By Slanderous Tongues

by Mercedes Lackey

  It seemed quite mad to Elizabeth that Somerset should object to her affection for Edward and his for her, but that was one of the puzzles she hoped Denno could explain. And as for her and Edward, she was experienced in Court life and knew just what to do and say.

  After launching into the required questions about her brother’s health and replying to his questions about hers, she said, “I like my new tutor very much, but I do miss Master Coke, although he was dreadfully strict.”

  When she mentioned Coke’s name, Edward cast an anxious glance over toward Somerset but at the last words, she saw relief in the boy’s eyes. Apparently the Protector did not want Edward to be fond of anyone, perhaps except himself. If so, Elizabeth thought, he was going about winning Edward’s affection in the wrong way.

  “Yes,” the king said, “we are reading Cato, who is not very entertaining. He was a stoic, you know.”

  “No, not entertaining, but a good teacher of moral conduct.”

  She then quoted in Latin some lines about truth and honor, casting a quick glance at the Protector, who had turned toward them with a slight frown, which showed, Elizabeth thought, that he did not understand. Doubtless Somerset had learned Latin, but it was years behind him.

  Edward promptly added a tag that was so well known that everyone who had studied Latin would know it. Elizabeth came back with another tag, also popular … and Somerset’s frown cleared. Then he looked away.

  In Latin, Edward then said softly, “He has even sent Barnaby away. I have now no one.”

  “I wish I could be with you,” Elizabeth murmured. “We had such pleasure learning together. But you are king now, Your Majesty. Being alone is one of the burdens of that state.” Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them back.

  “But being poor is not,” Edward hissed. “I am kept poorer than a street beggar. I cannot even give a shilling to someone who does a service for me. I should have a decent purse to spend.”

  “Indeed, you should,” Elizabeth agreed, and seeing Somerset look at her over his shoulder, smiled and clapped her hands together softly, as if admiring a riposte by Edward.

  He saw where she had looked, also smiled, and clapped as if satisfied with some success, his expression not directed so much at Elizabeth as at what they were saying. That seemed to reassure the Protector. At that moment William Cecil came across the room and bowed to Somerset, to whom he said something very softly. Both men moved away.

  Edward took a quick breath and went back to English. “You must know the Protector’s brother, Sir Thomas, who is Queen Catherine’s husband. Through my servant, John Fowler, Sir Thomas has offered to augment my purse. He laughs and says he remembers being young far better than Somerset.”

  “I have no doubt of that,” Elizabeth replied somewhat dryly. “For a grown man, he is very childish.” She remembered some of the things Denno had told her about Thomas, things he could not have said out of jealousy because she had never told him about Thomas’ flirtations. “Seymour certainly likes to get his own way and I have heard”—she lowered her voice even more—“he is not altogether honest.”

  A rather mulish set firmed Edward’s mouth. “Twice I have needed to borrow from my servants and then needed to beg Somerset for a little money with which to repay them.”

  “He gave it to you, did he not?”

  “A king should not need to beg.”

  Elizabeth heard the hurt pride and the irritation. It would do no good for Edward to be angry at her also. “Oh, no,” she said. “That is true. Only if you take money from Sir Thomas, be on your guard. I think he is not so careless and innocent as he pretends. Even in his own household, mostly he wants a return when he gives a gift.”

  “I have already done him a favor in supporting his marriage to Queen Catherine,” Edward said resentfully.

  “Yes.” Elizabeth saw Somerset coming toward them with a man she did not know and said hastily, “But that will only whet his appetite for more favors, since he found you willing once.”

  “Ah,” Edward said. “You are a good and careful sister.”

  “I love you and wish only your good in all things.”

  And then Somerset was bowing and presenting the French ambassador who had, he said, a message from his master for King Edward. Elizabeth took the hint and rose to her feet, dropping another curtsey and backing away. Kat Ashley, who had been waiting at a little distance, came to join her.

  “Sir Thomas was looking for you,” Kat said. “They are dancing in the farther apartment. But when I said you were talking to the king, he went away. Will you go to join him in the dancing or do you hope to be recalled by King Edward?”

  “No, the king will not summon me again,” Elizabeth said, knowing it would be most unwise for him to do so while Somerset was there. “Let us go and watch the dancing.”

  Kat laughed. “You will not watch long. All the young men want to dance with you.”

  That was true enough and Elizabeth did not spend much time by Kat’s side. Robert Dudley was the first to reach her and she accepted his invitation gladly. She knew him slightly because he had been one of the young men who attended the “school” Catherine had formed in Hampton Court. Elizabeth remembered him as being quick and clever but not much interested in classical learning. Still, Dudley was among the most amusing of the young men and she could easily have been more than safely attracted to him if her mind and heart had not been full of a green-eyed, long-eared lover who was quicker, cleverer, and far, far more elegant.

  Dudley would gladly have kept her as his partner longer, but Lord Strange came right onto the dance floor to claim her hand for the next set. And so it went, one partner claiming her from another. Somewhere during a laughing exchange, Thomas was there and took her hand, leaving Henry Brandon, who thought he was about to lead her into the set, astonished and annoyed.

  “I thought you were going to save all your dances for me,” Thomas said, frowning down at her. “Did we not agree to that in Seymour Place?”

  Elizabeth remembered the teasing conversation. “But that was in jest,” she said, raising her brows. “How should I wait only for you?” She laughed again, but uneasily. “I would have been left standing by the wall for set after set while you danced with Queen Catherine.”

  “And is that not only right and proper?” Thomas asked archly, with a smirk.

  The expression made Elizabeth even more uneasy. Could he believe that she was jealous of his attentions to his wife? Had she been wrong in enjoying his rough playfulness, even encouraging it? She should not have done that, she thought now, but it was very hard to reject him in any way he would understand when Catherine was watching. Elizabeth could feel heat rising in her face and knew that she was blushing, which made her blush even more.

  “That you should dance first and most often with your wife is of course right and proper,” she said, and was aware that her voice was low and choked.

  The smug satisfaction on Thomas’ face was awful, as if her anger and embarrassment was a confession. Fortunately the movement of the dance parted them so that Elizabeth was able to regain some of her composure. However when they had gone down the aisle and came together again, he pulled her closer, almost breast to breast.

  “But would I not have been worth the wait?” Thomas murmured, breathing in her ear.

  Elizabeth was shocked and enraged by the self-assurance. What was wrong with the man? He was married. Did he think himself so irresistible that she would forget her place in the world and her obligation to Queen Catherine for so great a multitude of kindnesses as to play love-games with Catherine’s husband? Fury and shame choked her and she could think of no clever retort before the figure of the dance separated them again.

  In the next movement they changed partners and Elizabeth noted that Thomas was murmuring, probably sweet words, into the next lady’s ear. He pulled her close in the pas de deux too, and she laughed and pretended to push him away. Elizabeth was greatly relieved. She had been taking too seriously what was
just Thomas’ way. Nonetheless, she resolved, as Henry Brandon finally claimed her for the next set, snatching her away from Thomas’ outstretched hand—stretched out but almost carelessly, as if he expected her to set her hand in his instead of Brandon’s—that she would use more caution in responding to Thomas when they were en famille again.

  That thought lost its sharp anxiety over the next week and grew even less insistent when Elizabeth asked and was given permission to extend her visit to Court over Christmas and the New Year. Because she knew her request had irritated the Protector, she was not sure she had done the right thing, but she had no one to ask for sound advice. Kat could only see that there was no impropriety and that the request had given the king pleasure, and Denno was out of reach. As he had warned her, it was impossible to find a moment’s privacy when she made an excuse to visit his house to ask his advice. At least a dozen highborn ladies, including the duchess of Somerset, who watched her like a hawk, had insisted on accompanying her.

  However, when she had come to take her leave of the king, Edward had looked so lost, his face frozen into the proper expression, his eyes dark and glittering with unshed tears, that instead of taking leave, she had gone down on her knees and begged to be allowed to stay with him through the holidays. Fear had warred with desire for an instant on the young king’s face, and then he had said in a loud, if rather tremulous, voice that he would enjoy above all other things having his sister’s company for some weeks longer.

  He said it loud and clear if shakily. A concourse of gentlemen, among them Sir Anthony Denny, Lord Russell, the marquess of Dorset, and the earl of Warwick were standing close by. All of them smiled at this mark of innocent filial affection. Most had been witness during Elizabeth’s visit to the conversation between the children. All had been impressed by the learning of each, of the serious discussion of the classical texts and of religion, of the respect of the girl and the dignity of the boy. Elizabeth had asked no favors and the young king had said not one word that the Council would not have approved.

  The chancellor, Sir Richard Rich, and the Protector did not smile, but even the Protector was not comfortable about denying what everyone else felt was so harmless a pleasure. But now and again during any time she spent with Edward, Elizabeth was aware of Somerset’s eyes on her and his gaze was not kind. Nonetheless, in the face of Somerset’s decree that there be no giving of New Year’s gifts, she managed to pass the fancifully embroidered handkerchief to Edward and saw him tuck it quickly away, and when the young king asked for a portrait of her, she looked to Somerset, and when he shrugged, not too graciously, she quickly agreed.

  Perhaps comforted by the thought of having her picture, Edward parted from Elizabeth almost cheerfully. And having been parted from Denno for near a month, she was so eager to feel his arms around her again that she felt little regret, even about leaving the gaieties and formalities of the Court, which she loved.

  She was waiting in Blanche’s bedchamber near the Gate between the wardrobes when Denno came through the very day she arrived in Chelsea. Joy burst like fireworks within her when she saw him, and she cast herself into his arms, kissing his neck and chin again and again as she hugged him.

  “I do not think I need to ask whether you missed me,” he said, between returning her kisses on any part of her he could reach.

  “Shhhh,” she responded in a low murmur, “Eleanor is asleep, but not sleep-spelled, and a man’s voice …”

  He nodded, disengaged them from each other, and went out, crossing the dressing room and just barely opening the door into the bedchamber. Through the narrow slit, he pointed a finger at Eleanor, who was sleeping peacefully in the truckle bed at the foot of Elizabeth’s high four-poster. Denoriel whispered the spell. As he spoke, the girl relaxed utterly into a sleep that almost nothing could break.

  An arm snaked around his waist and he was turned, his head pulled down so Elizabeth could kiss his mouth hungrily. “Yes,” she said. “I missed you. Oh, not so much at first, but more and more as the days passed.”

  Denoriel’s eyes glowed, but he did not answer, only rushed her back through the dressing room where Blanche sat sewing, smiling too, past Blanche’s bed and through the Gate. When he swept her off the platform, her nightdress was a day gown. Miralys was waiting, but Denoriel did not mount.

  “I’ve taken you to Elfhame Elder-Elf,” he murmured, bending his head toward her waiting lips; his expression was absent, his attention on her face, but the words that came out of his mouth were those he had been planning to say. “You wanted to learn a sleep spell, and Mechain and Elidir have been asking for you, Harry says …” He hesitated, tasted her lips again, and then said, his voice husky, “But perhaps we should go back to Llachar Lle first.”

  The pressure of his body against hers and the memory of their shared passion was enough to arouse her. She stroked the arm that embraced her, lifted her mouth to him again.

  “Yes.” Elizabeth’s eyes were slightly glazed, but a moment later she had turned her head so that their lips did not meet and said, “No. You can’t twist time here.” She sighed and stepped away from him just enough so they did not touch. “They would know when we used the Gate, and I would be thinking about Da and the others waiting for us instead of just feeling you touch me. I couldn’t properly enjoy myself.”

  “I could send an air spirit—” Denoriel began, and then shook his head and laughed.

  “Yes?” Elizabeth laughed too, if a trifle shakily. “And what would you have it say? That my lord and my lady were too busy … ah … futtering to come right now.”

  “I could have found another excuse,” he said, as he swung up onto Miralys and then bent to raise her to the pillion saddle, “but I’m afraid they never would have believed me. Elidir and Mechain have been amusing themselves mightily at my expense … but not when Harry is there.”

  Elizabeth felt heat rush up over her throat and face. “Is Da angry? Is he ashamed of me for … for taking a lover? Does he think I have sinned? But we were together at the ball and he was perfectly happy with me, although he did ask where his little girl had gone.”

  “I’m afraid Harry didn’t … ah … understand at the ball that we were lovers. He was too taken up with Rhoslyn, trying to make her comfortable in the Bright Court ambience. It was only after you were at Court, when I was bemoaning my miserably chaste and bereft state that he realized …”

  “What shall I do?” Elizabeth cried.

  “Nothing,” Denno said, turning in the saddle to look at her. “Just be what you have always been to him, his beloved little sister. He isn’t angry or ashamed, not really. He … he is afraid he will lose you.”

  “Lose me? He cannot lose me. He is my Da, my place to be when everything else is gone.”

  Denoriel uttered a somewhat forced laugh. “Now you are making me jealous.”

  “Do not be ridiculous, Denno,” Elizabeth said sharply. “You are my beating heart, my love, my life. You share my thoughts, my troubles, my joys, and give them all meaning. Da is … is like a dark cave where I can rest when I can endure my struggles with life no more.”

  “I am appeased.” Denno leaned toward her and kissed her briefly. “But do not quarrel with your poor Da if he seems a little stiff with me. He is, I am afraid, a little angry with me for turning his little girl into a grown woman.”

  “I … I think I will just not notice anything. That way there need be no explanations. I know. I will tell him about the Protector watching me and not really wanting Edward to care for me. Perhaps he will be able to suggest how I can appease him.”

  “Very clever, love. Very clever. Harry had plenty of experience of envy and jealousy at Court.”

  While Denno was speaking, Elizabeth had looked around her in surprise. In Logres or Avalon, Miralys seemed to take no more than three or four steps to bring them to Llachar Lle or the Academicia. It seemed to her that Elfhame Elder-Elf must be a very long way from the Gate. But it was not. She could see a number of small houses set
around a pretty valley, just a short walk away. There was of course no sun, but somehow the houses seemed sunlit. And she could see Miralys progressing toward the valley at just about the speed a good horse would make.

  Of course, as soon as Miralys sensed they were ready to join Harry and his friends, they were at Elidir’s small cottage. Elizabeth sighed. It was convenient to have an elvensteed who would take you where you wanted to be almost as soon as you decided you wanted to be there, but it still struck her as making life too easy. If one did not need to struggle for anything, where did one find any spice in one’s life?

  One did not, Elizabeth thought, as she recalled that many of the Sidhe in Elfhame Elder-Elf had been near to drifting off into Dreaming until her clever Da had found something ugly and dangerous for them to do. She giggled and pressed her face into Denno’s back. Of course, there was such a thing as too much spice, like her life too frequently had.

  Still, although Underhill was a wonderful place for a short visit, like being in a pleasant dream, she had no desire to live among its easy ways permanently—aside from the delights of Denno’s bed.

  It did appear to agree with her Da though, Elizabeth thought, when Miralys came to a halt. He looked as young and happy as when he lived in the mortal world, and he jumped to his feet to catch her in his arms as Denno lowered her from Miralys’ saddle. He hugged her hard, then held her away from him for a long moment, searching her face. In the next moment Elizabeth put her arms around his neck and cuddled her head under his chin.

  “You are my Da,” she murmured. “You will always be my Da and nothing can change that … nothing.”

  “Yes,” he said, and hugged her tight again. “You come first, love, because you are my little girl, no matter how grown up you get, you will always be Da’s little girl.”

  “That is my anchor and my safety, to know you are here if I need you.”

  He cast a glance over her head at Denoriel, who had dismounted and was standing near. Obviously, considering Sidhe hearing, Denoriel had been aware of the exchange, but he only smiled. For a moment, Harry looked at him defiantly. Denoriel came forward and put his arms around both of them. Harry stiffened, then relaxed, shrugged, and sighed.