By Slanderous Tongues

by Mercedes Lackey

  He had never been completely comfortable, but he had enjoyed the lady’s company enormously. She was witty and pretty and had quite a remarkable repertoire of sexual twists and styles. What made him uncomfortable was that, aside from the substantial fee she graciously accepted as a gift, she had made no demands on him. In his limited experience … that was unusual.

  When she first approached him, Joseph had assumed she had been assigned by a more consequential lover to drain him of what he knew about Adjoran, Mercer and Factor. It seemed a logical reason for a lady of her type to bother with so simple a man as himself. He was prepared to give her some inconsequential information or to put her off. That, he expected, would be the end of their relationship.

  Still, he could enjoy her while it lasted. But she never had questioned him about Lord Denno. On his earlier visits, there had been little pretense about the purpose of their meeting. They had talked about light, inconsequential things, shared a few cups of wine, and hopped into bed. He had been finely wrung out each time, but as soon as he was ready to depart the lady was glad enough to see him go.

  Tonight was different. She had plied him with wine and really put herself out to divert him with talk. If he had not been quite clever in getting rid of some of the wine and refusing more, he would have been roaring drunk—or asleep like the dead. And she was very interested in the arrival of Lady Alana.

  Through the slight haze in his thinking caused by the wine he had not been able to avoid, Joseph wondered how she knew about Lady Alana’s arrival. Lady Alana had come on horseback without any fanfare, escorted by two of Lady Elizabeth’s men, who had returned to Enfield as soon as Lady Alana was safely in the house.

  The questions about Lady Alana, the insistent offer of more wine after he had refused and said if he drank more he would be incapable of achieving his primary purpose, and the repeated delay—teasing and titillating but nonetheless deliberate delay—in coming to that primary purpose, drove Joseph from mild unease into active discomfort.

  “Come, let us to bed,” he said firmly, and when the lady laughed and remarked that he would be well rewarded for just a little more patience, he stood up and reached for his gown, adding, “Then I will go. I have been patient long enough. I want to be home before morning.”

  “Why?” the lady asked, rising also. She pulled his hand away from his gown and flung her arms around his neck. “The house is not empty and will be quite safe. I do not expect any other company. Why do you not plan to stay the night?”

  Joseph was drunk enough to be strongly aroused by the lush body pressed against his—and just barely sober enough to know there was something wrong about the lady’s manner and the offer she was making. The combination of the haze of wine and the sharp struggle against that haze made him more duplicitous than he usually was (outside of business). He agreed at once to stay the night, unhooked his sword from his belt, and began to remove his clothing; then he helped the lady remove her clothing, at a rate somewhat faster than she had intended.

  Naked, he plastered his lips to hers, preventing her from protesting, and bore her backward onto her bed. In the past, with an eye ahead to an innocent young bride, Joseph had been more than willing to make love slowly and learn from an expert what would stimulate a woman; tonight he plunged ahead, driving to his own climax without regard to whether he was giving equal satisfaction to his partner. And then he rolled off the bed, rose to his feet, and began to drag on his clothing, ignoring the lady’s cries of protest.

  If his suspicions were unfounded, if he arrived at home and found all quiet and serene, he would send the lady a lavish gift. He would apologize for his boorishness, blaming his unaccustomed overindulgence in wine. If she were innocent of any particular purpose in delaying him tonight, likely she would forgive him and nothing would be lost.

  But now that he had slammed the door on her protests and curses over his sudden departure, that seemed less and less likely. If, as he now feared, she had been paid in one way or another to seek him out and offer him her favors just so she could draw him out of the house on Bucklersbury tonight, he would never see her again. Unless—Joseph’s teeth set hard—if harm had come to his master or his master’s cousin, he would see to it that she was never able to play such games again!

  He shook his head as he hurried along the street. No, he realized, she had guarded against that. He doubted, now that he stopped to think about it, that the lady lived in the rooms in which she had entertained him. They were well furnished and even elegant, but there had been no more than a dressing gown and a few extra garments, nothing like the wardrobe such a lady would have. And the name she had given him, only the Christian name, of course, was undoubtedly false as well.

  As he careened along the street, Joseph felt in his pocket for the key to the house. When he was sure it was there, he breathed a sigh of relief followed by a black frown. Had he ever missed it when he was with that lady? He did not think so, but he loosened the sword he carried in its scabbard.

  Rhoslyn walked westward quickly until she came to Soper Lane and turned left. That was one of the many ways she could have gone to the Gate near Westminster or Otstargi’s house. However, as soon as she knew she was out of sight and almost certainly out of sensing distance, her steps slowed. She shrank into the shadow of a recessed doorway—the street was silent and empty but she did not want to draw attention if someone should peer out of a window or if a cutpurse were in hiding to take a lone walker. She had to decide what to do.

  She was annoyed by Denoriel’s distrust, but had not much cared. What hurt her was that Aleneil, too, did not trust her enough to ask for her help. What Pasgen had said was true. Tears filled her eyes. Even if Elizabeth did come to the throne, the outpouring of creation, of the energy of life, love, art, would not bring light to her life. She would not be welcome among the Bright Court; she would still be alone, cut off from the explosion of joy.

  Pasgen, too. Although he never admitted his desire to join the lios-alfar, she knew he must have made some attempt and been rejected. She lifted a hand to wipe away the few tears that had wet her cheeks. At least she had Pasgen and he had her. She had better go tell him that she had warned Denoriel and Aleneil and Denoriel had read his note.

  Slowly Rhoslyn began to walk toward Otstargi’s house, but it was a very long walk. She felt a fool. She could have asked Aleneil to Gate her to one of the markets. From there she could Gate to Otstargi’s house where Pasgen should be. She stood still, again irresolute. Would Aleneil be willing to expose Denoriel’s Gate to her?

  Again she began to walk south, again hesitated. She felt the lindys under the bosom of her gown begin to tremble as her resentment and sense of abandonment grew, and she patted it, hoping to quiet it despite the heavy cloak. She did not want to alarm Pasgen. Thought of him started a cold sense of alarm that again stopped her motion.

  Where was Pasgen? Had that trembling of the lindys been a reflection of her emotion or the beginning of a warning that Pasgen was in trouble? What if Pasgen had come upon Albertus while he was with the bravos he was hiring? What if Albertus had turned those bravos on Pasgen? Rhoslyn turned and began to hurry back the way she had come. She would demand the use of a Gate!

  The house was completely dark when she arrived and her sense of panic had diminished. As she realized how silly she had been, the lindys, which had been shaking and twisting, quieted so that she was assured it was her emotion to which it had been responding, not to any need of Pasgen’s. Still, by now she was nearly exhausted. The thought of beginning a long trek to Westminster or Otstargi’s house held no charm.

  Rhoslyn climbed two of the steps to the door, and stopped. She remembered suddenly that Denoriel employed Low Court servants but that Cropper had said they had all gone. Gone where? Back to their trees or groves, of course. The beings of the Low Court loved to come to the mortal world. She was sure that Denoriel’s servants wandered the shops and markets of London spending gold he kenned for them, but they could not long be separa
ted from their life-sustaining ties Underhill. So they must have a Gate.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Rhoslyn went down the steps and around toward the side of the building. She was sure she would be able to sense a Gate. And a Gate that allowed a gaggle of Low Court elves to pass would certainly accept her. A step at a time she paced the alley but there was no resonance that thrummed Gate to her. It was not in the alley then. She sighed but with resignation. She had not really expected it to be in the alley.

  One terminus must be in the house, but she had hoped the one used by the servants would be outside. Yet it must be in some kind of shelter so that people passing the alley or even walking through it would not see the servants disappear. The stable, of course. She walked more quickly to where the alley ended in a pair of rough double doors.

  What a fool she was, she thought again. If she could find the servants’ Gate, that would be fine, but if she could not, she would just borrow the man of business’ horse. She hoped he had not taken the horse that night. She did not think he had from what the footman said.

  The lock that held together the doors of the small building was a simple one. She magicked it open without any difficulty. The horse, as she hoped, was there; it whickered softly when she approached the stall and moved readily to the side when she slapped it gently. She rubbed its cheek and muzzle and then stepped out of the stall to feel for a Gate.

  No Gate. Even closed, this close to it she should feel some resonance and she did not. But something came and went in that stable by no mortal means. Rhoslyn stood still, extending her sense for detecting magic. Not elven magic, yet … She passed behind the horse to the second stall, which was empty. Empty? But Denoriel was in the house. Oh. His elvensteed. Of course it would not remain in a mortal stable. When Denoriel needed it, the elvensteed would simply be there.

  For a long moment she was racked with envy. She had given the not-horses a kind of life, even a kind of beauty; she had given them strength and endurance, but there was no way she could give them magic. For a moment longer, she stood in the empty stall thinking of the power and magic of the elvensteeds—and in that moment her ears cupped without her volition, responding to a sound, a soft secretive sound … a voice, a man’s voice, in a harsh whisper, a light scratching as on a closed door …

  Rhoslyn froze, then came swiftly but silently to the stable door and inched it open. It was full dark. Even Sidhe eyes could not see with perfect clarity, but once the door was open she heard more. Stealthy movement, a foot scuffing on a gravel path, scratching again. Rhoslyn slipped out of the stable, crossed the alley and crept along the side of the house to the back wall.

  Counting on the relative night-blindness of humans, she peered around the corner. Her breath caught as her sensitive ears heard the scraping of the bars of the back door being lifted, the snick of the lock being turned. Who could be the traitor? Could the man of business have hidden himself instead of leaving? The footman, Cropper, did he just pretend to go to his own home so he could open the back door for these murderers? Was that why Cropper made a point of the front not being barred? So that Denoriel and Aleneil would watch the front if they watched at all?

  A shadow shifted and then disappeared. Rhoslyn bit her lip. What should she do? A second shadow shifted and slipped inside the door. If she called out, would Denoriel or Aleneil hear her? If she called out, would not those men with their steel weapons turn on her? She shuddered and whimpered. What good would her death, such a horrible death, do? She had no weapon. She could do nothing to help. Surely Aleneil and Denoriel, having been warned, were on their guard.

  A third and fourth shadow disappeared into the house. And then a fifth and sixth came out of the dimness near the back fence and moved forward. No. However strong a swordsman Denoriel was, he could not withstand the steel weapons of six against him. And Aleneil had no weapon at all! She had been wearing mortal court dress, carrying not even a little eating knife.

  Without deliberate intention, because she could not help herself, Rhoslyn moved around the edge of the house, pressing herself into the deeper shadow against the wall. The intruders, intent on their own business, paid her no attention. She saw the fifth man slide in through the open door and suddenly a fear even more horrible than that for Aleneil and Denoriel took hold of her mind.

  If Pasgen had not found Albertus at Otstargi’s house, he might come to meet her here. Gate-master that he was, he would surely come by Gate, and Denoriel’s Gate was inside the house! That would expose Pasgen to fools who could not tell one Sidhe from another.

  Her lindys thrashed frantically against her bosom adding to her terror even as her hand clamped hard against it. Stupid! Stupid to allow herself to be so moved. Now it was too late! Pasgen would think she was in danger. Even if he had no intention of coming before she fell prey to imaginary terrors, now he would come to her.

  Before any thought of what she would do came into her mind, Rhoslyn had cast the Don’t-see-me spell and leapt forward as she saw the sixth man step toward the open door. She was on his heels, so close that she almost cried out against the terrible ache the weapons he carried awoke in her. Worse, he felt the movement of the air around him and spun around. Rhoslyn had to leap again, away to the side.

  She almost slammed into the large table used for preparing food. She caught herself, teetering dangerously, but found her balance. Impact with the table would have exposed her to the thugs. Don’t-see-me did not bestow invisibility; it only made eyes slip away, refusing to register what was bespelled. Touch and sound remained. If she hit the table, it might have shifted or the thud of her impact might have drawn close enough attention to her that the spell would be disrupted and she would become visible.

  She froze where she had come to rest, back against the counter where pots and pans, long forks and carving knives, were laid ready for the next day’s work. Fearing her violent movement might have betrayed her, she did not stir again. Breath held, moving only her eyes, she gazed around, but none of the men had turned in her direction. All were as still as she, looking toward the door into the dining room. Behind them, the back door began to close.

  At first Rhoslyn’s breath caught again when she thought it was being closed by magic; a mage would surely find her. Then she saw small, pale hands pushing against it. A child! Of course, the Low Court Sidhe who were Denoriel’s servants would let in a child. They would be delighted to feed it and let it warm itself against the winter cold. If the child hid, they would lightly forget it or think it had run out again.

  Bitterness rose in Rhoslyn’s throat. She had not understood until this moment, when she realized that neither of Denoriel’s servants had deliberately betrayed him, how much she envied him their obvious, open affection. Her constructs would die for her—because they did not know what life was, because they were bespelled to obey and protect, not because they cared for her.

  Before the door closed all the way, the child slipped out, the movement drawing Rhoslyn’s attention. One of the men, cursing under his breath, came to close the door, which he secured only with the latch. Carefully Rhoslyn slid away from him to reduce the pain his weapons caused. And then she blinked down at the counter where the tools and vessels for eating and drinking lay.

  Even in the dark of the unlit chamber those tools and vessels were bright. Far brighter than any iron would shine … Rhoslyn had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Of course! Since the servants in Denoriel’s house were Low Court Sidhe, there could be no iron. Every tool and vessel in the house was made of pure silver or the special alloy of silver, tin, and brass that was harder than steel.

  The men had been all clumped together near the door that opened into the dining chamber at the front of the house, opposite Clayborne’s office. Now the one who had closed the door went to the banked hearth. A moment later, a spill woke into flame and from it, flame touched the candle in a small lantern. The light was abruptly cut off when the door of the dark lantern was closed, but another was lit and then muffled.

/>   Rhoslyn could see one of the lanterns being passed forward, then the man closest to the door lifted the latch. A lantern was uncovered. Rhoslyn could see the men filing through the door and she snatched up two of the longest knives from the counter. One she held with practiced ease; the other she thrust though her belt. If she could, she would give it to Aleneil; if she could not, she would have an extra weapon if the first were torn away.

  Silently, her heart pounding in her throat, she followed the men through the dining room. The man with the lantern had opened one of the double doors to the corridor. He touched another of the men, who unshielded the second lantern and stepped out of the door. Over the shoulder of the first man with the lantern, she saw the second turn toward the stairs; two men followed him. All tread carefully near the wall so that if a stair was loose it would not squeak.

  Again Rhoslyn was racked with indecision. The house was utterly silent. The little light cast by the lantern, barely enough for the humans to see their way up the stairs, gave light enough for Rhoslyn to make out two closed doors in the upper corridor. But why had not her half sister and brother burst out of the door of Denoriel’s chamber and attacked the intruders? Could Aleneil and Denoriel have dismissed the warning she and Pasgen had given? Should she shout a new warning? Should she stab the man closest to her and kill him?

  Even as the thought came to her and she stepped closer, intending to reduce her half siblings’ enemies by at least one, pain grew in her. It seemed to echo through her body, as if that body were empty and she realized that the hand that held the knife was trembling. The Don’t-see-me spell was draining her and in the mortal world there was no way to renew her power. If she struck and the spell died … if she shouted … the three men still in the room would be upon her.

  In the moment that she stood paralyzed between fear and fear, her need to decide was gone. The second group of three men went out into the corridor and began to mount the stairs. The first three were on the landing, bunched together, and suddenly one of the closed doors burst open. A gleaming blue levin bolt struck the man with the lantern. He screamed and fell.