply nasty poured down from the ceiling.
The safe and quiet progress made Rhoslyn more and more uneasy. It was possible that the lack of attack might have been because the traps and devices sensed that Rhoslyn was covered with strong shields, but she did not think so. Vidal’s mind was plainly elsewhere, planning something truly frightful. Rhoslyn began to be frightened—and then realized that was just the effect this strange peacefulness was designed to produce.
Nonetheless, Rhoslyn was wary and uneasy. She could feel the angry tension in the constructs who followed her, but was able to send a mental message for them to be calm when the first words out of Vidal’s mouth were, “Where is Pasgen?”
“I have no idea,” Rhoslyn said, not trying to hide her nervousness. “I saw him only a few days ago. We dined together. He did not say where he was going when he left.”
Vidal turned his head and looked at Aurilia, who was sitting in a cushioned chair. Her ever-present glass of blue cloudy liquid stood ready on a small table by her side, and her brow was creased in a deep frown.
“Well?” Vidal said to her. “Is that true?”
“No, it is not strictly true, but it is not a lie either,” Aurilia said.
Rhoslyn emitted an exasperated but slightly tremulous sigh. “All right. He said he was going into the Unformed lands—but that scarcely means I could know where he is now or guess how to find him.”
Now Aurilia shrugged. “That is true.”
Vidal snorted a generalized disbelief. “I cannot believe that he sleeps and eats in the Unformed lands. You must know how to get to where he truly lives.”
“I did,” Rhoslyn admitted.
She looked into herself and found a strong discontent with her life in the Unseleighe Court. She nourished it with all the resentment she felt against Vidal. Aurilia frowned, touched her temple, reached for her glass, and sipped.
“So?” Vidal urged.
Rhoslyn bit her lip and said, “He closed my way to him. Closed it, as if I would go to his house when I knew he was not there and steal from him.”
Vidal had glanced at Aurilia again but only briefly before he said to Rhoslyn in a smooth sympathetic voice, “That seems unjustifiable. You have always been a loyal sister. Perhaps he has not closed the way. Perhaps you mistook one of the changes. Why do you not let me come with you and see if I can detect—”
“No,” Rhoslyn interrupted. “Pasgen would murder me if he discovered I had shown you a way to reach his stronghold, even a way he had closed. Oh, no. Pasgen taught me my shields and he can get through them. You can do nothing to me that Pasgen cannot do worse.”
There was enough truth in that not to tickle Aurilia’s truth spell into warning. Pasgen had indeed taught Rhoslyn some shields. He probably could get through her shields; truthfully, Rhoslyn did not know any shields that would be proof against Pasgen if he had time enough to work on them. It was also true that Pasgen could probably do more terrible things to Rhoslyn than Vidal ever could … because Rhoslyn loved Pasgen and disliked and despised Vidal. Vidal could only hurt her body, not destroy her heart and mind.
“You are a fool. I am stronger than Pasgen,” Vidal spat.
“Likely you are stronger,” Rhoslyn agreed, “but if you struck out at me, likely you would destroy me.” She shrugged. “Pasgen knows me all too well. He could wrench me apart bit by bit forever. And he would not like it if you hurt me, Prince Vidal. Pasgen regards me as his and would resent even a bruise on my body or mind.”
Vidal did not respond to that directly nor did he even look at Aurilia for confirmation. He was certain that Rhoslyn believed what she said. In fact, he believed it too. Instead of confirming or denying her threat, he shook his head at Rhoslyn, and said she was foolish to think he intended her harm, then added with poorly concealed avid interest, “What is he doing in the Unformed lands?”
Rhoslyn shrugged. “He told me he thought there was some source of power there.” That was the perfect truth. Aurilia’s truth spell would accept the statement.
“Well, of course there is.” Vidal uttered a bark of laughter. “You know that yourself. You use that power in your creations, I suppose. But no one has ever found a way to separate the power from the chaos that is there.”
“You asked me what he was doing,” Rhoslyn said. “I told you what he told me. It may not have been the truth, but that is what he said to me.”
“Never mind what he is looking for in the Chaos Lands,” Aurilia suddenly put in. “Tell me instead what brought him to that house you use only for messages.”
“Not only for messages,” Rhoslyn said. “Since Pasgen does not want me in his stronghold and I do not want him in mine—to which, I must say that he has not yet found a way—we usually meet in the empty house. It really isn’t empty, of course. It is fully furnished and has a staff of servants. We just never found a name for the place we could agree on.”
“Yes, well, why did Pasgen call you there when you last met?” Vidal asked.
“Oh, he wanted to know what I was doing and whether I had spoken to you, Prince Vidal. And if I had, what you wanted.”
“And what will you tell him when you next see him?”
Rhoslyn found a thin, nasty smile. “The truth, of course. I always tell Pasgen the truth. I will tell him that Prince Vidal asked for him and wishes to see him and that Lady Aurilia was most interested in what brought him to our house. Of course, if you have any messages for him, I will leave them at the house for him.”
“You will not wait for him there and tell him directly?” Vidal asked.
“No, of course not. You know I cannot spend long Underhill.”
“You cannot spend long Underhill?” Aurilia echoed.
Rhoslyn looked from her to Vidal and shrugged again. “Prince Vidal charged me mortal years ago to watch over Lady Mary and be sure that her faith remains strong and unchanged. I have faithfully performed that duty. Now that her father died so recently, Mary is given over almost completely to prayer. I am one of her mainstays and dare not be away from her for long.” She made a wry face. “It is well that Sidhe do not need sleep so that I can come Underhill during the mortal night to refresh myself.”
“So you are a trusted servant to Lady Mary,” Aurilia said, her eyes brightening with avid speculation. “Can you not convince her to lend you to Elizabeth—”
“No!” Rhoslyn interrupted. “I dare not go anywhere near Lady Elizabeth. Do you not remember that she can see through illusion? Do you want her screaming that Lady Mary sent one of the Fair Folk to wait on her?”
“She would not be so foolish. No one else would see your eyes and ears. All would say she was mad.”
“Unless she ordered one of her servants—they are fanatically devoted and would obey even an order that seemed mad—to seize me and feel my ears. Illusion will not hide their true shape. And perhaps that monster maid of hers would touch me with her Cold Iron crosses and my disguise might fail altogether.”
Aurilia gasped at the mention of the necklace of crosses that Blanche Parry, Elizabeth’s trusted maid wore. Twice those iron crosses had severely damaged Aurilia, once almost fatally, the second time robbing her of coherent thought and memory for some months. Her head still ached, although most of the pain was kept at bay by the potion her mortal healer prepared for her; however, the potion dulled her wits. She knew that and hated it, but could not endure the pain.
Rhoslyn pretended not to notice that Aurilia had almost drained her glass of cloudy blue liquid. She shuddered and went on, “Can you imagine what King Oberon would do to us all if we were exposed to the royal family in the mortal world?”
“Aurilia,” Vidal said sharply, “forget Lady Elizabeth. We need to be free of Aleneil and Denoriel first. Then Elizabeth can ruin herself.” He turned to Rhoslyn. “So, Rhoslyn, can you reach Aleneil? You are both servants to the late king’s daughters. You should be able to find a reason to speak to Aleneil.”
“So I might, if we were anywhere near each other. Lady Mary has moved to Essex, and Lady Elizabeth is still—or was still; I am not sure—at Enfield, only about ten miles from London. Mortals do not Gate about you know. It would take me hours, perhaps a full day, to get to Aleneil.”
“You are useless!” Aurilia spat. “And your brother is a traitor.”
She lifted her hand to cast a spell at Rhoslyn, and Cannaid was in front of her maker, poised to leap, the fingers of her hands suddenly longer and gleaming with razor edges. Vidal gestured and the construct struck an invisible wall and rebounded. It did not, as most constructs would, claw uselessly at the wall of force; it crouched somewhat, its stick-thin legs now double thick with hard muscle, obviously intending to leap over the barrier.
By Slanderous Tongues Page 7