Before she was satisfied, Tangwystl had to work with Elizabeth for two full "days," and it took Denoriel another "day" to teach her several different kinds of physical shields. The child, although delighted with her accomplishments, was too exhausted to be taken back to Hatfield at once. Denoriel fed her and then let her sleep herself out before he opened his Gate, set his mind firmly on sunset on the day they had left, and brought Elizabeth through.
Alana had taken back the thick silk-brocade pouch that her cross had stayed in while she was Underhill, and had told her to leave her lovely gowns behind as well. She was wearing the silk nightdress in which she had left Hatfield and in her ears, hanging from gold wires that Denno said were from the mortal world, were the green-gold amulets. Denno had hunted high and low for those earring wires—or seemed to hunt high and low for them. And while he did, Elizabeth had detached a long ribbon from one of the gowns Lady Alana had left in the wardrobe and used it to tie around her waist beneath the nightdress the beautiful necklace that had adorned her court robe.
Elizabeth had a suspicious mind. Young as she was, she understood quite well that the denizens of a place as rich, and as sparsely populated as Underhill, might not want the wealth displayed there to seem ripe for the picking. Thus, she was not taking as true the reiterated statements that the gold and jewels of Underhill would disappear or become worthless when carried into the mortal world until she tested them for herself. Tangwystl had looked surprised, Elizabeth remembered, when she had said that and when Denoriel agreed.
However, the hope Denno and Alana had lied and the wealth of Underhill could be carried home was doomed to disappointment. As she stepped into her bedchamber from the Gate in Logres, Blanche leapt up from her chair and rushed to embrace her mistress. But a moment after the maid dropped to her knees to hug Elizabeth, there was a wet plop and a mess of slimy, black, stinking material fell on Elizabeth's feet. Blanche backed away with a cry, looking at the small pile of withered, fungus-streaked leaves, rotten acorns, disintegrating mushrooms, and crumbling twigs with horror.
Elizabeth regarded it with equal horror, crying, "My necklace. Oh, my pretty necklace."
"Pretty necklace?" Blanche exclaimed. "Child, what is wrong with you? Why do you think that is a pretty necklace?"
Elizabeth's lips parted to explain, but nothing came out. It was true, too, that she could not speak of Underhill, not even to a person like Blanche who knew of the Fair Folk and their creatures. She was silent another moment, calling memories, glad she could remember. But she was also aware of Blanche's growing distress.
"It isn't a necklace now," Elizabeth said, tears rising to her eyes. "Never mind. I made a mistake . . . a mistake I will never make again." She smiled through the tears. "I am not losing my mind again, Blanche, but I cannot explain. Just clean it up and forget about it."
Behind her, Denoriel turned away, ostensibly to examine the Gate but actually to hide the grin he couldn't completely suppress. Clever, clever Elizabeth. She had been clever enough to doubt the truth of the tale of faery gold, but not quite clever enough to realize that he and Aleneil knew her very well. They knew she would test the statement she did not want to believe and which was, in truth, a lie, so everything Aleneil had created for her was specially spelled to be dependent on the ambience of magic Underhill. Once that magic was gone, it became forest detritus, pulled from the nearest copse in the World Above.
Now that Elizabeth believed she had proved that constructions of magic could not persist in the mortal world, Denoriel hoped the idea would become fixed, an article of faith she did not need to test again, something she knew. When his expression was under control, he came up beside her.
"What a stinking mess," he said. "Too bad. We warned you. But don't cry, love. Lady Alana will try to replace it for you. Now take out your cross again."
"I almost forgot," she said, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, and then ordered, "Blanche, take that mess out to the midden. It smells too bad to be thrown into the waste pot." And when the maid was gone she said to Denoriel, "How will I know what to do if anyone ever asks me to put the cross away again?"
So for all of her disapproval and seeming indifference, she did hope to make other visits Underhill. For Underhill and its wonders or for the sake of the exquisite garments Aleneil had created for her? Denoriel suppressed a smile at Elizabeth's innocent vanity. She did love elaborate clothing and rich jewels. Which reminded him that the amulets Tangwystl had prepared were now being exposed to the full strength of the iron cross. He "felt" for them and sensed the contained spells bound safe inside the protective armor of the invocation . . . at rest, waiting.
"Good, the cross has not affected your earrings, so that's all right. And you are a clever girl to remind me that I might want to ask you to put the cross away again. Well, that is easy enough. We will have a secret cipher between us, as I had with Harry."
"You had a secret cipher with my Da?" Elizabeth's eyes were bright with interest. "Why?"
Denoriel sighed. "For the same reason I need one with you. The same people wanted to steal him away. If you ever doubt me, you can ask, 'Where were you on . . . whatever day I did not visit you . . . ' And I will reply, 'I was down at the docks, looking for my ship, The Nereid.' The key words are 'docks' and the name of the ship. I strongly doubt that anyone else will make that particular reply or know the name of that ship, which no longer exists."
He saw that she was relieved and pleased, too. A child loves secrets and Elizabeth was very good at keeping them—which was fortunate. "Good," she said. "I won't forget."
No, she wouldn't. She didn't seem to forget anything. The thought brought a twinge of worry. Titania said there had been a few tendrils of the dissolution spell left tangled in Elizabeth's Talent. Denoriel didn't believe that Mwynwen could have done that by accident. Titania said the remnants would not have hurt Elizabeth . . . only made some memories fade. Memories of Harry? Maybe Titania should have left those remnants.
But the moment he had the thought, he dismissed it. No, Elizabeth would need her perfect memory. Denoriel smiled at her.
"And you must not forget your lessons either. You must practice both regularly."
She looked suddenly alarmed. "Will you not come to see me to remind me, Denno? There isn't anyone I can practice with, except you."
He took her hand and bent to kiss it. "I will be as frequent a visitor as ever, and it will be very well indeed if you have no one to practice on except me."
Denoriel was not able to keep that promise as fully as he intended because within the month Mistress Champernowne received orders to prepare to join households with Edward again. Kat was not pleased but was not alarmed either. She wrote very firm letters to Sir William Sidney, Edward's chamberlain, and to his steward, Sir John Cornwallis, about the servants they would bring, about separate stabling for Elizabeth's horses, and about how much she was prepared to contribute to the joint household.
Kat knew economy was a real necessity; the royal purse was strained to its limit and beyond, and—as Dunstan put it so bluntly—"Great Harry's by-blows are left sucking hind teat." When money was spent, it was spent in Henry's household first, then that of his son and heir, Edward, and Lady Mary and Lady Elizabeth got what little was left. There was war with Scotland—a lessoning to punish the insult of the Scots' king having failed to keep his agreement to meet Henry in the autumn of 1541. That meant heavy expenses to support and renew the army, which had suffered a defeat at Haddon Rig after Sir Robert Bowes crossed the border at Teviotdale.
Elizabeth's move to join the prince was delayed. Henry had no time to think about his children. Still, news came to Hatfield, via Alana, Denno, and Kat's other visitors, few though they might be given Elizabeth's lessened status.
Putting aside his pique at the duke of Norfolk for his two adulterous nieces, the king had sent his experienced warlord to avenge the losses at Haddon Rig. But Henry was also gathering forces and supplies to join the emperor in a combined attack on France. Thus Norfolk was shorted and could not fulfill the king's order to take Edinburgh. He burnt Roxburg and Kelso, but had to return to England before his soldiers starved.
Nor was that the end of the cost to England, and the cost kept rising. Scotland was building an army for a heavy reprisal. Norfolk did what he could, but without new funds, recruiting more men and the gathering of supplies went slowly. Meanwhile King James's army was ready to avenge Scotland's hurts. The king sent one detachment eastward toward Norfolk while a second, an army of about ten thousand, was sent west under the control of King James's favorite, Oliver Sinclair.
The order to move was delayed again while Henry attended to the war news. The detachment sent east accomplished nothing; Norfolk's force was sufficient to hold off the Scots and send them north again. In the west, Sinclair's force was rent by dissension. The Scottish noblemen were bitterly divided about religion and enraged by being commanded by someone they felt to be unworthy. On 24 November James's unhappy army was confronted by a vastly inferior English force on a marshy ground between the Esk and the Sark called Solway Moss. The Scots utterly disgraced themselves, yielding almost before they fought, and leaving in English hands two earls, five barons, five hundred lairds, and twenty guns—a totally unexpected victory.
In Scotland this was the final blow to King James. Already ill and dispirited, he died on 14 December, leaving the throne to his only living child, a little girl called Mary, who had been born six days earlier on 8 December.
In England the news of the victorious battle was received with considerable enthusiasm; the news of King James's death with doubt because no one could be sure of the character, identity, or intentions of the regency. King Henry, however, was delighted about the baby daughter. He now had a strong hope that he had the means to settle all problems between Scotland and England with the marriage of little Mary to Prince Edward.
Vague rumors of the king's hope filtered from the court to Elizabeth's household, and she was alarmed. She had been looking forward to joining Edward and feared that if the agreement was made, Mary of Scots would be brought to England to live with Edward so they might grow into affection—which would mean that Edward would have someone else there, a baby, in fact, that he could lord it over. Judging by the few boys she knew, she thought that Edward would like that very much, and would lose interest in the older sister who could lord it over him. Not that she ever would.
Well, perhaps a little. But mostly she was afraid that Edward would like a little girl who was going to look up to him and who everyone was urging him to love better than he liked a mere half-sister.
Kat Champernowne laughed at her and called her a jealous little cat, pointing out that Mary was only a few months old and would be no rival for Edward's affection for many years.
Denno was no more sympathetic to her anxiety. He was quite certain her fears would not be realized, but to her he said it served her right to worry. Was she not heartless about his loss and loneliness when she went to her brother and he could no longer see her as often? Whereupon she bestowed on him a rare kiss on the cheek and warm assurances that she would ride out very often so they could be together.
Despite Elizabeth's fears, the negotiations with the Scots had no effect on domestic arrangements. Because of past experience and clear statement of expectations, the households of Edward and Elizabeth were smoothly combined in the spring of 1443. The children came together with heartfelt delight. Edward had other companions, but none with Elizabeth's combination of motherly affection and a mind as quick as his own.
Elizabeth had the best situation possible. She was truly fond of her little brother and he of her and since, at five, he was still too young to ride out as she did, she was able to meet her Denno three or four times a week. Her grooms and her guards were well accustomed to meeting Lord Denno on the way to wherever they were going.
If any of them wondered how he knew where to meet them no matter which direction they set out, none asked. Elizabeth, of course, had no need to wonder. She saw the pretty little air spirit that was always somewhere near her disappear and knew it had gone to fetch Denno. She never said anything . . . and could not have said anything even if she had wanted to do so.
There was no need for excuses. The men assumed Elizabeth or Mistress Champernowne had managed to send Lord Denno a message, and there was always a handsome pourboire for them when they all parted company again. In that mysterious way servants know their employer's business, they understood that the meetings were not something to be mentioned to anyone but Dunstan. The tips were very welcome indeed because the regular allowance for salaries and living expenses was often not only late but reduced when it did arrive.
When allowances were very late or very reduced, Elizabeth's household did not suffer for long. Gold slipped from Denoriel's hand to Kat's. She protested that she "should not"; that she should manage to live on the allowance made to Elizabeth as Edward was forced to do. Denoriel laughed and told her that he was profiting so much from the business generated by the Scottish war and the proposed war with France that he could well afford to be sure that his dearling Elizabeth lacked for nothing. "And besides," he would add, "it is my duty." And since he did not specify why it was his duty, nor exactly what made it his duty, what could Mistress Champernowne say but to agree?
The lessened demands on the joint household put Sir William and Sir John in total charity with Mistress Champernowne. Elizabeth's visits to Edward were not restricted to formal half hours. The children shared tutors and even some lessons, because the young prince was extremely precocious and of so serious a disposition that study was dearer to him than play. In fact with Elizabeth to share the lessons, they were often much like play, the two children conversing in Latin and giggling together when they translated ordinary things, like "Have another scone" into exotic Greek. Both loved learning and they sparked each other's efforts.
Indeed it was often with laggardly protests that Edward was torn from his books to more active sports. Elizabeth was less reluctant to leave their studies, which surprised some of the older boys a little because she said she would go do her needlework. Ladies liked needlework but most girls moaned and groaned about it. However, when challenged, Elizabeth actually brought forth a beautifully embroidered book cover, which she presented to Edward.
Elizabeth had learned early never to make an excuse she could not support with evidence. In fact she was growing into a competent needlewoman, but not because she practiced it in the afternoons. Once she was in her own apartments, the boys, who were not allowed to intrude into her female privacy, could know nothing of what she did—so she met Denno.
Needlework was for evenings by the fireside, or days when the weather was too foul to ride. And she did love doing it; her heart rejoiced in the rich silks, the vivid wools, the precious metal threads that she couched down upon velvet or satin, the tiny gemstone beads, the minuscule seed-pearls. If her household could not afford the gowns that she wore Underhill, at least she could have some of that same color and sparkle in her hands when she worked her needle, and feel the heavy softness of the fine materials.
In the afternoons, when Edward went with his male companions to play at bowls or tennis or to practice with his little sword, Elizabeth hurried into her riding dress and out through a back exit to the stables. Concealed by the bulk of the palace from the inner court where Edward took his exercise, Elizabeth, her two grooms, and two guardsmen rode out into the wooded park. Around the first sharp curve in the road or a little way into a sheltered side path, Lord Denno would be waiting.
Pasgen had made his peace with Vidal and even gained Aurelia's favor by finding a mortal physician who could deal with Aurelia's headaches. His potions were sometimes ill-tasting, but they worked and did not leave him moaning and complaining or totally unconscious and forever trying to conceal himself from her summons.
Albertus came into her presence eagerly. He was not only a very good physician but a willing immigrant Underhill. An old man who left no close family behind, he had been easily seduced by Pasgen's promise of greatly prolonged life and luxurious living conditions. Because he was not a prisoner unwillingly bound but a willing recruit delighted with his change of status and condition, Aurelia knew she could trust him.
That matter settled to Vidal's and Aurelia's complete satisfaction, Pasgen retreated to his own studies. However, as Vidal's and Aurelia's strength returned, so did Pasgen's caution. Now he set watchers on a number of the lesser creatures of the Unseleighe Court that he knew attended Vidal's convocations regularly.
Thus, even though Vidal did not summon him, Pasgen knew when courts were held and was able to send several of his hulking guards—enhanced to be able to repeat everything they heard—to each meeting. He was still annoyed with himself for telling Vidal to deal with Elizabeth himself. He knew quite well that whatever damage Vidal did would be done disguised as Pasgen.
However, Vidal did nothing. He seemed again to have forgotten Elizabeth's existence. Pasgen was not surprised, for everything was going Vidal's way. The war with the Scots was furnishing misery piled on misery so there was power aplenty for the dark Sidhe. And battlefields were ideal places for witches and boggles and ogres and the other denizens of the Unseleighe Court to amuse themselves. For the Unseleighe, the mortal world was perfect just as it was; none wished to make any changes.
So Pasgen saved a corner of his mind for attending to Vidal's amusements and future plans and gave all the rest to his researches.
Rhoslyn was unable to dismiss the problem of Elizabeth so easily. She was unhappily aware that Pasgen had once tried to kill the child on Vidal's order. And she suspected that to ensure his own peace he would do so again to pacify the prince.
Somehow Rhoslyn had to prevent him, not so much to save the child—although the thought of hurting a child made her sick—but because she knew she could never feel the same about Pasgen if he did. And without Pasgen, Rhoslyn did not think she could go on living surrounded by the ugliness of the beings and spirit of Vidal's domain.
Just now Vidal was letting the matter of Elizabeth slide. Rhoslyn realized that as long as hate and pain and misery were pouring energy into Vidal's pools of power he would not think ahead. He was, thank the Goddess of whom her mother spoke, not a long-sighted person. But as soon as his court began to murmur or he himself was pinched for power, he would be reminded of the reign his FarSeers predicted where misery was in short supply.
Vidal would then begin to prod Pasgen who might easily reach out and destroy Elizabeth with the same absent ferocity with which he would squash a buzzing, stinging insect. Rhoslyn shuddered. She could not let that happen. She must not lose her brother because he did not wish to be annoyed by Vidal. But what could she do? Alone she was not strong enough to confront Vidal and the FarSeers still saw one future where Elizabeth ruled.
For a moment a vision of those golden years—the music, the art, the poetry—rose up like a promised land. Rhoslyn thrust the images away. It was not promised for her and the only way she knew to save Elizabeth was to eliminate the possibility that she would come to the throne. And that could be done. If Elizabeth was deemed unfit and she was removed from the succession, the FarSeers' images of that brilliant reign would disappear and Vidal would forget the child for good.
Rhoslyn did not for a moment pretend that she could induce Vidal to agree to allow her to deal with Elizabeth. He knew and despised her softness toward mortal children. In fact, to mention Elizabeth to Vidal would almost certainly stimulate him to prod Pasgen to murder or to take action himself. Aurelia, however, was both more afraid to take any action that would bring Oberon's attention to her and more prone to subtle devices that subverted the spirit of the High King's intentions. Aurelia would gladly divert Vidal from attacking Elizabeth if she believed that Rhoslyn would prevent Elizabeth from coming to the throne.
Rhoslyn beckoned to Cannaid of the white ribbon and started toward her mother's apartment, the construct like a shadow behind her. Rhoslyn had found it was necessary to tell Llanelli when she would be away for some days—and to warn the maids to watch her with greater care. Llanelli became irresponsible and forgot all her promises when she felt deserted.
As she approached Llanelli's door, she heard music—the maids were playing for her mother. Rhoslyn again had to suppress the vision of laughing, singing Sidhe and mortals. Llanelli's tales when she and Pasgen were children of a better, brighter place had lingered in Rhoslyn's mind. As she suppressed them again, the vision of joy was overlaid by what passed for dancing and laughter in Vidal's domain—the capering of ogres and boggles and witches around one or more mortals screaming in fear and agony as they were poked and prodded by sharp, envenomed sticks, blazing torches, dull swords, and other instruments. And that was the least subtle of the entertainments. At his most powerful, Vidal had been a past master of the most delicate and prolonged of miseries and despairs.
She shook her head sharply, bade Cannaid to stay outside, and entered Llanelli's apartment.
Llanelli listened to Rhoslyn's statement that she would be away for a while and then asked, "Where are you going? What shall I tell Pasgen, if he asks?"
"That I went to some Unformed land. It is impossible to tell one from another."
"No." Llanelli shook her head. "You are lying, Rhoslyn, and you cannot lie to me. I know how you look when you are going to make things. There is a deep joy in you. Now—"
"Mother," Rhoslyn interrupted, knowing that if she did not cut this conversation short, Llanelli would pester something out of her. Mothers were like that. They knew exactly what strings to pull to make you dance, because they had attached those strings in the first place. "Never mind where I am going. No matter where it is, I will be quite safe. I have Cannaid with me and my lindys and Pasgen has his. If I get into any trouble, he will know it and come to help me."
The fragile liosalfar woman shook her head and her gossamer hair floated around her. She caught at Rhoslyn's hands, whispering, "And be caught in the trouble himself. Don't child. Don't. You are going to do something dangerous, I know it."
Rhoslyn sighed. No matter what she said, her mother would act the same. "Yes, but not dangerous to me, Mother. It is a mortal child I fear for, not myself."
"Not worth it. Do not trouble. They are like glow worms, briefly alight and then dead."
"Perhaps, but they live with rare intensity while they live," Rhoslyn said, a little wistfully, "And this one is more alive than most. I will save her if I can. Let me go, Mother."
Whereupon Rhoslyn gently detached her hands from her mother's grip, nodded to the servant girls, who closed around Llanelli, and went out. With suitable detours to prevent anyone from finding her domain, she Gated to the empty house, where she collected Talog. Mounted with Cannaid behind her, she Gated to the Goblin Fair and from one of the other Gates in the market to Caer Mordwyn.
On this day when no court had been called, the great doors were closed and at the top of the black marble steps, two slavering ogres were closely chained. The creatures could not attack anyone who stood clear, but their arms were long enough to seize whatever or whoever tried to get through the doors. Cannaid slid down off Talog, but Rhoslyn shook her head and the construct simply stood and waited.
Rhoslyn whistled for the newt-grooms and dismounted. At the foot of the black marble stair she stopped and studied the ogres. Then she climbed the stair, said a single word, which froze the ogres into horrific sculptures for a few moments and another that made the doors swing open. As she and Cannaid stepped through, a bell clanged insistently. Rhoslyn gestured and the doors closed.
Beside the closed doors of the throne room, a hunched form stirred, rose, and came toward her. A dark Sidhe in the black and silver livery Vidal aped from Oberon's servants but with the loose lips and blank face of an oleander eater came forward. Rhoslyn asked whether Princess Aurelia was within. He turned his glazed eyes on her and nodded.
Rhoslyn waited a moment and then snapped, "Do you wish to announce me or shall I go myself?"
The dark Sidhe smiled, showing a great many pointed teeth. "Where then is Pasgen? How does it come that you do not have your powerful brother along to protect you?"
"Because I don't need him to protect me," Rhoslyn said, as Cannaid stepped smoothly from behind her.
The spider-leg fingers of one hand circled the Sidhe's neck. The other hand seized his arm. He screamed as the fingers sliced through his silk sleeve and blood began to stain it. The grip did not tighten further.
"Now we will try again," Rhoslyn said. "Will you announce me to Princess Aurelia? Cannaid can remove your head without the slightest difficulty. Or your arm. Or both."
Hissing words flowed from the Sidhe's mouth. Rhoslyn blinked. Cannaid laughed and said, "If you do that again, I will grab you somewhere infinitely more tender," and released the Sidhe's arm to make a feint at his crotch.
The dark Sidhe tore himself from the construct's grip—not realizing that if it had not let him go its fingers would have sliced through his neck. As it was, he found Cannaid right alongside him, her pursed lips now spread to show teeth longer and more sharply pointed than his own. Without more ado, he passed through the red and gold corridor and mounted a flight of black marble steps.
Rhoslyn followed, glancing once toward the end of the hallway where Pasgen's room had been when he was managing Vidal's Unseleighe Court. Rhoslyn sighed briefly. She had enjoyed those months; they had been, briefly, without fear.
To the left was an oversized door, mercifully closed, that she knew led to Vidal's apartment. She lifted a hand slightly. Cannaid closed in on the dark Sidhe, but he turned right, and Rhoslyn dropped her hand. The Sidhe whispered at a golden mesh set in the door. A moment later, the door swung open. Cannaid stepped in, stepped sideways, and flattened against the wall; Rhoslyn walked straight in. The door closed.
Aurelia reclined on a Roman couch, one hand outstretched toward a small table on which stood a blue glass full of a cloudy liquid. She stared blankly for a moment at Rhoslyn and then said, "Why, Rhoslyn; what a surprise."
As she spoke, her green eyes brightened and she looked around the room, Rhoslyn thought for Pasgen. In general Aurelia looked better than she had for some time. The cream and peaches of her skin owed more to nature and less to art, and the pain lines around her eyes and mouth were less distinct. She now wore her hair down over her forehead in a long fringe to hide the still-visible scars the necklace of crosses had left, but the gold of her hair was more vibrant. Sure that Rhoslyn was alone, except for her construct, Aurelia laughed lightly.
"Your construct doesn't look very sturdy. I've heard you are a great builder and maker, but if that is an example of the best you can do . . . Or is this a case of the shoemaker's children going barefoot?"
"Cannaid serves my purposes very well," Rhoslyn said, "and is capable of much more than is apparent."
"You name them?"
"They are all different. Names make it easier for me to give orders to the one I want."
"I suppose," Aurelia said, obviously losing interest. She lifted the glass from the table and took a sip. "I also suppose that you had a purpose for coming here?"
Rhoslyn took no offense, though offense was intended. Taking affront would not serve her own purposes. "Yes, indeed, Princess. Do you remember when my brother and Prince Vidal argued about Lady Elizabeth?"
"Yes," Aurelia answered, too quickly.
Rhoslyn thought it likely that the princess often did not remember things and hesitated to search her memory only to find nothing. She spoke quickly to divert Aurelia's thought. She needed the princess in a good mood.
"Pasgen told me that Prince Vidal wished to take Elizabeth's fate into his own hands," Rhoslyn continued, watching Aurelia for any signs of recognition. "Is that true?"
Now Aurelia did remember; Rhoslyn saw the slight relaxation that betokened relief. "Vidal had good reason. Pasgen was told that Elizabeth must die and he failed more than once to do his duty."
Although Rhoslyn frowned slightly as though she disapproved of Pasgen's failure, within her, her heart leapt with joy. Pasgen simply did not fail in what he attempted . . . unless he wished to fail.
She shrugged. "Likely because of the need to keep all hint of magic secret. When Oberon hears that the child is dead, he will be furious, and he will winnow the Unseleighe kingdom for any sign, no matter how small or insignificant, that we were involved. His commands were clear. None of the king's family were to be touched by any magic. Ever."
Aurelia bit her lip. Likely she had forgotten Oberon's command. "Oberon does not rule the dark Sidhe," she said pettishly.
Rhoslyn shuddered deliberately. "Oberon rules Underhill. He does not usually interfere with the dark Sidhe, but if it was his will, he could unmake . . . everything. Oberon is not Sidhe. In the days of the ancients, he was more. He was worshiped as a god. It is not safe, it is not sane, to confront Oberon. He might remember what he was—and deal with the Unseleighe accordingly."
Aurelia frowned. "Are you saying you think Vidal is stupid enough to get caught openly attacking Elizabeth?"
"I am saying that even if Vidal, even if no Sidhe, had any part in the death of one of Henry's children, that Oberon would seek, and seek, and seek, until every creature's mind was naked to him." Rhoslyn stared into Aurelia's eyes, trying to drive the very words into her brain. "The thought freezes me with horror, and I swear I have done nothing to which the High King could object. The fate of those who have transgressed—I do not wish to imagine it."
"Then what are we to do?" Aurelia replied, but although she tried to sound angry, there was a note of fear behind her words. "Wait until she rules and we starve?"
"No." Rhoslyn continued to stare. "We make sure she does not come to reign without harming a hair on her head or touching her with a spell."
Aurelia took another sip from the glass of cloudy liquid she had been holding, then put it back on the table. Slowly she shook her head. "You are trying to save the child. Vidal always said you were too fond of mortal children."
"I am fond of mortal children," Rhoslyn admitted, "and I will be glad to see Elizabeth live a long and happy life, so long as she is not queen. But I am not doing this for Elizabeth. I am more fond of my brother. I am quite certain that Prince Vidal . . . whatever he does, he will do it disguised as Pasgen."
Aurelia sniffed. "No. Do not be ridiculous."
Rhoslyn disregarded the protest and went on, "But I will not permit that to happen. I will tell you now that I have laid an information . . . more than one, actually . . . with different beings that have easy access to the Seleighe domain. That information will be delivered to King Oberon if blame falls on my brother."
The Unseleighe sat straight up, her eyes blazing with anger. "Stupid bitch!"
Aurelia lifted a hand, but spells did not come as easily to her as they once had and Cannaid had more than enough time to leap away from the wall and place itself before Rhoslyn. Aurelia gestured and spoke and almost instantly shrieked in pain as her spell bounced off the construct and backlashed at her. She seized the glass from the table in both shaking hands and drank until it was empty.
Cannaid stood ready to defend or attack, but Aurelia did not attempt another spell. Her face was briefly distorted, but with pain, not rage, and very soon the expression smoothed. After another moment her eyes studied Cannaid and Rhoslyn behind her with a vague puzzlement that slowly grew into recognition. Rhoslyn touched Cannaid's arm and she stepped aside. Aurelia frowned but real anger was absent.
"Please, Princess," Rhoslyn said in a placatory voice. "I am sure that I can arrange that Elizabeth so besmirch her reputation that her father will strike her out of the succession. That will serve our purpose just as well as her death. No magic at all will be involved, and Oberon will not care a bit."
Aurelia glared at her suspiciously. "How will you do that? And how long will it take?"
"It will not be so quick as killing—it may take even a few mortal years, but what is that to us? King Henry is still alive and like to live a while. Prince Edward seems strong. He will inherit from his father, and his reign will suit the Unseleighe well enough. And if Edward should die . . . well, so much the better. Then Mary will be queen, which is what we want most. And in Mary's reign, even if I have not managed to have Elizabeth removed from the succession . . . the girl will die. At Mary's hand, not ours. So we will have lost nothing."
"How can you be so sure that Mary will wish to be rid of Elizabeth?" Aurelia's voice was no longer vague; she sounded intrigued.
"Because as Rosamund Scot, I am one of Lady Mary's dearest friends. I will make sure that Mary comes to believe Elizabeth is a heretic of the blackest sort, the spawn of Satan, the very anti-Christ—and to Mary, her religion is everything. She is much older than Elizabeth and not in perfect health. For fear that Elizabeth will follow her and bring in the new religion, Mary will find some reason to have her executed."
For a long moment Aurelia looked at her almost without expression. Then she blinked and said, "So what has all this to do with me?"
"You are the only one who has sufficient influence on Prince Vidal to keep him from attacking Elizabeth and bringing Oberon's wrath upon us. If you will divert Prince Vidal and give me time, I will make Lady Mary into Elizabeth's most mortal and deadliest enemy."
"Vidal is not the most patient of beings," Aurelia said, for the first time, with a note of doubt in her voice.
Rhoslyn sighed. "I will do what I can so that he will know an effort is being made. I will place such temptation in Elizabeth's way that she cannot resist. Her father will say she is her mother's daughter, call her whore, and strike her name from those who may inherit the throne." Her lips twisted a little in distaste. "Once she becomes old enough to be a woman, it will take very little to make her blood run hot. The young of the mortal kind see only the glitter of the temptation, and do not think far enough ahead to see the consequences—and this one has inherited hot blood from her dam and her sire. Be she never so cautious, when I am done dangling the bait before her, she will take it, and never feel the hook."