By Slanderous Tongues

by Mercedes Lackey

  For some weeks longer Rhoslyn had needed to be alert to divert the duchess from any new stratagems to make Elizabeth look guilty but now, with Seymour dead, the woman had recognized, if not accepted, defeat. Rhoslyn’s duty with regard to helping Elizabeth was temporarily done. And suddenly she had an urgent need to be with Pasgen, to speak to him of how she had come out of the vale of shadows of guilt. Now was a good time, the best time, to ask for leave. The bad harvests and other economic troubles were the ideal reason for her to need to attend to her brother’s lands.

  The duchess parted with Rosamund Scott readily, scarcely knowing who she was, but Rhoslyn took the precaution of going to take her leave of Mary also before she went Underhill. She was kindly greeted and told that in case of any trouble at Court, she would be more than welcome to return to Mary’s service. She was sorry to see that Mary looked ill and exhausted and as soon as she could get to her in private, she asked Susan Clarencieux what was wrong.

  “She—” Susan whispered, shrugging “—I know it is silly, but she is afraid of her sister.”

  “Afraid of Elizabeth?” Rhoslyn murmured, opening her eyes wide. “But I think Elizabeth loves Mary and always speaks of how kind her sister has been to her.”

  Susan sighed and shook her head. “Oh do not repeat this, I beg you. She thinks that Elizabeth is a witch. She recalls years ago when she swears she saw Elizabeth talking to her dead half brother in the garden at Hampton Court at night.”

  “I remember that.” Rhoslyn widened her eyes again. “I remember that we all tried to convince her it was not so. And she is so short of sight …”

  “Yes.” Susan sighed again. “She is also distressed by the Act of Uniformity, which forbids the Mass she loves. She believes that if anything happens to the king, she will not survive him by so much as a week, that the reformists will have her killed and set Elizabeth on the throne.”

  “Oh no,” Rhoslyn whispered. “Elizabeth is little more than a child and to tell the truth, I do not think that Elizabeth cares that much about the new extreme form of the service. After what has happened with Seymour, she simply does whatever the Council orders.”

  She fixed that idea firmly into Susan’s mind and hoped it would be transferred to Mary but she did not really care. She wanted urgently to be Underhill and refused Lady Mary’s offer of a few days lodging so she could rest and set out for London that very afternoon. There she dismissed the hired coach, paid her maid for a month and sent the girl home to wait for her, and Gated to the Elves’ Faire.

  For a little time Rhoslyn wandered the Faire just enjoying the ambience and absorbing the flow of power. Only as it flowed in to her did she realize that although she did very little magic in the mortal world she had been greatly depleted. Soon, however, she began to wonder where to go next.

  Home, was her first thought, but she froze where she stood, causing someone to bump her from behind. She thought of her own domain and swallowed hard. It was no longer home. Too much of it had been designed with Llanelli’s help and to Llanelli’s taste. The reminders would be too acute.

  She began to walk again, found an inn, found a table, and sat, swallowing panic. She had nowhere to go, she thought, shivering. After a while she told herself firmly not to be a fool. She could go to Pasgen’s domain. Tears stung her eyes; it was so comfortless and cold. She could not stay there if he was not there, his presence subtly warm and reassuring despite the rigid, frigid setting.

  Well, there was the empty house. Rhoslyn thought that over, remembering Llanelli’s fear, remembering Vidal’s invasion of the place. Yes, she could wait for Pasgen there but she could not live in the empty house. It was designed to be empty, a place only to take and transmit messages. Rhoslyn drew a deep breath. What a fool she was. There might be a message from Pasgen for her.

  Going to the empty house was a wise decision. Not only was there a message from Pasgen telling her the best way to reach him was through Gaenor in Elfhame Elder-Elf but there was a sheaf of messages from Harry FitzRoy.

  Rhoslyn smiled and arranged them in order. The first was very ordinary, simply asking her whether she would be willing to attend a private ball to be given by a friend with him. He would come to fetch her on Lady Aeron when and where she set. The second said only that he was sorry she did not wish to attend the ball with him; he was sorry, too, if he had offended her by asking for a private meeting. Would she be willing to meet him, as they had in the past, in the Inn of Kindly Laughter?

  There was a longer period between that message and the following one. This asked whether he had somehow angered her and how he could amend his offense. Another long stretch and then a note saying he was very sorry if he seemed to be invading her privacy but he was frightened. He had looked for her in the empty house and the servants there had told him it was a very long time since they had seen her. Please, he begged, send him a message, even if it is only to tell him to cease from pursuing her.

  Rhoslyn suddenly felt very much better. She had a vivid image of Harry FitzRoy. Compared to elven men he was not at all handsome. Plain fine brown hair, soft brown eyes, an undistinguished nose, little stubby round ears … but his smile, ah, that was different. He had the sweetest smile, the merriest laugh, with no cruel or bitter undertones, and he was brave and kind. She remembered how he had fought them to save Elizabeth and tales Pasgen had told her about his routing out of the evil infesting Alhambra and El Dorado.

  Without delay she dispatched three messages: the first went to Gaenor’s house in Elfhame Elder-Elf in which she told Pasgen she was going to meet Harry at the Inn of Kindly Laughter and that he should try to join them there. If not, she said, she would come to his domain. The second and third messages were dispatched to Mwynwen’s house and to Denoriel’s rooms in Llachar Lle and they were identical, begging Harry’s forgiveness for seeming to ignore him. She had not meant to do that. If he was still willing, she would meet him in the Inn of Kindly Laughter and explain.

  She stayed a while in the empty house, checking on the structure itself and on the servants. She had never had much feeling for the place and it did not affect her as she feared her own domain would affect her. Two of the servants were becoming fragile. Without really thinking about it, she drew in Dark Court power, hating the sour, bitter feel of it.

  Still, she was relieved that she could use it, and redirected the power to the servants, glad to be rid of it. Fleetingly, but with only sadness, not wrenching pain, she thought of the wing that had been added for Llanelli. That was no longer there. She had destroyed it, directing the power that had been used into the rest of the house, after she had destroyed the constructs that served Llanelli.

  Duty done, with a strong lifting of spirits, she set out for the Bazaar of the Bizarre and the Inn of Kindly Laughter. She wondered how long she would have to wait before one of her menfolk … her menfolk? Pasgen possibly was hers, though she would probably get her ears burned off if he heard her say so, but Harry? Harry was Mwynwen’s. He had been hers for many years.

  Rhoslyn paused and cocked her head. Mwynwen was Sidhe. Was it possible that she no longer found the mortal very interesting? Was that why Harry was so eager to find her … as a balm to a wounded heart? But at the ball he had not seemed hurt when Mwynwen left them. Was Harry bored too?

  She began walking again somewhat more quickly. Had Mwynwen cast Harry out? Did he also have no home? Not that he would need a place to live; he could always live with Denoriel, but that was not the same as a home of one’s own. Her steps hesitated as she thought of Harry in her domain and then quickened again. But the man who rose from his chair as she approached the Inn of Kindly Laughter was Pasgen.

  They met with almost identical expressions of anxiety. Both realized it and they both began to laugh. It was an acknowledgment that they could laugh, that they could take each other’s hands, but neither mentioned Llanelli.

  Pasgen directed Rhoslyn back toward the table at which he had been sitting, saying, “I hope you have not summoned me for mo
re business in the mortal world. I have made enough trouble for that Seymour person, so he will be no further danger to your Elizabeth and—”

  “Made enough trouble!” Rhoslyn repeated, stunned. “He is dead. Executed for treason.”

  “Oh, good.” Pasgen lifted a hand to summon a service being. “Then he will certainly no longer be attractive to Elizabeth.”

  “Pasgen!” Rhoslyn exclaimed, exasperated. “Was it you who exposed Seymour’s dealings with Sharington and the pirates?”

  Something striped in bright blue and yellow slithered up to the table and lifted its upper portion enquiringly. Pasgen ordered “the ordinary” and a bottle of blond wine. The creature slithered away. Rhoslyn looked after it, wondering how it would carry the dishes of food and the wine and glasses. Pasgen paid it no more attention.

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “You told me that Vidal had this plan to use Seymour to entrap Elizabeth, so I set up the exposure to remove him. But then he and his wife went to that manor of his in the west, so I let the matter lie. When the wife died, you said he was growing dangerous to the girl again, and besides I knew that Vidal was trying to use him as a tool. I intend to strip Vidal of every tool, so I set the wheels of his exposure rolling again.”

  “And just left them to roll wherever they happened to go? Oh, Pasgen. You very nearly pulled Elizabeth down with that idiot Seymour.”

  He made an irritated gesture. “I thought I knew where the wheels would roll. I do intend to see Elizabeth on the throne because that will best torment Vidal Dhu, but the mortal world is a nuisance. How could I guess she would be involved? I made very sure that she had no connection whatsoever with the pirates or the forgeries at the mint. How did she get dragged into Seymour’s disgrace?”

  Rhoslyn sighed. “Because there were others in high places that were touched with that pitch, they tried instead to convict Seymour of arranging to marry Lady Elizabeth. That, without the consent of king and Council, would be treason and there would be no need to expose crimes in which they could be involved.”

  Pasgen’s golden brows very nearly touched the fringe of golden hair on his forehead. “I had no idea that so many of them were dishonest. Mortals are all mad. How was I supposed to know that? And I cannot for the life of me see how Seymour’s evil intentions could involve Elizabeth anyway.”

  He started to say something more and the food arrived, the tray that carried the dishes supported on several sturdy arms seemingly extruded from the body of the servitor. Pasgen moved the tray to the table and deposited several bright tokens, which he had had the forethought to obtain when he first arrived. He poured wine for them both. Rhoslyn speared a well-browned segment of something from the dish nearest her.

  “Because,” she said, “it is not treason if it is only a thought in a man’s mind. They had to prove that it was a real plan, that he had proposed marriage to her and that she had agreed.”

  Pasgen uttered a disgusted snort and then also began to eat. “But you assured me that she wanted no part of him.” He shook his head. “It does not matter. Since he is dead and Elizabeth is all right—I am sure you would have told me at once if harm had befallen her—I do not see what more there is to say.”

  Rhoslyn just stared at him for a moment and then smiled with exasperated affection. Pasgen was very powerful and willing, even in his way eager, to make sure Elizabeth would be queen of England; nonetheless he still did not understand the mortal world and did not find it interesting enough, because it was devoid of magic, to learn. Perhaps it would be best if she only asked for him to do very specific things, like making Gates.

  “You are quite right, Pasgen,” she said. “One of the reasons I am here is because I think the mortals most opposed to Elizabeth will not trouble her for some time and I have come Underhill to refresh myself … and to think of the future.”

  She stopped speaking and took a sip of wine. Pasgen raised his eyes from his food.

  “I … I think I need to change my domain,” Rhoslyn said.

  There was a silence. Rhoslyn looked away and Pasgen drew a quiet breath, nodded, and said, “It is too much tied to Llanelli. I understand. I will help in any way I can. Where will you go?”

  Rhoslyn poured more wine and sipped it. Her mother’s name no longer buried her in an agony of depression. That Pasgen was able to say it, not easily, but it did not choke him either, made her feel even better.

  “I thought … before I chose an Unformed land that we should both go … to the Bright Court.”

  Another silence in which Pasgen looked down at his hands on the table. Then he said slowly, “That … that might be possible. But I would like to wait a little while.” He sighed. “Where is your Harry FitzRoy? I would like to speak to him. Gaenor told me that he has an interesting project to reclaim two elfhames overrun by evil in which he has involved a number of the Sidhe who were near Dreaming. She thought my skills might be of use to them.”

  “They are all Bright Court?” Rhoslyn asked eagerly.

  “They are all very old. I think Bright Court and Dark were not well distinguished in their youth. But the ones who work with FitzRoy are all awake and alive and I think if they spoke for us their voices would be heard.”

  “I do not know if my message reached him, but I am sure if he does not soon arrive here that he will send another message to the empty house. I can wait there, I suppose.”

  “Good enough. I will wait with you.”

  Rhoslyn smiled gratefully at her brother and both of them addressed themselves to the food and wine. It was a relief to both that they could. At the time of Llanelli’s death neither had much appetite and they could take no comfort in being together. That both continued to eat and drink and occasionally exchanged glances and smiles was an enormous relief, a sign that they had both put aside guilt and were dealing with their grief.

  Pasgen had just pushed aside his nearly empty plate, when a man’s voice said, “Rhoslyn!” and then, “Oh, I beg your pardon. I did not mean to intrude.”

  “Harry!” Rhoslyn said, getting up. “You aren’t intruding at all. This is my brother, Pasgen.”

  “Your brother.” The stricken look on Harry’s face changed to a broad smile. “I am very glad to meet you.”

  Pasgen gestured to another chair and Harry drew it out, waited for Rhoslyn to sit down, and then seated himself while Pasgen said, “And I to meet you. Gaenor told me that I might be of use to you and I wanted to talk to you about the cursed elfhames.”

  “Yes, Alhambra and El Dorado,” Harry said, but he was not looking at Pasgen; he was looking at Rhoslyn.

  Pasgen glanced at Rhoslyn’s face, at the way she was pushing the remnants of her meal around her plate and looking sidelong at Harry. He never used to care much about what Rhoslyn wanted. Maybe, he thought, no one had cared about what Llanelli wanted. Foolish guilt, he thought, but right now he wanted Rhoslyn to be happy. His interest in Harry’s project could wait. He sighed.

  “Unfortunately I cannot stay longer just now. Can we meet somewhere to discuss whether I might be a help against what you are fighting?”

  There was a little silence. Harry was looking at Rhoslyn and Pasgen had to clear his throat before the young man turned to him and said, “Oh yes, of course. Or you could speak to Mechain or Elidir at Elfhame Elder-Elf. Gaenor will know where they live and they will know where I am. I am a little rootless these days. Sometimes Mwynwen asks me to stay, but often I am at Denoriel’s lodging in Llachar Lle.”

  “Until soon, then,” Pasgen said, smiling, and to Rhoslyn “I will check at the empty house for word from you.”

  Rhoslyn stood up as he stood, ready to leave, and stretched a hand to touch his sleeve. “Thank you, Pasgen.”

  Harry had risen when Rhoslyn did. “I was so worried about you,” he said, his voice tight and anxious, not even waiting for Pasgen to step away. “First I thought I had somehow offended you, but when you never sent a word, not even to tell me to leave you alone or mind my own business …” He shoo
k his head and lowered his voice. “I know the Dark Court can be a dangerous place. I was afraid some ill had befallen you.”

  “Some ill did,” Rhoslyn said softly. “My mother killed herself.”

  “Oh Rhoslyn!” Harry breathed, and opened his arms.

  He did not draw her into his embrace, having learned that most Sidhe do not like to be touched, but he made the offer, and she stepped forward and leaned so that her head rested on his shoulder. His arms closed around her. And it felt to both of them like coming home.

  Chapter 37

  Kat’s note to Lord Denno was delivered by Reeve Tolliver on Tuesday afternoon, making an appointment for Thursday after dinner. Elizabeth had nearly asked Kat to invite him to dinner, but then she had grown afraid. What if he was angry? What if he showed it? What if he did not come? What if he did come?

  It would be impossible for her to soothe him in the formal atmosphere of the dining parlor. On the other hand it would be equally impossible for her to see him alone. The maids of honor, who all had experience of Lord Denno’s generosity, were bubbling with excitement. They could not wait to appeal to his good nature for assistance with their wardrobes.

  Thus on Thursday afternoon, Denoriel found Elizabeth seated among her maidens. They all called greetings as he crossed the room—all except Elizabeth. Kat greeted him very kindly, even squeezed his hand, and signaled for one of the footmen to bring a stool like those on which the maidens sat.

  “I am sorry we have been so long parted,” Elizabeth said. Her voice froze in her throat for a moment when she heard the formal tone, and she swallowed hard. “But I am sure you know I have been in some trouble.”

  “Through no fault of her own,” Frances Dodd said.

  “I knew, of course,” Denoriel said. “I came once and was turned away rather harshly by the order of Sir Robert. I did not try to visit again because Sir Anthony Denny … ah … warned me away.”