Underhill, time was of no account at all. As far as she knew they had no way to tell the hours and longer stretches were measured in mortal time. Often that annoyed Elizabeth, who liked the feeling of having accomplished specific tasks according to schedule, but today was different.
After a little doze to recover from the strenuous exercise of lovemaking, Elizabeth bounced out of bed. When Denno only groaned and turned over, she trotted into the adjoining bedchamber and opened the wardrobe. The clothes were all there. She admired the magnificent Court dress with its wide sleeve cuffs of squirrel fur, but she was too full of energy today to move with the studied grace that dress required.
Which then? One of the modest day gowns? Those were best for the market. Or should she put on the long leggings and tunic, most comfortable for sitting astride if one were going adventuring. She remembered how horrified she had been when Tangwystl magicked that type of garment onto her, but she had learned to value the freedom when long, clinging skirts were banished.
A tiny chill touched her and she reached for one of the morning gowns. She did not want to be adventurous today; she wanted to be safe and happy. She would ask Denno to take her to the market—the Bazaar of the Bizarre today; they had the oddest things there—and she would ask Denno to buy her something she could take back to the mortal world to remind her of this day’s joy.
The thought saddened her because it foretold of troubles to come, times when even Denno could not solve her problems because solving them would create worse problems. But not now, she told herself, and ran to wake him so he could make her happy.
He succeeded so well that Denno had to twist time very hard to get Elizabeth back to her bed in Hatfield at dawn in the morning after she left. She lifted the sleep spell she had put on Eleanor and when the girl woke naturally and in turn woke Elizabeth, she came from the bed rosy and smiling.
“What a bad mood I was in yesterday,” she said, as soon as Kat came to break her fast with them. “Poor Lord Denno. I wonder why I bit off his nose that way. Oh well, he is used to me. I know he said once that he could not do without having his blood boiled once or twice a week.”
“He never minded quarreling with you, Elizabeth,” Kat said, frowning. “But I have never seen you turn him away so coldly. He was hurt.”
“I will amend it,” Elizabeth said lightly, thinking she had amended her coldness some four or five times already. “I will write him a note and … and say I am sorry.”
“Well, if that does not amend the hurt, it may not matter,” Margaret Dudley said, laughing. “The shock of seeing you say you are sorry for something might kill the old man.”
“Margaret!” Kat protested.
But Elizabeth only laughed and went to the writing desk to write Denno a note that Tolliver would deliver to the house at Bucklersbury. The note naturally enough brought Denoriel to Hatfield the next day, where his meeting with Elizabeth was much less strained so that Kat sighed with relief and the maids of honor giggled among themselves and planned raids on Lord Denno’s warehouse.
For several days Elizabeth tasted the joys of Underhill as if they were new. She got to wear her grand Court dress at a formal ball given by Lord Ffrancon to welcome and entertain Prince Idres Gawr of Elfhame Cymry. He was a beautiful Sidhe, dark-haired, pale-skinned, with piercing gray eyes rather than green, and the Elven he spoke was more like singing.
He stopped when Elizabeth was presented to him and said, “The red-haired queen. I give you greeting, lady.”
“Your Highness,” Elizabeth breathed, startled by what he had said and with her heart leaping in exultation. “You do me great honor.”
“And you will bring us great joy in the future,” the prince said. Then he nodded, smiled, and gestured as if to dismiss formality. “May I hope you will accompany Lord Denoriel and Lady Aleneil when they come to judge the mortal Tournament?”
“Mortal Tournament,” Elizabeth repeated, paling and casting a reproachful glance at Denno as she thought of the blood and death a tournament of mortals to amuse Sidhe too often meant. “I … I …”
He put out a graceful, long-fingered hand and took hers. “Ah, you fear for your fellow mortals. No, no. We of Cymry value our mortals. There will be no worse hurts than a few bruises from the bouts of wrestling. Swordplay is always with blunted weapons, and our healers are there and ready.”
Elizabeth sank into a Court curtsey. “Then I will come with a very glad heart.”
The prince moved on and Elizabeth looked up at Denoriel. “He said I would be queen … and red-haired. Does that mean soon, Denno?” Her eyes lit, then darkened. Yes, the idea that she would be queen was intoxicating but—what that meant—
Was appalling.
There was only one way she could become queen. Her heart chilled with anticipated sorrow, and the image of a big-eyed child, eyes gone blank and glazed in death, swept across her mind. “Grace of God, Denno, but that means Edward must die and Mary too.” But it was not of Mary that she thought, as she looked up, stricken, into Denoriel’s face, and faltered. “Grace of God—I do not want Edward to die.”
Chapter 38
Elizabeth was enchanted by Elfhame Cymry. It seemed to be a bright, fertile cup guarded round about by towering mountains. To Elizabeth, who had never seen mountains, only the low, rolling hills of Hertfordshire, the view of the gray craggy cliffs crowned by snow-covered peaks was breathtaking.
There was a palace; it seemed to be set up on the side of the tallest mountain, with a pale road winding up from the village in which they had arrived. One could just make out the tower of the keep behind the great walls of gray stone. Elizabeth thought it must imitate the huge castles Edward the First had built in an attempt to suppress Welsh revolutions.
“I hope,” she said to Denno, who was looking about with almost as much surprise as she felt, “that the castle here is warmer and more convenient than the ones in mortal Wales.”
“If it is not,” Denoriel replied, laughing, “I will be sadly disappointed in Prince Idres Gawr. But this does look like a Welsh village … only much larger and neater and cleaner. I think—ah, here are Ilar and Aleneil.”
“Come along. Come along,” Ilar said. “I will show you where the combat will take place and then we can go look at the pavilions set up for displaying the crafts.”
“The items are all mortal-made,” Denoriel said quietly in Elizabeth’s ear, “so if you see something you like and it is for sale, I will buy it for you to take back with you.”
Elizabeth nodded happily; she loved bringing home odd and sometimes valuable items for which she had to find a background. Her explanations of how she obtained them needed considerable inventiveness not to be repetitious and yet to satisfy Kat.
There was another thing about Cymry she noticed. No one looked at her with any special interest. In Avalon and Logres and even more in other elfhames, the Sidhe always looked her over most carefully. Occasionally one would approach Denno to ask if he would be willing to part with her. That always made her a little anxious, not that she thought Denno was likely to trade her for some favor or valuable item but that a quarrel might ensue. The explanation that she did not belong to Denno but was Underhill by the special permission of Queen Titania had always settled the matter, but it still made her uncomfortable.
She realized almost immediately why the Sidhe were not interested in her. Here she was not anything unusual. The village teemed with mortals. Indeed there were comparatively few Sidhe. Elizabeth could pick them out because they usually stood a head taller than the mortals.
There, she thought, I have drawn the notice of at least one. And then realized she was wrong. It was one of the mortals who was staring at her, not a Sidhe, although this mortal was easily as tall as the Sidhe. Elizabeth stepped a little closer to Denno. That mortal was not only staring at her, he looked as if he would like to eat her. But then his face warmed with a broad smile.
Elizabeth’s breath sighed out in relief, and in the next moment she had fo
rgotten him because Denno said, “Look there. Ilar and Aleneil are waving at us.”
“Come along. Come along,” Ilar said. “I will show you around. We still have a little time before Denoriel must get up on the judge’s seat to watch the trials.”
Denoriel sighed and shook his head. “Why in the world did your prince decide that I would make a good judge?”
“It was the mortals. There was some talk among them that Cymry Sidhe would favor the mortals from their own domains and when Idres Gawr thought it over, he felt that perhaps it was not wise that the judges should know the contestants too well.”
“I understand that,” Denoriel said ruefully, “but why me?”
Ilar frowned slightly. “That was partly because one of the mortals—I do not know to whom he is bound, but he is a good healer—raised the point that the Sidhe who judged the events should not only not be from Cymry but should know mortals and their abilities. The rest you can blame on Aleneil. She was complaining to me about how much time you and she had to spend in the mortal world, so I brought that information to Prince Idres Gawr—” Ilar grinned “—and he was suitably grateful.”
Denoriel groaned and looked reproachfully at Aleneil. “How could you!”
She laughed heartily. “I am trapped in my own net. I am judging a host of crafts.”
They parted soon afterward, the judges to their duties and Ilar to his own, which currently was confirming the registration of contestants. Elizabeth wanted to listen to the elven music and Denoriel somewhat reluctantly agreed that she could go with Lady Ilamar, Prince Idres’s sister, if she would wear her shields. Elizabeth promptly called them up and went off to the concert.
This, too, was a contest, unfortunately, and the same piece was presented by several groups and also by individual performers. It was indeed very interesting to hear how different the music sounded, although she knew it was the same. It also took quite a long time to get through each piece.
Elizabeth listened through two sets, but she was starting to get hungry and the novelty of hearing different versions of the same basic music had worn off. When the preparations were being made for a third presentation, with two more to get through, she was ready for something new. If she went to part of the Tournament that was like a fair, she thought, she was sure she could find food and drink as well as something interesting to buy. And Denno had given her plenty of tokens.
She patted the purse tied around her waist under her skirt and asked Lady Ilamar if it would be possible for her to get something to eat and to look at the crafts that were being presented.
Lady Ilamar, accustomed to the short patience and eager appetite of young mortals, smiled and nodded, gesturing to a pair of mortal women who had accompanied her. “Go with Lady Elizabeth to the serving pavilion and then let her look at the fairings.” She looked down at Elizabeth. “Do you need tokens, child?”
Elizabeth shook her head and rose suddenly as she heard the new group begin to tune their instruments. She dropped Lady Ilamar a curtsey and hurried away before they could start to play; the two ladies, startled by her movement, were left behind.
Someone else, another mortal Elizabeth saw, her lips curving in amusement, felt the same as she and was hurrying from the pavilion. The first notes of the new piece sounded, and Elizabeth lost interest in everything but escape. She quickened her pace even more and stepped through the flap of the pavilion. As it fell closed behind her, she felt a violent blow on her back, a blow strong enough to drive her forward several steps to keep from falling down.
“Ow!” she exclaimed, turning as soon as she could to see who had banged into her; but by the time she had caught her balance and looked there was no one there.
It was just as well she had been shielded, she thought, wanting to rub the spot but unable because of the shield. A blow she could feel through the shield that way and that thrust her forward so hard might have hurt her. It was odd that she had not seen anyone, not even anyone running away. But this was Underhill, she reminded herself, and she could not see through illusion here. Likely someone bent on mischief had a Don’t-see-me spell.
Just then the two ladies who were supposed to accompany her came out of the pavilion. “Oh, my lady,” the shorter of the two said, “I am so sorry. Ellis tripped just as you went up the aisle and it took us a moment to catch up.”
Ellis tripped? Elizabeth thought. Of course, Ellis was human, not Sidhe, and might be a bit clumsy, but there was also tanglefoot. Elizabeth renewed the power to her shields and resolved to stay with her companions at all costs.
Vidal looked down incredulously at the blade in his hand. It was bent. His arm throbbed with the shock of the blow he had landed. The little red-haired bitch was shielded and so thoroughly shielded that most of the strength of his blow had reverberated up his own arm. Who would have believed it? He thought his problem was solved when Denoriel had abandoned her to a less careful guardian and that Sidhe had let her go with only two mortal servants.
He slipped around the end of the next pavilion, pulled on the binding he had attached to Albertus, and reappeared in his mortal guise.
“Where is she?” he snarled at Albertus.
“Just ahead with the two women, my lord.”
Vidal slapped Albertus so hard he fell to his knees. “Do not call me ‘my lord’ you fool. Go, follow them. She saw me, I think, but not you.”
Albertus had no trouble following. Elizabeth’s red hair was easy to see and the three women were moving in a leisurely way toward the serving pavilion. When they entered and sat down, Albertus hurried back and told Vidal.
“Good,” Vidal muttered.
He fingered his pouch, then decided against poison. It was too uncertain. He really wanted to see Elizabeth die. She would need to drop the shield in order to eat. He drew Albertus to the side and pressed a thin-bladed poniard into his hand.
“While she is eating, just pass by behind her and slip this knife in. A healer knows best where to put the blade.”
Albertus went wall-eyed with terror. Vidal hissed between his teeth. He could not trust the mortal to do it right, but he could follow concealed by the Don’t-see-me spell and …
Only it was almost immediately apparent that there would be no opportunity to be rid of Elizabeth so simply. The women with Elizabeth were well known and popular and it seemed as if every friend they had rushed over to greet them and to be introduced to Elizabeth.
At least they were talking about what dishes to choose. Vidal waited for Elizabeth to rise. She would have to drop the shield to carry the food, but she continued to sit and talk with those around her. One of the women Ilamar had sent with her went to fetch the food.
Turning away, Vidal tried to work his way to the food counter to try poison after all; he would not care if the others got poisoned too. In fact that would work out well, concealing the fact that Elizabeth was the target. But a tall Sidhe monitor told him he must wait his turn and forced him away toward the end of the line. He almost struck the Sidhe down, but that would have marked him as Sidhe himself, after which he could not have tried to take Elizabeth and blame her death on the mortals.
He gave up and returned to the table at the back where Albertus sat, shaking. The creature was useless, but the group had closed around Elizabeth again and Vidal knew it would be impossible to approach her. Each woman wanted to speak with her or touch her; they stood all around her while she ate, quite close. He would not have cared if Albertus had been caught doing the murder, but there was no chance for striking. Elizabeth’s back was never exposed.
As the women ate, laughing and talking, Vidal put aside his disappointment over not being able to be rid of Elizabeth quickly and easily. Once the meal was over, she would call up the shields again. He would have no trouble stripping those shields away, he thought, but for that he would need time. Vidal began to be pleased again. It would be very amusing to peel off her shields and drink in the powerful energy of her terror as she realized she was being exposed to anything
he wanted to do to her.
He took back the knife he had given Albertus and whispered a new plan. Elizabeth must be led to the end of the area set aside for the Tournament. There were Gates there—Vidal had come through one of them—built specially for the convenience of anyone coming to the Tournament. And those Gates would be destroyed when the Tournament was over, Vidal thought with considerable satisfaction, closing any trail behind him.
The whole party left the serving pavilion together; Vidal was annoyed and was about to set Albertus on them, but the women soon began to separate. Some went back to the stalls at which they were working; others stopped at craft booths while Elizabeth went on, still others continued on while Elizabeth and her companions stopped. Vidal began to follow closer, smiling. They were going straight down one aisle of booths, coming nearer and nearer to one of the Gates, all of which were marked with golden posts and a banner bearing a red dragon.
Almost at the end of the row of booths there was a stall that sold shawls. A hurried instruction to Albertus made him walk quickly ahead to that booth and begin to examine the shawls minutely. For his wife, he said to the woman who worked the booth. His wife loved shawls and would be thrilled if he could bring her a new one. The trouble was that she had so many. Yes, she had one like this, and one that color with a design only very slightly different. Was there something truly unusual?
The woman bent to look through her baskets. Elizabeth came nearer and nearer. Behind her and the two ladies, Vidal strolled along, not close enough make them conscious of him, but close enough with a magic lift to get behind Elizabeth. He knew he could not grasp her, but if he could push her into the Gate he could take her anywhere.
The woman rose, holding out a shawl with a most peculiar design and unusual colors. Albertus knew that if he said his wife had one like that, the woman would know he was just trying to take up her time. He whistled through his teeth and held up the shawl, spreading it out. The movement attracted Elizabeth’s eye.
By Slanderous Tongues Page 59