Not so far distant in the park, Elizabeth tensed in her saddle and drew rein. She was not certain what was bothering her. She thought she had heard a faint cry, but it was not repeated. A glance around told her that the air spirit had not followed her and had obeyed her command to stay at the stable, but yet . . . She could not feel it!
Well, but they were much farther apart now than she usually was when she felt for the creature.
No. No, that was not right; it didn't feel right. There was something wrong.
Shaylor, becoming aware of the absence of the sound of hooves behind him, turned his horse and came back. Nyle and Tolliver closed in from behind.
"My lady?" Shaylor asked.
"I don't know," she said fretfully. "I don't know—"
But before the last word was clear of her lips, she felt a terrible wrenching and a tremendous pressure on her throat and breast. Crying aloud, she pulled her mare's head around, kicked her, and struck her with her little whip, starting the horse in a leap back to the stable. Blanche! Something was terribly wrong with Blanche!
Blanche was in trouble. Blanche was in danger!
The thrust that had sent Ladbroke sprawling struck the maid with such force that she staggered back before Stover could grab her. Instinctively she reached for the necklace of crosses and gripped one, trying to pull it loose. She had it in her hand, but Stover was on her before she could try to sense the Sidhe who was directing him. He struck her a backhanded blow with his fist and she staggered back with the force of it, out into the stable yard where she tripped on her skirt and went down on her back.
Aurelia followed, giggling and licking her lips. Her hand was raised to fling a death spell at Ladbroke if he interfered again, but she was so entranced by Blanche's growing fear that she found it harder and harder to pay heed to anything else. The maid was not yet frightened enough to exude much life force, but the energy that came from her pain was so sweet, so intoxicating, that Aurelia was drawn closer and closer, her attention riveted.
Stover blundered after Blanche, red-faced and growling like a beast. This time when he caught her, he seized her by the arm and hauled her up, wrenching the limb as if he intended to tear it off. Blanche screamed with the pain, struck at him with her other fist, and tried to kick him. She was hampered by her long, full skirt, but the toe of her shoe did catch him on the shin, which hurt enough to make him roar again and batter her with his free fist.
Ladbroke scrambled to his feet, and rushed at Stover, unconsciously swerving slightly to detour around Aurelia. He barreled into Stover with his shoulder, but the man was heavier, and already braced against Blanche's struggles. Ladbroke literally bounced off him, then came around swinging and hit him hard on the side of the head. When that had no effect, Ladbroke seized Stover's arm and tried to pull Blanche free.
He might as well have tried to pull the castle wall apart with his bare hands.
When he could not break the groom's grip, Ladbroke battered at his thick body with both fists, but Stover ignored it all. He gave Blanche another backhanded blow that she managed to fend off with her free arm and then pulled her close, baring his teeth as if he intended to tear at her with them.
Aurelia's eyes had been glazing with pleasure, but she snarled at Ladbroke's interference and again raised her hand to cast a spell at him.
The pounding of hooves in the distance told Rhoslyn that the plan had miscarried. If it wasn't to turn into a disaster, she would have to get Aurelia away—now!
Rhoslyn seized her arm and shook the Unseleighe sorceress, hissing urgently at her, "Elizabeth is coming back! We are undone! Give over, curse you! She will see us—come away now."
Stover now seemed to notice Ladbroke's attack. He flung Blanche to the ground so hard that the maid gasped as all breath was knocked from her. Drawing his big knife from his belt, he slashed at Ladbroke.
Ladbroke saw the danger in time to jump aside.
But the moment Ladbroke was out of range, Stover lost interest in him. He whirled on the half-stunned Blanche, and lunged at her, his knife stabbing down at her.
Though winded, she managed to roll aside so that he just missed her.
Ladbroke again launched himself at the bespelled groom and knocked him sideways so that his next thrust at Blanche also missed. The two men rolled on the ground, grappling, Ladbroke struggling to hold off the larger and heavier man's knife hand, Stover fixated on getting back to Blanche. All that was saving Ladbroke was that he was only something in the way.
Aurelia had wrenched herself free of Rhoslyn and again hovered on the edge of the battle between the two mortals, hissing and moaning with satisfaction. She was like one drugged now, and nothing mattered but the intoxication. She was far too entranced with the power of hate and fear and pain pouring out of the three to hear the sound of the thudding hooves, too involved with her own voluptuous pleasure to hear Elizabeth's voice, high and childish with terror, shriek, "There, Blanche, there! In front of the yew hedge beside you!"
Battered and bruised though she was, Blanche forced herself upright and threw the cross in her hand at what she hoped was man-height toward the opening of the yew hedge. It would never have hit anything, if Aurelia had not been so very close to her, bending forward the better to suck in what flowed out of Blanche and the nearby men locked in combat.
There was a loud scream and Aurelia became visible to all, her hands to her head where the broken link that had held the cross to the necklace had caught in her hair so that the cross dangled over her forehead. She shrieked and gibbered, batting at the cross, making abortive attempts to tear the torment off her head.
But every time her hand touched the metal it burned like a white-hot poker. The pain was so intense she could not grip the iron. She was losing herself in the agony. Aurelia began to sink down on the ground, howling, angry red blotches and blisters appearing on her forehead.
Although no one else noticed, Elizabeth perceived a woman (who was hard to see clearly) rush forward and catch the one who was falling. An expression of horror crossed the face of the one coming to help, and she swatted at the cross tangled in the fainting woman's hair. She pulled her hand back as if it had been hurt, but then she tried again, and this time she slapped the iron cross out of the other's hair to the ground, crying out involuntarily with pain when she touched it.
Even as the cross hit the ground, Stover threw Ladbroke over and was atop him, banging his head against the ground. As Ladbroke's grip on Stover's knife hand loosened, Stover wrenched free and raised the knife. However, his head was still turned toward Blanche and before he struck, he saw her trying to get to her feet. Slamming a last blow into Ladbroke, Stover raised himself into a crouch and prepared to launch himself at Blanche.
The guardsmen and Tolliver were just entering the stable yard. All of them shouted aloud when they saw the blood, Ladbroke and Stover struggling, Blanche sprawled on the ground, trying to get up amid a tangle of skirts, and the upraised knife in Stover's hand.
They scrambled off their horses, but Elizabeth could see they would never reach Blanche in time to stop Stover from plunging his knife into her. Even if he missed a vital spot, that was death—a more horrible death than a clean blow that stopped the heart. A wound from a groom's knife nearly always ended in a terrible death—screaming through locked jaws from the pain of arching one's back to breaking, a death that could take hours, even days to finally come.
In desperation, praying that the magic could do something, Elizabeth cast the spell for a shield over her beloved nursemaid. The knife in Stover's hand came down with all the force he could muster as the shield snapped into place.
He let out a howl of mingled rage, frustration, and pain as the knife bounced off Blanche's belly and flew out of his hand. Blanche had cried out too, as she saw the knife descending. Now she screamed again, as if she had been stabbed, and rolled away.
Stover lurched forward on his knees and scrabbled for the knife. He caught it up in his hand and jumped to his feet, but it was too late. Nyle and Shaylor had dismounted and run toward him. Nyle blocked his path to Blanche, who Tolliver was trying to assist, exclaiming as his hands would not touch her. Shaylor attempted to seize Stover, trying to grab his arms from behind. Stover struggled, wrenching the hand in which he held the knife free, and slashing wildly with it.
From the opening in the yew hedge to which she had supported Aurelia, Rhoslyn muttered and gestured.
Stover seemed to try to stab at Shaylor, who was behind him, but he was screaming now—and not with rage—as the knife turned in his hand and slashed into his own throat.
Blood fountained out, spraying over Nyle who was coming to aid his fellow guardsman, spotting Shaylor's arm and hand, gushing down Stover and dying his dirty clothing crimson—
—pooling on the ground as Stover fell forward.
In the moment of stunned silence that followed, Elizabeth looked toward the opening in the yew hedge, but no one was there now. She felt a swell of magic, almost urged her mare forward to look at the hedge more closely, but at that moment Miralys came thundering along the path and burst into the stable yard. On Denoriel's shoulder, the air spirit cried, "Help! Help!" in a thin, shrill voice.
Denoriel's glance skipped over the dead groom, who was no longer a threat, saw Tolliver trying to take hold of Blanche, who was wavering on her feet. But Tolliver's hand would not close on Blanche, and his face showed an expression of growing fear.
Elizabeth was just sliding down from her saddle on her own, but before her foot was free of the stirrup, Denoriel was there, catching her and setting her gently on her feet. However, his face was not gentle.
He looked like a thundercloud, and hissed in her ear, "Cursed fool! Remove that shield at once! What madness is this?"
Responding to the urgency of his tone, Elizabeth gestured and the shield was gone. Tolliver's hand caught Blanche's arm, and she sagged against him.
But now Elizabeth turned on Denoriel, quick as a snake, hissing back, "I cast that shield to save Blanche's life!"
He looked around, but Nyle and Shaylor were staring at the dead man, Tolliver was talking to Blanche, who was leaning heavily on him, and Ladbroke was shakily getting to his feet, rubbing the back of his head.
Though they were paying no attention to him, Denoriel did not think they were careless in their protection of Elizabeth. He had no doubt that all of them had ascertained who he was immediately and were content to leave Elizabeth in his hands.
So he kept his voice low, but he took advantage of the moment to say, "And put your own life in danger, you little fool. Do you want to be accused of being a witch?"
"By whom?" Elizabeth snapped back. "Do you think Tolliver will accuse me? Or Nyle? Or Shaylor? Ladbroke perhaps? Blanche?"
"Of course not! But what of the women who were here?" he demanded fiercely.
"How do you know anyone was here?" Elizabeth asked. "They were gone by the time you arrived. You said you would not come for several days. Are you spying on me?"
"Spying? Is that what you call my care for your safety?" he snapped back, livid. "But this time I was not attending to you. The air spirit came for me, crying for help. As to how I knew about the women, I felt them just as Miralys brought me into the stable yard. Then they were gone."
Her face was as stormy as his. "If they were gone, they were . . . of your kind, and I do not think they are likely to complain to a priest or the sheriff!"
Denoriel grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "Will you stop acting the fool, which I know you are not? One of those women, I am sure, was my half-sister, Rhoslyn. She has several personas that she uses when she is . . . here. And I am sure she has access to Lady Mary. I would not be surprised if it was by her connivance that Mary came upon you when you were in the garden with Harry!"
"Then I hope you will be able to stop her from accusing me or save me if she does," Elizabeth spat, "because I will not permit Blanche to be killed to save me from accusations! What good are the shields if I cannot use them?" she demanded passionately.
"You were not supposed to use the physical shields! They were to be invoked only as a last resort to protect yourself," he said angrily. "It was the mental shields that are important. And no one can see those, so you may use them freely."
Denoriel's rebuke was automatic, but his brow was creased by a frown. It had not previously occurred to him that the next Unseleighe ploy might be to remove Elizabeth's trusted servants. The servants were not under protection, and it was quite clear that Rhoslyn had intended Blanche's death to be brought about by an attack from a mortal man. No one would cry magic or believe it if anyone did complain.
The loss of Blanche would be a disaster, the loss of Kat Champernowne less so but still dangerous. Particularly now when Elizabeth was on a thin edge of self-blame. If anything should happen to her close companions, those few that she trusted and believed she could depend upon to protect her, it could push her over into behavior that would end in disaster. At the least, she might find herself banished from the succession. At the worst—
He did not want to think about the worst. Better such a thing should be prevented. But there must be simple spells she could use. She could have pushed the mad groom away from Blanche, perhaps made him run headfirst into a wall.
"Perhaps—you were right—" he began.
"Oh, thank you," Elizabeth said, sarcasm dripping from every word as she wrenched herself free.
She ran to her maid, clutching Blanche's arms as the young woman did her best not to wince away. "Oh, my poor Blanche! Your face!" she cried, and burst into tears.
Denoriel's teeth set, and he suppressed a desire to turn her over his knee. Still, what she said made good sense. She could not, being Elizabeth, stand by idly while her own people were in danger. And she should not have to. It was up to him to find something she could use as a weapon that would not betray her Talent. As soon as he could arrange it, he would take her back Underhill and have Tangwystl teach her a few spells for active defense. But he wished she would not try to flay him every time he offered her advice.
Then he sighed. Every one of them was badly shaken, even Nyle. The youngest guard, who had come close and was waiting to speak to him, was shuddering slightly. It was unfair to expect Elizabeth not to snap at whoever approached her. He held up a hand toward Nyle, asking him to wait, and turned to beckon to Tolliver, who was not bloodied.
"It's only bruises," Blanche was saying to Elizabeth, half embracing the child and half leaning on her. Tolliver stepped back respectfully, and Blanche tried to smile at the groom over Elizabeth's head. "Thank you," she said. "I will do now and I think Lord Denno wants you."
"If you need him, Blanche—" Elizabeth began.
But Blanche shook her head and waved Tolliver away. Denno promptly told him to take a horse and ride for the sheriff.
Nyle looked uneasy. "Pardon, m'lord," he said, "but how do we explain this? I mean, there's a man dead with his throat cut and I'm all over blood and Shaylor is nearly as bad. And Mistress Blanche is all beaten and so is Ladbroke."
"No problem. You tell the sheriff the truth."
"Yes, m'lord," the young man stammered, "but I don't know any truth that explains what happened. When me and Shaylor arrived, Ladbroke was out on the ground and Stover was crouched down just about to jump at Mistress Blanche. And her face was all bruised and bloody so we knew he had hit her before. We went for him, Stover, I mean. I ran to keep Stover off Mistress Blanche and Shaylor went to try to grab him. Stover was swinging that knife, maybe to keep me off and to threaten Shaylor, and suddenly he began to scream, like 'No. No,' and then he stuck the knife in his own neck. The sheriff will never believe me."
"I can make some sense of it," Ladbroke said, a hand to his head. "Two days ago when Lady Elizabeth rode out, Mistress Blanche decided to wait for her in the stable. I went to get her a stool, and Stover made an indecent proposal to her. Mistress Blanche naturally turned him away cold. After Lady Elizabeth was back in the palace, I told Stover that I was going to speak to the steward and get him turned away if he even looked Mistress Blanche's way. But yesterday I heard him muttering and mumbling all day long."
"Well, that explains most of it," Denoriel said, thanking all the Powers That Be for so logical a reason for Stover to make an attack. "As for the rest—well, the man went mad, is all, and there is no explaining what the mad will do. He's simply managed to cheat Jack Ketch of his hangman's fee, and there's an end to it."
"Yes m'lord," Ladbroke said.
Denoriel patted him on the shoulder. "There's no reason why Nyle and Shaylor shouldn't change their clothing and wash, if you feel well enough to wait for the sheriff, Ladbroke. I will take Lady Elizabeth and Mistress Parry back to the palace. If you need Mistress Parry to give evidence or even require Lady Elizabeth to explain what she saw, since she was the first to arrive, ask the sheriff to go up to the palace or send Tolliver to summon whoever is needed."
Rhoslyn saw the knife go home in Stover's throat and used every obscenity in her adequate store as she backed away into the yew hedge and toward the Gate. They had failed again. The maid was unhurt . . . But possibly they had not failed completely. Possibly the incident had opened another path, a path to Elizabeth's final doom.
The young groom had encountered the shield Elizabeth had cast over her maid and was clearly frightened. He would talk about it. The older groom, who Rhoslyn knew had once lived Underhill, might even know what it was. Possibly he would talk too, but would he believe that Elizabeth, a mere child, could cast such a spell, or would he think it was the maid?
Aurelia moaned when the Gate opened, and despite Rhoslyn's support, began to slide to the ground. Rhoslyn gripped her more firmly, but was barely able to pull her through the Gate, and she slipped out of Rhoslyn's grasp and fell heavily to the earth when they passed through. Rhoslyn stepped over her and hurriedly pulled her clear of the Gate. If it had closed before Aurelia had gotten clear . . . Rhoslyn shuddered and then paused, her brows furrowed in speculation.
Just what would have happened, if Aurelia had not gotten clear? Well, in any case, it was too late to worry about it now. She went in search of their mounts.
The not-horse was near where Rhoslyn had left it, but its breast and muzzle were stained with blood. Apparently it had taken to heart Rhoslyn's permission to eat anything but the tethered horse. "Wait," Rhoslyn said to it and returned to see if she could rouse Aurelia.
A few minutes of slapping and prodding, even an attempt to get the flask from Aurelia's pouch—which Rhoslyn was unable to open—failed to produce any sign of consciousness. Aurelia simply lay there, uttering a soft moan with every outgoing breath.
Rhoslyn was sorely tempted to take Talog and leave Aurelia lying there, but it was too dangerous to abandon her, no matter how tempting. Aurelia might not survive. There were inimical creatures roaming about Caer Mordwyn and she might be hurt or killed.
Furious as she was at Aurelia, her injury or death did not matter much to Rhoslyn at the moment—except that the blame for it would fall squarely on her. It was likely that Aurelia had told others where she was going, why, and with whom. Also, there were the servants who had seen her ride off with Aurelia not long ago, and if Aurelia died, or was hurt, Vidal would soon come to know of it and of Rhoslyn's involvement.
Rhoslyn sighed. Not to mention that if Aurelia woke and found herself abandoned, her life might be as dedicated to revenge on Pasgen and herself as it now was directed against Elizabeth's maid.
Rhoslyn tried, but could not get Aurelia up on either her horse or the not-horse and eventually she had to appeal to Pasgen to come and help her. He was as swift in arriving as when she had first called him, but she knew he was not going to be pleased at what he found.
She was right. He came riding through the Gate with fair brows drawn together in a ferocious frown and spells on his lips and fingertips because all she had been able to tell him through the lindys was that she was in trouble. When he saw Aurelia sprawled ungracefully on the ground, he looked as if he were about to spit down on her from Torgen's back.
"I'm sorry," Rhoslyn said, meekly. "I just didn't have the strength to lift her onto the horse, and I knew if I left her here—well, nothing but ill would come of it."
"Waste of time. She'd only fall off," Pasgen replied, dismounting.
He lifted Aurelia to the front of Torgen's saddle where Rhoslyn held her steady while Pasgen remounted—once letting go with one hand to smack Torgen, who was snaking his head back, trying to take a piece out of Aurelia's thigh. Then she unfastened the reins of Aurelia's horse and took them in hand, mounted Talog, and followed Pasgen, who had already set out for the palace.
To Rhoslyn's surprise, Pasgen did not ride into the courtyard, but skirted the palace to a place on the rear wall that was roughly opposite the old Gate Rhoslyn had been using. There he dismounted, dragged Aurelia from Torgen's back onto his shoulder, and walked a few steps along the wall where a sharp command caused a click. A well-concealed door opened.
Rhoslyn, who had dismounted from Talog, swallowed her surprise to ask, "Horses in or out?"
"In," he said shortly. "There's a small back garden where Torgen and Talog can wait. I hope we won't be long. Holy Mother Dannae, this bitch weighs like a full tun of ale!"
There was a small open area between the outer wall and the palace. Rhoslyn would not have called it a garden, but she thought that Talog and Torgen couldn't do it much harm. Pasgen, rather breathlessly, said he would dump Aurelia in her apartment and asked Rhoslyn to take her horse to the stable in the front.
"Right willingly," Rhoslyn murmured, then turned to bid Talog and Torgen stay.
When she looked back, Pasgen was gone. She was startled at his sudden vanishment, but then realized there must be another hidden back door, and reminded herself that Pasgen had ruled Caer Mordwyn for several years. He would certainly have set himself to discover everything there was to know about the palace. It would have been very necessary because Vidal Dhu was just the kind to have put traps all over the place for anyone wandering about without his company or his instructions.
By the time she had led Aurelia's horse around the side of the palace, handed it over to the newt-servants, and made her way back to where Torgen and Talog were waiting, Pasgen was also there waiting for her.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice ice-cold and not at all hushed. "Aurelia looks very much as you described her appearing after the battle in Elizabeth's room." Rhoslyn waved a hand for quiet, but Pasgen shook his head impatiently. "Vidal is not here. He is having a real holiday up in Scotland."
"Let's be gone from here anyway," Rhoslyn said, still feeling uneasy. Vidal might not be here himself, but who could tell what was listening? "Come to my house. I am delighted that Vidal is busy in Scotland. Long may he make trouble there. And if Aurelia was hurt as badly as I hope, with luck, neither of us will be troubled with the affairs of the World Above for some time."
Pasgen looked at her with raised brows and, seemingly taking in the expression on her face, simply nodded.
They went through the back gate, which Pasgen sealed again so that it was totally invisible, and then made their way to Rhoslyn's domain. The girls opened the door for them. Lliwglas, she of the blue ribbon, gestured toward the stair with her head. Rhoslyn saw one of her mother's maids peeping down at her and she shook her head infinitesimally. She did intend to speak to Pasgen about Llanelli, and her mother's hopes to practice as a healer, but she had some things to explain first.
Pasgen sank into a deep, soft armchair and sighed. "Well, what has put your nose so out of joint, sister?"
"That mortal brat Elizabeth was surely begot of the Great Evil," Rhoslyn snarled, sinking into the corner of the sofa at right angles to Pasgen's chair. "Anything to do with her is a disaster." She blew out an exasperated breath and added, "Although there is no doubt that Aurelia contributed to the catastrophe."
"How was she hurt?" he asked.
"By cold iron, in the craziest accident you could imagine." She shook her head. "It should never have happened."
"Accident?" Pasgen repeated.
Rhoslyn shrugged. "The plan Aurelia made should have worked. It was simple and sensible. She bespelled a mortal to attack and kill Elizabeth's maid. The maid is Talented, there can be no doubt of that. Aurelia thought, and I agreed with her, that if we could be rid of the maid, Elizabeth would be much more vulnerable."
Her brother nodded. "That does sound reasonable, and Oberon would not be much interested in the death of a maid. I agree too that it was a good idea. So what went wrong?"
Furious at the catastrophe that had unfolded, and fully as angry at Aurelia as at the miserable mortal child, Rhoslyn gave Pasgen a blow-by-blow description of what had taken place in the stable yard of St. James's Palace.
She ended with, "We would have been safe away if Aurelia had not virtually bent over the woman to suck up the power that leaked from her fear and pain. That was when the maid threw the cross and it stuck in Aurelia's hair and touched her forehead. She screamed and lost the Don't-see-me spell, and we were utterly undone. The idiot! If she had not gone to the struggle like a moth to a flame, naught would have come of this and she and I would be safely back by now!"
Pasgen sighed. "The fresh pulses of power from agony and terror are irresistible to some." He cocked his head inquisitively, watching Rhoslyn. "But not to you, sister?"
"Not to me." Rhoslyn's voice was flat, and she shivered slightly. "I must find another source of power to feed on."
Pasgen smiled and his eyes gleamed with mischief. "You can try my way," he said, "but if it does not suit you . . . we can steal from the Seleighe. I will go with you. With Vidal totally immersed in making trouble in Scotland and Aurelia incapacitated, we will be free to do what we like."
That distracted her from her anger for a moment. "What is going forth in Scotland?"
"I do not know the details—those who watch for me are not much larger, or cleverer, than the lindys—but Vidal has set strong hooks into Cardinal Beaton. Beaton is one of the rulers of Scotland now that King James is dead—as much as anyone can be said to rule so brawling and contentious a people—and he is opposed to the government set up by King Henry, which agreed, albeit most reluctantly, to a treaty with England in which the Scottish queen, little Mary, would marry Prince Edward."
"I can see why Vidal would be opposed to that." Rhoslyn raised her brows and nibbled on her lower lip, intrigued by all the possibilities of meddling with such a tangled situation. "It would mean peace between England and Scotland, not only now but in the future. No war, no death, no misery—and no sour power for the Unseleighe."
Pasgen shrugged, but one corner of his mouth quirked. "Well, the Scots would be unlikely to give over border raiding and such, but there would be no major invasions with total destruction. And with Henry's grip on England so firm, there is quiet in England and little chance of the kind of chaos Vidal needs. Thus, Vidal must be sure that Scotland resists and that the war continues."
"And he must actually be there most of the time?" she asked, wondering why, but glad that it was true.
Pasgen nodded. "If he wishes to keep the pot boiling, I think so. You see there are three strong parties and Vidal's grip is only on Beaton. There is also the government that Henry placed in power and then there is the greater part of the Scottish nobles, who are of no party but their own and shift back and forth, making alliances and breaking them, seeing only the needs and wants of their clans and nothing beyond the benefit of the moment." His voice was full of scorn for such shortsightedness.
Rhoslyn nodded. "I see. If Henry's agents should offer enough, it might even be possible for that middle party to seize the queen and deliver her to England."
But over that, he shook his head. "Not likely. More likely that the middle party—or enough of it to seize a preponderance of power—will make alliance with one side or another and the fighting among the Scots themselves will die down. Then when England sends an army, there might be a sharp defeat of the English, which will certainly mean the end of war until the king returns from France. The only way to keep things unsettled is to keep those nobles from bringing a majority to one side or the other. And for that, Beaton must be most carefully directed."
"Then Vidal's attention will remain in Scotland. Very good. And Aurelia may well have no attention to give—" Rhoslyn's voice checked and she bit her lip, thinking back on how terrible the Unseleighe sorceress had looked. "Could you tell how badly she was hurt?" she asked, feeling guilty. "I did try to help. I struck the cross out of her hair." She held out her hand where red burn wheals and blisters marred her fingers. "But not soon enough to save her, I fear."
"I don't know whether she was seriously damaged or just stunned by shock and pain," Pasgen said. "When I brought her in, her servants called her mortal physician, but he seemed totally confused. I suppose sooner or later one of the servants will find sense enough to summon a true healer."
"That may not help," she pointed out. "It is the mortal physician who has been most successful. He provided the potion that she uses. Likely he was puzzled by what caused her collapse."
Guilt dulled the last of Rhoslyn's anger at Aurelia and warred with her desire to avoid Vidal's consort. But on the other hand, although Rhoslyn did not like Elizabeth, she still hated being driven to cause the misery, perhaps even the death, of a child who had never personally hurt her—and all for the sake of an outpouring of power that sickened her. Pasgen watched her silently.
Rhoslyn shrugged. "At least I can stay away from the World Above until Aurelia demands my help. I will tell Mary that my brother needs me again." She hesitated, then sighed. "I wish we could leave Elizabeth alone for good."
There was another brief silence during which Pasgen stared past his sister at nothing. "She has escaped harm so often," he said softly. "Sometimes I think there is something that does not want Elizabeth to die or be ruined. And—" he hesitated, then added, slowly "—I am not altogether certain that her most powerful guardian is High King Oberon."