“We were not allowed to be with Lady Elizabeth either,” Margaret Dudley said. “At least not until Lady Tyrwhitt came.” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “You would not believe what a clumsy cow she was, forever tripping on her own feet and catching her shoes in the rugs so that she almost fell.”
Elizabeth uttered a little gasp and quickly said, “I think perhaps she was aware of being unwelcome—” She saw Denoriel roll his eyes and gasped again, adding hurriedly, “Perhaps that made her awkward.”
“That is enough, girls,” Kat said, aware there was some significance in Elizabeth’s rather desperate remark. “I am certain that we will be meeting Lady Tyrwhitt again if we do go to Court. Remember she was doing what may have been to her an unwelcome duty.”
While Kat spoke, Elizabeth had reached out to the small table near her chair that held a book, some sheets of paper, and a pen and ink. She drew the paper to her, moistened the pen, and biting her lip began to write. Denoriel glanced at her and glanced away. She never liked to be corrected, but this ostentatious withdrawal was too much.
Margaret Dudley sniffed but seemed to take a warning from Elizabeth’s withdrawal and did not make the remark on the tip of her tongue. Instead she smiled and said, “We are greedy little pigs, Lord Denno, and all have hopes of seizing this and that tidbit from your warehouses. I hope the weather has been mild enough that your ships have made safe harbor and carried handsome cargoes.”
“They are greedy little pigs,” Kat agreed. “But I did warn you that we have hopes of Elizabeth’s full restoration to favor by an invitation to spend Christmas at Court. She has had nothing new because we did not attend Court last year and what with the extra charges on the household because of Sir Robert’s presence …”
Denoriel laughed, although he was more disturbed than ever. He had hoped that small break in Elizabeth’s formal facade when Mistress Dudley had betrayed her use of magic to torment Lady Tyrwhitt, would herald an easier manner toward him, but she now seemed to want to ignore him altogether. She did not even seem interested when he began to describe the stock he had on hand. It was so unlike Elizabeth, who loved elaborate clothing, to take no part in the eager talk about gold tissue and silk brocade. Finally he suggested that everyone come to London and let Joseph Clayborne show them what was available.
The maids of honor all squealed with pleasure and bubbled with thanks. Elizabeth said only, “Kat can certainly take the girls into London next week, but I do not know if it would be wise for me to go. Actually, considering my brother’s convictions, I think it best to dress simply and there is little I need. I have prepared a list for you, Lord Denno. Master Clayborne could give what you have to Kat to bring home with her.” And then, her eyes almost black with some emotion he could not read, she rose, handed him the note, and left the room.
“Oh, dear,” Alice Finch sighed. “We have had so few visitors. I hope our chatter was not too much for her.”
“Nonsense,” Eleanor Gage said, “she was strong enough to hunt with the Venetian ambassador only last week, and talked all through dinner and the afternoon with him.”
Denoriel rose and bowed. “I will look forward to seeing all of you next week. You need only send a note to Joseph, Mistress Ashley, and he will make all ready for you on any day that suits you.”
Kat got up too and came to take his hand and walk with him to the door. “Forgive her, Lord Denno. She gets these terrible headaches, sometimes from excitement. Perhaps she will change her mind and come with us to London.”
“Whatever is best for her is best for me,” he said, and walked off toward the stable.
She had not forgiven him, he thought, unconsciously tightening his grip on the note so that the paper crackled. He stopped, about to toss it away, and then realized he would have to provide whatever she asked for so the break between them would not be so visible. He unfolded the paper, hoping the items would not be difficult to ken. The longer he had to work on them, the longer she would be in his mind, and the sharper his pain of loss would be.
“I cannot bear to look at you without touching you,” the note said. “Come to me, my love.”
Denoriel just stared down at it, at first so suffused with joy that he thought he could fly and then moments later almost as furious as he had been joyful. That little red-haired devil! No apology. No explanation. Just “come to me” as if he had nothing else to do in life but attend on her.
The rage faded as swiftly as it had come. After all what else did he have to do? Denoriel continued on his way toward the stable, chuckling softly. Doubt began to creep past his amusement when Miralys had brought him to the sheltered copse where he had hidden the Gate that permitted him to ride to Hatfield like an ordinary visitor. Elizabeth was not given to so open an exposure of her feelings. Could that message be designed to distract him from something else?
Denoriel was still wavering between doubt and desire when he stepped into the Gate he had had Treowth create from Logres to the dressing room in Elizabeth’s apartment. He could now build Gates himself, for he had been industriously studying magic, but he could not take the chance that his less than perfect construction would permit tampering and allow an enemy to reach Elizabeth. Treowth’s Gate would not operate for any person but Denoriel himself.
Doubt was all but dismissed when Elizabeth came rushing from her bedchamber when the Gate opened and flung herself into his arms. “Let us go,” she whispered urgently, letting go of the nightdress she had been clutching around her. “I have put Eleanor asleep and Blanche is watching by the door to say I am abed and keep out any visitors.”
“Where?” he asked with a tinge of bitterness. “Where shall I take you? You told me the last time we went to Llachar Lle that you never wanted to see the place again.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Then I did not. Now I do.” She stood with her arms around his neck looking up into his face and slowly the smile faded from her lips. “Do not be angry with me, Denno. I cannot explain what went wrong between us. When Tyrwhitt was sniffing everything I had done and felt, just as a dog sniffs for other dogs’ leavings, when I was terrified of even thinking about how Tom had touched me, anything to do with coupling became disgusting. And everything that had ever meant pleasure became a danger.”
“Poor love,” Denoriel said, putting an arm around her waist. “I never guessed that. I thought you were angry because I would not extract Kat from the Tower. And I could not, Elizabeth. It would only have convinced the Council that she had made a criminal agreement with Seymour and …”
She rested her head on his shoulder and said softly, “I know that. I am sorry I hurt you, Denno, but even when I had Kat back, for a long time I only wanted to be innocent again. I wished I had never met you, never loved you. I knew too much and it all had become horrible to me.”
He bent his head to kiss her brow. “Well, let us go to Llachar Lle. And if you are not easy there, say so at once. I will find somewhere else … somewhere not for making love. Somewhere where you can feel innocent again.”
“No, I want—” Elizabeth started to say, but the doubt in Denoriel’s voice woke new doubts in Elizabeth.
She had been waiting for him eagerly, actually thinking about taking him into her bed because she was so eager to enjoy his body again. Now she was one moment hot and the next cold. Fortunately Miralys was waiting at the Gate and seemed to arrive at the palace in one bound.
Elizabeth tried not to think at all as they went up the white marble stairs and through the small open door beside the great closed brass doors. Oddly the huge, ornate great corridor made her more comfortable, reviving the familiar feeling of admiration and exasperation Underhill woke in her. And the more ordinary corridor, in which the door to Denno’s rooms were, was as known and welcome as the hallways of Hatfield, as was the illusion of a distant manor house which hid Denno’s door.
She was keenly aware of Denno a few steps behind her, that he was following her in tense expectation that she would turn and reject him,
but Elizabeth did not hesitate. She was warm all through now and she stretched her hand back to him and pulled him with her up the stairs, turning to face him in the bedchamber.
“It’s all right,” she said, pulling his head down so their lips could meet. “It’s all right now.”
Albertus had been given a token that would make any Gate take him to Caer Mordwyn. He sat staring at it now in the darkest corner of what had been the garden of Chenga’s house. The house no longer existed … nor did Chenga. The Sidhe of Elfhame Cymry had dissolved its substance into power and dissipated that power. What they had done to Chenga … Albertus shivered.
That was not important except that he would have to tell Aurilia what had happened and she would have to tell Vidal. Albertus shivered again. Surely she would not make him tell Prince Vidal—that would be his death warrant. Surely he was still of enough value to her … He looked at the token in his hand again. If only he could use a Gate to take him anywhere but Caer Mordwyn. But there was nowhere for him to go, except back to the mortal world and without the gold Aurilia furnished and the lodging in Otstargi’s house, he would barely scrape out an existence in squalor and misery.
Suddenly Albertus rose to his feet. It was not far to the Gate that Vidal had constructed for Chenga and he stepped into it with a kind of desperate courage, knowing that his token would at least bring him into the palace. Aurilia knew he could never have survived making his way from the outer Gates past the monsters that Vidal let roam loose in his domain. He had no shields; he had no weapons; and his body was soft and mortal.
The courage lasted until he came to the door of Aurilia’s apartment. There he hesitated, swamped by an abject impulse to run past and try to seek sanctuary in his own room. But Aurilia’s door opened on its own and her voice, sweet and soft as it always was before she did something truly dreadful, called out to him.
He took a step and then another and then, weeping, fell to his knees. “Chenga is gone,” he whimpered.
Aurilia’s eyes were bright, her hair, piled high on her head in an elaborate creation of curls and thin braids except for a thick fringe across her forehead that hid the scars, was bright gold. She lifted a delicate hand and gestured with a pink-tipped finger. Albertus slid across the floor, shaking with fear.
“What do you mean … gone?” she asked.
“It was not my fault,” Albertus gasped.
“What was not your fault?” The voice was not so sweet.
“Chenga caught a child—it was only a mortal child, but the Cymry Sidhe … they value their mortals.” He covered his face with his hands and wept. “She—she partially skinned it and … and did other things. She used magic to keep it alive and a Sidhe heard it screaming and … and caught her.”
Aurilia’s lips thinned. “Vidal will not be pleased. He had planned for her to start a disturbance in which Elizabeth could be caught.” She sighed. “You said ‘gone’ so I assume you know to where she fled when they drove her out.”
“They didn’t drive her out.” Albertus’ voice was little above a tremulous whisper. “I thought they had little magic, but I was wrong. They have it when they want it, especially when they are angry.” He shuddered and shuddered, clutching his arms around himself. “They did to her everything that she had done to the child, and it healed … and then it happened all over again … and again … and again. She screamed her voice away. And then they said they would take her to a place called Wormgay Hold. They all agreed that she could never get free, that Wormgay would drain all her power from her.”
“Wormgay!” Aurilia sat more upright and her teeth set. “By all the Powers! Vidal could perhaps have brought her out of Cymry, but he will not go to Wormgay. And besides, bearing the wounds you spoke of, something would likely have eaten her by now.”
She gestured and a blow from an unseen force knocked Albertus flat. He lay, sobbing, until several hard kicks forced him upright again. He shrieked as another harder blow knocked him down once more and began to scream for mercy and to try to crawl away from more brutal kicks. Aurilia’s frown lessened and she leaned forward and sucked in his terror and agony. Human misery did provide the best power; she really understood why Chenga had been overwhelmed by temptation.
“It was not my fault,” Albertus yelled. “She always stayed in the house if I was not with her so she would not be tempted.” He got out the words between gasps and groans of pain from the blows rained on him. “How could I guess that a child would come to the door with an announcement about the Great Tournament?”
“Why were you not in the house with Chenga?” Aurilia snarled. She was the one who recommended to Vidal that using Albertus as a human servant would make Chenga look more like the other Sidhe of Cymry and Vidal would blame her for the new damage to his plans. “You were supposed to watch her and see that she did their mortals no harm!”
A new blow, harder than the others, rendered Albertus incapable of responding to the kicks on his sides and belly. A lifted finger suspended the beating momentarily. Aurilia did not want to kill him; she intended to let Vidal do that to assuage his temper. If Albertus died under the punishment she meted out, she would need to break to Vidal the news that his last plan for being rid of Elizabeth had just fallen apart and she would have no scapegoat to hand to him.
Albertus assumed the cessation of blows was to provide him breath to answer. “I had gone to Lady Ilamar’s house to make a potion for calming her—her lover is looking elsewhere—”
Aurilia had forgotten the question. Her mind had been on Vidal and his plans. Suddenly a few of the words Albertus had said developed meaning. She pointed and a violent kick wrenched a new shriek from Albertus and sent him skidding sideways. Her finger lifted again, and Albertus lay gasping.
“The Great Tournament. You said the child came with an announcement about the Great Tournament. I know Vidal had plans for getting Elizabeth to the Great Tournament and dealing with her there. What was the announcement?”
“That it would be held in a mortal week’s time in Elfhame Cymry, that the Sidhe would contribute music and dancing. That the mortals would present all their skills for judgment, all variety of physical combat, cooking, art, needlework and so on, the judgment to be by two High Court Sidhe, Prince Denoriel Siencyn Macreth Silverhair and the FarSeer, Princess Aleneil Arwyddion Ysfael Silverhair.”
“Ah,” Aurilia breathed, her rage suddenly assuaged. “So at least Chenga was successful in convincing someone in Cymry that their Tournament would be accorded a higher place in Sidhe amusements if they themselves were not the judges. Yes, Chenga could be quite cunning and even charming when she did not allow her lust for pain to overpower her common sense.” She nodded slightly. “Come over here.” She grew impatient as Albertus started to crawl painfully toward her, and a force shoved him rapidly to the foot of her chair. “So you did not always stay with Chenga but went out and about among the Cymry Sidhe and their mortals?”
“You did not forbid me,” Albertus whined, crouching in on himself in fearful expectation of being beaten again.
However, no blow fell, and Aurilia stared at him for a little while as if assessing him. Then she asked, “Have you learned Cymry customs? How their mortals behave? Can you explain about these contests?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Her brows went up. “Well then, you might survive telling Vidal what happened to Chenga. I will go so far as to provide you with a shield that will turn away a levin bolt or two. And I will suggest that he not kill you so that you can guide him in Elfhame Cymry.”
“No,” Albertus pleaded, beginning to weep. “No, please.”
A force lifted him to his feet and turned him toward the door, at which point his bowels released and terror deprived him of his senses. When he became aware again, he was lying on the floor once more but in Vidal’s chamber and he could hear Aurilia’s voice.
“What I am trying to tell you, before you turn Albertus into minced meat, is that you can use him so that not all is lost. Chen
ga somehow managed to get the prince of Elfhame Cymry to invite Denoriel and Aleneil to judge their stupid mortal contests. That will almost certainly guarantee that Elizabeth will come to the Tournament and that her two guardians will be thoroughly occupied.”
“And how am I to get invited to the Tournament? Chenga would have arranged that and—”
“My dear prince,” Aurilia said, smiling, “you will go as a mortal. After what Chenga did, I am afraid that anyone not strongly vouched for as a long-time friend will be regarded with suspicion. What is more, Albertus tells me that the Cymry Sidhe have more magic than they show. Who knows whether they can detect Bright Court or Dark. However, there are so many mortals that no one will notice one more. Especially when that extra mortal behaves as if it has always lived in Cymry.”
Vidal’s mouth had opened to make a blistering reply, but he did not speak and now he first stared at Aurilia and then glanced at Albertus, obviously having second thoughts. Those second thoughts seemed satisfactory. A faint smile touched his lips as he said, “You may be right about that, my dear. A strange Sidhe with a Sidhe’s power would be noted, perhaps even watched after Chenga’s stupidity, but a mortal … mortals are harmless.”
“Yes,” Aurilia agreed. “You can be sure that Elizabeth would be careful, likely would flee to one of her protectors if any strange Sidhe approached her, but she would not fear a mortal.”
Elizabeth and Denoriel were a long time about their reconciliation. They made love, dozed, made love again. Denno’s invisible servants brought food, a small table, soft-padded chairs to the bedchamber. They ate, went back to bed. Elizabeth could feel tight bands inside herself unwinding.
She had thought that having Kat back and being assured that she would be received into favor once more had drained away her tension, but life in the mortal world was never like this. There she had lessons, she had the maids of honor to deal with, she always had to watch what she said and how she acted because she knew there were spies for the Council in her household. And everything had to be done with strict attention to the time.
By Slanderous Tongues Page 58