Air spirit, Elizabeth thought but could not say. Air spirits often carried news or brief messages Underhill, but they did not ordinarily come into the mortal world unless they were sent. Elizabeth eyed the porcelain oval with a momentary doubt and then suddenly knew what her Denno had meant when he said, “Tonight. Tell Blanche.”
She remembered the time when he had brought her Da back to the mortal world. They had needed a Gate and Denno had given her a token carrying a spell that would call the Gate to it. Elizabeth drew a deep happy breath. He would come tonight to take her Underhill and, of course, he had meant to warn Blanche not to touch the token for fear that the necklace of Cold Iron crosses she wore as a defense against Unseleighe attack would destroy the magic Denno had spelled into the token.
“Where shall we put it?” she asked Blanche, looking around the dressing room.
It was a small chamber, cluttered with Elizabeth’s hanging dresses, chests of undergarments, a small table with a mirror, and several stools. Remembering the last time she had used Denno’s token to draw a Gate, Elizabeth giggled. Forgetting that Denno would have to step forward out of the Gate, she had laid the token on a garden bench at the center of the maze and poor Denno had fallen off the bench right into a bed of dead flowers.
He had been surprisingly understanding, but once was more than enough for that kind of stupidity. “Not in here,” she said to Blanche.
“And not in your bedchamber,” Blanche said at once. “That is too dangerous. No matter what I say to those girls, they will poke their heads inside the door—to see if they would be disturbing you or if you are asleep and a scratch would wake you.” Blanche sighed with exasperation. “And, of course, Mistress Ashley cannot be kept out. We cannot take the chance that someone will step in or look in just at the moment Lord Denno takes you away or brings you back.”
“Your chamber?” Elizabeth asked hesitantly.
That was the best choice because it was just the other side of the dressing room, but Elizabeth hated to ask Blanche to permit a man into her room. The maid was very particular about her reputation and even met old fellow servants like Dunstan and Ladbroke in the corridor outside of her room rather than within it.
But Blanche nodded without reluctance. “No one will see him. If a maid pops in by accident, I know he can disappear. Besides, I have the very place. I guessed that thing appearing as it did meant he would be coming.” She drew Elizabeth behind her through the dressing room and into her own small, dark chamber.
There, between two wardrobes stood a figure molded of pasteboard—actually Elizabeth’s form, which allowed her maid to mend and adjust her clothing. If that figure was pulled forward, and perhaps dressed, in the dim room the space behind it would be mostly invisible.
“Very good!” Elizabeth exclaimed, eyes bright, turning toward the dressing room. “Now, what should I wear?”
“Your nightdress,” Blanche said.
“But I wanted …” she sighed and then giggled.
What was she thinking? The clothing that Lady Alana could produce Underhill far outshone anything in her own wardrobe, to be truthful, anything in the queen’s wardrobe … or that of the Protector’s wife, who really put on most unsuitable airs.
“And you have a very pretty nightdress,” Blanche reminded her. “I made up that last packet of silk and lace Lord Denno brought when you were so worried about where you were going to live. You hardly looked at it, my lady, but it is quite beautiful. You know Lord Denno never skimps you.”
No he did not, Elizabeth thought, pulling her Cold Iron cross out of the bosom of her gown and slipping it into the heavy pouch of silk that would shield Denno’s token from its influence. She went into the dressing room then, and picked up the pretty porcelain oval, smiling as she realized that the door design was a clever message.
Blanche had already moved the pasteboard form and Elizabeth laid the token on the floor, not too close to the back wall. She wondered about how Denno would know they were ready, but could not guess since she could not sense any air spirit. Just in case some word was necessary to activate the guide, she touched the oval and said “Fiat,” which keyed most of her own spells.
Then she pressed a hand to her lips and rushed back to the dressing room. If Denno responded to the call of the token and came at once, she would not be ready. He would see her undressing. With lips parted to urge Blanche to hurry, Elizabeth suddenly smiled and swallowed the words. If Denno should see her undressed by accident …
Thoughts wavering now between hope and shame, she stood still while Blanche began to remove her sleeves and then unfasten the points of her skirt. As the heavy fabric slid down, she stepped out of it. The elaborate brocade was another gift from Denno and made her recall Blanche’s remark.
It was true, Denno would never skimp her in any way. Not in the gifts he brought … nor in the touch of his lips. That was right, somehow; it was thrilling, it woke odd exciting sensations in her body. How wonderful that Denno was not human! What she did with him or felt about him had nothing to do with her life in the mortal world. Elizabeth hoped she would never need to marry, but if political necessity forced her into that state, human to human she would be a virgin still.
Human to human made her think of Thomas. When he touched her and kissed her, she felt hot and fluttery … and uneasy and ashamed. She knew that even though Catherine was with them and even joined in the games, Thomas should not be so handling her innocent maidens—or a king’s daughter. Catherine was too much in love, Elizabeth thought. She could not bear to deny her husband any pleasure.
The soft slither of silk down her body, simultaneous with the click of a door latch, drew her lips into a brief pout. It was too late for Denno to catch a glimpse of her clothed in nothing but her hair. But in the next moment she realized it was not the door to Blanche’s room that had opened, that had been left open, but the door to her parlor.
Elizabeth uttered a small, exasperated sigh. She had been glad when she came to Chelsea that Catherine had told her the door to her apartment need no longer be guarded. Not that she had dismissed Gerrit, Nyle, Shaylor, and Dickson. They still guarded her when she went riding or down the river to London. And they stood guard on the palace as a whole with Catherine’s men, but she would never have escaped such long-time, devoted servants when she crept out to watch Catherine meeting Thomas. They would have clumped along behind her … Elizabeth giggled at the image, then sighed. Tonight a guard at the door would have been useful to keep out intruders.
Likely the unwelcome arrival was Eleanor Fitzalan, a sweet child, but far too prone to wish to be helpful. Forever creeping into her bedchamber to ask if she wanted a drink or to have her candle trimmed or some other service. Elizabeth frowned. How was she going to make sure that none of those silly girls discovered she was absent from her bed?
Blanche had already stepped around her to send away whoever had come in, but she stopped and Elizabeth heard her sigh with relief. In a moment she herself smiled as she understood. Lady Alana had just stepped through the dressing room door.
“With a tongue as sharp as yours is, Lady Elizabeth, I cannot imagine how you inspire such devotion. No less than three of your ladies were on their way to discover if they could do anything to amuse you and soothe your irritation. I did manage to send them back to their own beds, but it was not easy.”
“Likely my sharp tongue is the reason.” Elizabeth said, grinning. “They think if they divert me, I will be less sharp tomorrow. You would think that experience would teach them better. However, it is very likely that I will be mild as milk tomorrow without their attentions. I wish I could hope that would start a precedent. Are you coming with me?”
“Yes.” Aleneil smiled and turned to Blanche. “No need for you to look so worried, Blanche. The door to the parlor is stuck and will not open until I return. Go to bed and get a good night’s sleep for a change.”
“I don’t sleep easy when my lady is … is away,” Blanche said, frowning.
&n
bsp; Elizabeth embraced her. “There’s no need to worry. Lady Alana and Lord Denno will both be with me and for once I am not grieving and distracted.” Suddenly a smile like sunshine lit her face; over Blanche’s shoulder she had seen Denno standing in the doorway. “Sleep well, Blanche,” she said but without looking at her maid, and walked past her into her Denno’s arms.
He drew her with him so quickly to a black gaping between the wardrobes that at first Elizabeth did not take in what she saw. Even as the blackness and falling that was Gating passed over her, however, she realized that the other end of the Gate opened into the bedchamber she used in Denno’s house. Had Lady Alana been left behind? Elizabeth stiffened slightly. Did Denno intend to … to take her to bed now? Without even asking her? She had responded to his kiss, yes. But …
But his mouth was on hers even as they touched the bedchamber floor and the half-frightened, half-resentful thoughts puffed away, evaporated by the warmth that coursed from his lips to hers. Only for a moment, though, as the kiss was broken and both of them pushed forward by the arrival of another body.
“I am so sorry,” Alana said, chuckling, “but the Gate was so small and narrow, and already starting to close, that I had no choice.”
She did not sound particularly sorry, and the voice was not Lady Alana’s coo but Aleneil’s sweet, brisk tones. Elizabeth did not care; she had no attention to give to Alana/Aleneil. She was staring at Denno. He had looked just as he always did when he came to the door of Blanche’s room, his hair white, his face browned and lined by exposure to mortal weather. Now he looked … young. His hair was gold, his skin pale and smooth as cream. His eyes had not changed, except that they were sparkling, emeralds touched by a beam of sunlight. The points of his ears though were pink.
“Denno?” Elizabeth asked uncertainly.
“Yes.”
He studied her face and Elizabeth wondered what it showed. She herself was uncertain of what she felt. Now that the first shock of seeing him young again had passed, her remaining surprise was largely owing to the fact that his appearance was not strange but utterly familiar. She realized suddenly that was how Denno had looked when she was little more than a babe, when he had come with Da to play with her—and he looked utterly familiar because it was how her mind had “seen” him all these years, why to her Denno would never grow old.
Gently she raised a hand and touched his cheek, then slid the hand around behind his head so she could pull his mouth down to hers. Aleneil’s voice made Elizabeth start back and Denno lift his head.
“If you two intend to stand there staring at each other much longer, I wish you would tell me so I can think of some excuse to carry to Queen Titania. You did agree to go to this ball, didn’t you, Denoriel? And Ilar will think I am not coming if I don’t get there soon.”
“Ball?” Elizabeth repeated, staring now at Aleneil, who was dressed in the most fantastic creation Elizabeth had ever seen.
She had to call it a creation because there was not enough of it to be called a gown. It was made completely of golden ribbons, one over a handspan wide went around the back of Aleneil’s neck, crossed over her breasts barely hiding them, and then went around her narrow waist, fastening with a golden rose seemingly carved out of a giant topaz. The top of the skirt did manage to hide her private parts, being made of rosettes of the same ribbon in strategic places. But below her hips the skirt was all ribbons, showing a long length of white and shapely leg when Aleneil moved.
“Yes,” Denno replied, “one of the great balls given by Oberon and Titania twice a year. It is open to all Sidhe, Dark Court and Bright alike.”
Elizabeth started slightly, having almost forgotten the question in her voice when she repeated the word “ball.” Then she blinked. “Dark Sidhe are also invited? But are they not evil and dangerous?”
“Not at the ball,” Denno said, laughing. “There is a truce during the ball, all differences being set aside until a full mortal day after the ball ends.”
“Truce?” Elizabeth’s doubt showed in her voice.
Denno laughed again. “Oberon’s truce is somewhat different from those of the mortal world. One cannot do any violence or even utter threats during Oberon’s truce. Poisons are made harmless; even fingernails become too soft to scratch. Do you remember how he froze us all when Vidal attacked us? An impulse to violence or a threat has the same effect on any Sidhe who dares violate the truce. And it does make one look very silly to be frozen until Oberon decides to release one.”
“You will be quite safe,” Aleneil assured Elizabeth, twirling around so that all her ribbons floated up and gave glimpses of her legs. “Now, what would you like to wear? You can, of course, have the gown with the fur sleeves, but there is a great deal of dancing, quite lively dancing, and I think that gown would restrict you.”
“I couldn’t,” Elizabeth said hesitantly, staring at Aleneil’s dress.
“Oh, nothing like this,” Aleneil assured her. “Just something soft and flowing that will let you feel free.”
Elizabeth considered for a moment and then asked hesitantly, “If I don’t feel comfortable in what you make for me, could I change into my other gown?”
“Of course you could, love.” Aleneil cocked her head at Denoriel who was still looking at Elizabeth with a rather bemused expression. “Denoriel, go change your own clothing while I devise something Elizabeth will like.” And when he did not move, she walked over and pushed him gently toward the door. “Go. Dress.”
When she had closed the door behind him, she stared intently at Elizabeth for a moment. Now, as had happened the first time Elizabeth visited Underhill, her nightdress appeared on the bed and she could feel soft undergarments against the skin of her body. A moment later another soft, silken weight on her body—although nothing near the weight of a full Court dress—told her she was dressed, except that her left arm felt bare. Slowly Elizabeth turned to look in the full-length cheval glass.
“Oh, my,” she breathed.
The dress, of a heavy amber silk, was softly fitted to her body from her left shoulder to the gentle rounded curve of her hips. From there, the thick and shining silk flowed smoothly to her ankles where a band of gleaming black fur made a hem and then spiraled up her body, past her waist, to form the edge of a huge sleeve/cloak that could be drawn up to cover her bare right shoulder.
There was no left sleeve either; the long armhole was decorated by an incredibly complex embroidery of gold around ovals of jet. The edge of the sleeve/cloak was also embroidered in gold around jet. A choker of brilliant topazes circled her neck and a broad bracelet to match covered her left wrist. Her head was free of any cap, but the hair in front of her ears had been plaited into several thin braids and then wound into a kind of crown at the top of her head fastened in place by a tiara of topaz.
Elizabeth stared at the coronet, flashing in the bright red of her hair. In the mortal world she would never dare wear such an ornament; she was a king’s daughter and in the royal succession but by her father’s decree not a princess.
“Well, love, can you wear that?”
Elizabeth looked at the smooth, white skin of her left arm; it almost seemed to glow against the amber silk and dark fur. She pulled the cloak/sleeve up a little higher on her right shoulder; the silk draped gracefully against her neck, and the fur border lay against her hand without slipping. She could dance in that gown, Elizabeth thought, even a great galloping dance without feeling as if she might be tripped or toppled by its weight.
“Yes, oh yes. That is … if you and I will not be the … the barest people in the room.”
Aleneil laughed again. “No, you need not fear that. We may be the best covered. Of course some will wear gowns that cover them from neck to instep, except that the fabric will be nearly transparent. Last ball one of the ladies wore nothing but a web of pearls. All sorts of things peeped out here and there.”
Elizabeth took a few steps to one side and then turned quickly so that the hem of the gown, weighted as i
t was by the fur, flared around her legs. “It’s light as a feather,” she said, then sighed. “I do love my Court dresses, but they are not light …”
Her voice trailed away as Denoriel came to the door. He wore a silver jacket piped in black with a stand-up collar. It was fastened with jet buttons slantwise along his left shoulder and then down the side. Under the silver jacket were close-fitting black silk trews, piped in silver. His sword belt was black, the scabbard and hilt of his sword silver, the hilt of his long knife silver topped with a coruscating opal. Shining silver half boots covered his legs to the calf.
“Do you approve? Will you dance with me, my lady?”
“Every dance,” Elizabeth said, moving forward to take his hand.
“Oh, no,” Aleneil put in giggling. “There will be many others who wish to dance with the mortal princess, Elizabeth, and they will be quite cross with poor Denoriel if you cling too close to him. Besides, I think Harry will be coming. Will you not want to give your Da at least one dance?”
“Da will be invited?” Elizabeth’s expression grew radiant.
“Everyone is invited,” Denoriel said, frowning suddenly. “Which reminds me. You must be very circumspect in what you say, Elizabeth. Although violence and threats are forbidden, promises made at the ball are still promises. You must not even say things like ‘I will see you again soon.’ You may say ‘I am glad to meet you’ and other meaningless phrases, but nothing that can be taken as a promise.”
“I will be careful,” Elizabeth said solemnly.
“Then let us go,” Aleneil urged, shooing them toward the door. “Ilar will have given me up as lost.”
The elvensteeds were waiting at the foot of the stair, Ystwyth black as night with a golden mane and tail, Miralys a deep blue with silver mane and tail. Denoriel mounted, then leaned down and lifted Elizabeth to the smaller saddle behind his own. Elizabeth was not surprised when the skirt of her gown, which had not been so full, simply widened to allow her to sit astride. For a moment she felt annoyed again by the easy accommodations magic permitted, then she smiled.
By Slanderous Tongues Page 34