“I’m sure I would,” Rhoslyn agreed warmly. “You must arrange a meeting for us soon, and that will be easy because of the other important thing I learned at the ball. Between keeping up my shields and dancing—that Harry just loves to dance—I was drained to the dregs. I was afraid I would faint and so I braced myself against hurt and drew in the Bright Court power. Only Pasgen”—she reached across the space between the chairs and grasped his arm—“there was no pain, no hurt. That was all another lie Vidal told us and some trickery he worked on us. The power was sweet and warm and it restored me more fully than the mists of misery.” She drew a deep breath. “I can live in the Seleighe domains. I can.”
Pasgen shrugged. “I can too. Even if Bright Court power is beyond me, and I do not think it will be, I have the power of the mists.”
“Then let us beg audience from Oberon and declare that we wish to be recognized as Seleighe.”
Pasgen drained the wine from his goblet and put it down gently. “Yes, Rhoslyn, we can go, but our mother cannot.”
“Our mother …” Rhoslyn repeated and suddenly shuddered and put a hand to her lips.
She had forgotten that in order to become pregnant, Llanelli had committed several unforgivable crimes. Vidal had made sure that she and Pasgen had the whole story in the ugliest terms he could find in which to tell it. Vidal felt it was a good counter to the sweetness and light Llanelli continually preached to them. She was, he said, for all she aped Bright ways, as Dark as any Sidhe in his Court.
Llanelli wanted what she wanted and decided she wanted a child and Kefni Silverhair for its father. She had forced Sidhe and mortal mages to create spells of such power that the mages were drained to death. She had induced a male and female virgin to couple, and sacrificed them while in the act of copulation. She had put a spell of compulsion on Kefni Silverhair, who was committed in a life-bond to Seren Teifi, to forget his bonded and couple with her.
Kefni, strong in magic himself, soon broke Llanelli’s compulsion and fled back to Seren. But the spell of fertility was strong with the spirits of the dead binding it. When Kefni coupled with his bonded, she, too, got with child.
At first Llanelli had not known. She had sent news of her conceiving to Kefni, hoping—perhaps even expecting—that he would leave Seren and come to her to have his child. However, he did not come to her, only sent a message that if she had needs, she should send him word and he would see that the needs were fulfilled.
Llanelli was angry but told herself that she had been mistaken in Kefni, who had even less heart than most Sidhe, who at least loved children. But when Denoriel and Aleneil were born and doubled the rejoicing that her twins had inspired in the Bright Court, she realized what had happened—that Seren had also conceived. Llanelli seethed with rage and spite and finally thought of a way to revenge herself.
Rhoslyn shivered, remembering … remembering the pain that had stabbed her when Vidal Dhu, prince of the Dark Court revealed the black inside her mother’s bright exterior. Though Llanelli cursed Kefni Silverhair for abandoning her children to the Dark Court, Vidal told them it was Llanelli herself who had sent him news of the multiple births and urged him to seize Seren’s twins. He had, of course, taken hers too. Vidal was Vidal.
“It has been so long,” Rhoslyn breathed, her eyes filled with tears, “and she has suffered so much. Surely if she begs pardon, offers atonement, she will be forgiven.”
“Will she?” Pasgen asked. “What atonement can she offer? Kefni Silverhair is dead. Seren Teifi also. She had no will to live after her bond-mate’s death. As soon as her children were old enough, Seren slipped into Dreaming and from Dreaming to death. They were favorites, Kefni and Seren, of Titania, who found their mutual devotion fascinating. Titania’s memory is long and her quarrels with Oberon do not affect the influence she has on him.” He sighed. “No, there is no way back to the Bright Court for our mother.”
There was a silence. Then Rhoslyn said, “I see.” Her voice was flat.
Pasgen reached blindly for his wine, his gesture stiff and clumsy. The glass, struck by his fingertips instead of being caught in his hand, tipped, spilling wine. He did not catch it or wave a hand to remove the spilled wine. He was staring into the distance, clearly seeing nothing.
“They will accept you gladly, Rhoslyn,” he said. “According to Gaenor, there are now no great makers in the Bright Court. You will be happier when you have found a place there. And Oberon and Titania will not object to your protecting Mary. They do not look forward to her becoming queen, but all mortal events are like a short dream to them.”
“It does not matter. I cannot leave our mother alone here, Pasgen.”
“You would not be leaving her alone. I will be here and I will make sure that I have reminders to see her at least once a mortal week to make sure all is well with her.”
“No!” The protest was instant. “Become Seleighe without you? I will not. I could not.”
“Of course you could,” Pasgen said, but he did not look at her. “We could still meet—”
“No!” Rhoslyn was even more emphatic. “Meet where? I could not go to your domain. Someone would surely report on my attachment to members of the Dark Court. And even if we met in the markets—”
Rhoslyn broke off, suddenly aware of Lliwglas standing silently near her. When she looked at her, the construct bowed. “Lady Llanelli says she will come to this house no longer, mistress. Shall I stay with her in her lodging in the market, return and remain here, or wait here and return with you to your own domain?”
“Hmmm.” Rhoslyn narrowed her eyes. “Has Lady Llanelli suggested what she would like you to do?”
“No, mistress.”
“Where is Lady Llanelli?”
The construct turned immediately and looked out into the entryway.
“I’m here,” Llanelli said from near the stairway, as if she had just come down from her apartment on the second floor.
Rhoslyn noted that Lliwglas’ brows were drawn slightly together, as if she did not understand something. But what was there to puzzle her? By then, Llanelli had come into the parlor. Rhoslyn thought she looked pale and haunted.
“What happened, Mother? I thought I heard you say something just as I came into the house, but I thought you were talking to Lliwglas. Did you call out for me?”
“No.” Llanelli shook her head. “I really, really do not like coming to this house anymore. There was a shadow on the lawn, and my heart virtually leapt into my throat before I realized it was only a shadow. And then when Lliwglas opened the door—just about as that shadow startled me—her shadow fell across me and frightened me even further.”
“There is nothing of which to be afraid, Mother,” Pasgen said. “I promise you. Vidal will not come himself nor send any of his creatures here. To be safe from Prince Vidal’s mischiefs, this is the best place in all Underhill.”
“If you say so, Pasgen,” Llanelli said, but her voice shook. “Maybe your reasons will convince my head, but my heart leaps up and down and does not care what my head thinks. I am not happy here, so I will not come … and you need not bargain with Vidal about this house for my sake.”
“But surely this is more comfortable and safer for you than a booth in one of the markets,” Rhoslyn said, looking very troubled. “Perhaps if I give you a route to—”
“No!” Llanelli cried. “No. I do not want to know where you or Pasgen have your true homes. I am not strong. It would not take much before I told what I knew.”
This was no more than the truth, as both Pasgen and Rhoslyn knew, for soon after they had rescued her from where Vidal had dumped her, Llanelli had escaped from Rhoslyn’s keeping and, to obtain oleander, had betrayed the route to Rhoslyn’s original domain. Having what he wanted, Vidal had dumped her again drugged out of her wits. Pasgen had found her and taken her to his home, where he kept her much more strictly until she had conquered her addiction to oleander. Warned that she had told Vidal how to find her private domain, Rhoslyn had de
stroyed it and built a new domain—one she liked much better than the old one.
Unfortunately, after her confession of weakness, Llanelli went on to beg Pasgen not to overestimate himself and underestimate Vidal. Pasgen sighed, but patiently explained that he was not such a fool as to do so, that his shields and his spells had been tested.
Far from comforting Llanelli, this only seemed to frighten her more. Finally when Llanelli was wiping her eyes and did not notice, Rhoslyn leaned over, caught Pasgen’s arm, and shook her head at him. He took a deep irritated breath, but after that he allowed his mother to utter her warnings and only spoke to assure her he would be very, very careful.
That Llanelli did not believe Pasgen’s assurances was so clear and that Pasgen might well lose his temper and be unkind if she did not stop her useless warnings drove Rhoslyn to intervene. She seized a pause while Pasgen was swallowing what he wanted to say, rose to her feet, and suggested they go into the dining parlor. As they took their accustomed places, she began to talk brightly about Lady Mary—a subject about which neither Pasgen nor her mother cared much.
The servants brought in a most piquantly seasoned pale fish as an appetizer. Pasgen ate with stolid indifference to the delicate flavor; Llanelli pushed the slice of fish around on her plate after one small bite.
Hastily Rhoslyn said, “You remember I told you that Lady Mary had invited Elizabeth to come and live with her when she learned that Sir Thomas Seymour was suing for Queen Catherine’s hand in marriage.”
“I remember,” Llanelli said indifferently, her eyes fixed on Pasgen.
The servants removed the appetizer and replaced it with bowls of soup. Rhoslyn unwisely took a spoonful; she expected Pasgen to carry on the conversation and deflect Llanelli, but he did not make any reply to her last statement. He was looking down into his soup plate as if a scrying image was forming there.
Into the silence Llanelli said, “Pasgen, you must promise me—”
Pasgen drew a sharp breath and looked up, his brows bent together into an angry frown.
Before he could speak, Rhoslyn said, as if she had not heard her mother, “Lady Mary was hurt when Elizabeth refused her offer of hospitality, which has made Mary unhealthily interested in news about Queen Catherine’s household.”
“Unhealthily?” Pasgen repeated, pulling the bowl of soup closer. He was still frowning, but the expression was one of curiosity rather than irritation. “Why unhealthily?”
“I fear Mary is looking for some reason to complain of Lady Elizabeth’s behavior to the Protector. Mary has a direct line to his ear because she is a great favorite with the Protector’s wife. It seems odd because Lady Somerset is a strong advocate of the reformed religion and Mary will not abate a jot of her Catholicism, but they write to each other and, I suppose, avoid mention of religion.”
“But why is Mary looking for a reason for complaint?”
Rhoslyn sighed. “Partly because she simply hates Elizabeth for being Anne Boleyn’s daughter and also,” Rhoslyn smiled faintly, “I think because Elizabeth looks so much like her father. Mary has always maintained that Anne was a whore and Elizabeth a bastard. It is a hard position to maintain when, take away the fat, Elizabeth looks so much like Henry.”
“Yes,” Pasgen agreed. “The hair. The complexion. Those hands. And her manner. But her eyes are dark.”
“Another thing,” Rhoslyn said, “I think Mary is becoming anxious about being allowed to continue to practice the Catholic rite. I know she has received letters hinting that she must soon conform. She wishes, I fear, to direct Somerset’s attention to Elizabeth’s misdoings so he will let her hear her Mass in peace.”
“I see,” Pasgen said, scraping the last spoonful of soup out of his bowl and pushing it aside.
At which point, it dawned on Rhoslyn that Pasgen was really listening to her, not to avoid needing to listen to Llanelli but because he was interested. She cocked her head at him questioningly.
“Why are you so interested in Mary?”
“I am not the least bit interested in Mary,” he replied, “but I am very interested in Elizabeth eventually ascending the throne of England.”
Rhoslyn blinked. “You are? Why? Oh, I know that if Elizabeth comes to reign, the Bright Court will be rich with power and the strength that comes from mortal creation. But you do not care about that. You have your mists.”
“Well, I do care.” Pasgen looked aside. “Gaenor and the others will all profit from that rich flow of power.” Then he laughed, a sharp crack of sound with little mirth in it. “But my real reason is not so altruistic. I want Elizabeth to come to the throne simply because Vidal Dhu is so determined to prevent her from becoming queen. I want to see the Dark Court lean and weak instead of battening on others’ misery.”
“Vidal,” Rhoslyn said, suddenly thoughtful. “I never thought of him, I wonder if Vidal can have anything to do with Seymour’s behavior, because, if the rumors coming out of Queen Catherine’s household are true, Seymour is quite mad.”
“What rumors?”
Rhoslyn sighed. “That Seymour is paying particular attention to Elizabeth. He caught her in the garden of Chelsea last summer and cut her dress to pieces while his wife held her. And while they were in Seymour Place in London, where the servants mix and mingle with the servants of other high households, it was whispered that he invaded the girl’s bedchamber while she was still abed.”
Pasgen shook his head. “It seems to me that Lady Mary already must have all the information she needs to blacken Elizabeth.”
“Well, no, because Catherine was always there. Even Mary cannot make a scandal about Elizabeth’s behavior when Seymour’s wife was helping him and most of Elizabeth’s maidens and Catherine’s ladies were taking part in the games.”
“Is that true?” Pasgen asked.
“I have no idea what is true,” Rhoslyn said irritably while the soup bowls were removed—Llanelli’s still almost full—and a roast goose and a roast haunch of lamb placed on the table. “And I cannot meet with Aleneil to find out. We were seen the last time and Mary asked me what I was doing with one of Elizabeth’s ladies. I could not even ask Aleneil at the ball because Elizabeth was there and Harry … if the smallest hint that Elizabeth is not perfect reaches Harry, he flies into a rage. I wish you could find out whether Seymour really is pursuing Elizabeth and stop him if he is.”
Llanelli chose a slice of the goose and settled back in her chair with some satisfaction. Pasgen was filling his plate with meat and vegetables, but his attention was on Rhoslyn and he was clearly interested in stopping Seymour’s activities. His eyes were bright and intent as he questioned Rhoslyn about where Seymour was likely to be found away from Elizabeth and bemoaning his mistake in attacking Elizabeth some years before. It was no use, he said, to wear any disguise since Elizabeth could see through illusion in the mortal world.
If Pasgen were busy in the mortal world, Llanelli thought, he would not be confronting Vidal. She did not actually eat much of the goose because she was so terribly afraid. Pasgen said Vidal would not come or send servants to the empty house, but he was wrong. It had not been a shadow that frightened her; it had been one of Vidal’s henchmen. She even knew him; Goeel, holding out a pouch of oleander, calling softly that he had a gift for her.
When she had not moved toward him, he had started to rush forward likely to seize her, but Lliwglas had opened the door and he had withdrawn into the shadows. She did not dare tell Pasgen about Goeel; he would react like an angry child who had not got his way. Pasgen was a fool to think he could attack Vidal and win. Was not Goeel’s presence proof that Pasgen could not protect the place? Vidal was the stronger.
It would be best if Rhoslyn and Pasgen found admittance to the Bright Court. Then they would have Oberon’s protection and Vidal would not dare harm them. She must find a way to convince Pasgen that she did not need him or Rhoslyn. She put a piece of the goose in her mouth and chewed and chewed and chewed; the lump in her throat made it impossible t
o swallow.
Chapter 26
Elizabeth was chagrined to discover that her dearling Denno was right—as he so often and so insufferably was—about her time at Court. She did not suffer agonies of missing him. It was not that she ever forgot him. He was in her mind every moment, but her thoughts were happy, warm, and comfortable. She remembered past pleasure and the passionate praise of her lover, which armored her against the suggestive flirtations of self-seeking courtiers who then turned to others. And she thought of all the news she and Denno would have to discuss when they were curled together in his bed.
There were puzzles, too, she thought with satisfaction, that her Denno would be able to explain. She already had reasons to be grateful to him for keeping her abreast of the shifting of power and position in the Court. Most of his information came from William Cecil, and Elizabeth made sure to seek Cecil out and to thank him for his courtesies to her. He had risen in the world of power and was now personal secretary to the Protector.
Most important to Elizabeth and one thing that made her separation from her Denno worthwhile was her meetings with Edward. The sweet, shown in their very first meeting, was that Edward still loved her. He was not awesome in person as her father had been, but for a little boy of eleven, he had great dignity.
Elizabeth responded full willingly. She had curtsied right to the ground when she approached him, bending her knee every few steps as she came closer. On the fifth curtsey, Edward had come forward to take her hand, lift her to her feet, and invite her to sit on a bench—for which he ordered a cushion and signed to be drawn close to his great chair.
He had leaned forward to kiss her cheek, glancing sidelong at the Protector, who was standing near, and murmured, “I can do no more, dearest of sisters.”
By Slanderous Tongues Page 41