Elizabeth had been feeling the effects of Mary's coldness for some considerable time now, and it troubled her even more than it troubled Aleneil. Of course, Elizabeth knew Mary had been the one to accuse her of meeting a man in the garden, which resulted in her exile to St. James's Palace. However, her opportunity to visit Underhill and spend so much time with her Da made Elizabeth very forgiving of her exile.
Even so, at times she had longed to be at court, to be with her little brother, and to avail herself of all of the opportunities for learning that she enjoyed there. In fact, she and Da had talked about Mary, about the many times, soon after her mother was lost, that Mary had produced a toy or a garment for her little sister despite her own straightened circumstances. In her heart, Elizabeth wished she could recall that "old" Mary again.
Just now Elizabeth was in charity with the whole world and she wanted to mend matters with her sister—especially since Mary had unwittingly passed to her such precious information. The trouble was that Elizabeth was afraid she would have to reject Edward to be reconciled with Mary, and that she was not willing to do.
At first Elizabeth had only been warmed and delighted by her brother's enthusiastic welcome. He had run to her and embraced her and told her how much he had missed her and how glad he was that she had returned. Elizabeth had not given Mary's reaction a thought; she always thought of Edward as being an ordinary little boy—except for becoming king one day.
To Elizabeth that seemed infinitely distant; her father still was, and to her would always be, the one and only Great Harry, the King of All England, now and forever. Perhaps, in some dim and far-off future, Edward would take the throne—but not now. Now he was just a little boy, and little boys, Elizabeth thought, often were glad to see sisters who shared their lessons.
Elizabeth did not even think Edward particularly clever because she was herself so clever—she didn't praise him unless he deserved it, and she didn't flatter him as some of the other boys did to gain his favor. But as time passed, because they had been apart for months, she realized that Edward was especially fond of her. She could now see that he was growing into a strange child, far too serious and formal—even more so than herself, and Edward did not have the terrible fears that had made her so careful.
Edward still played with the young friends that Queen Catherine had chosen for him, but the only one (besides herself) to whom he showed any real warmth was Barnaby Fitzpatrick. And he always had a smile and even occasionally a kiss for her, whereas he treated Mary with great courtesy, but formally, and not as if she was his sister at all.
On and off, Elizabeth worried about how to regain Mary's affection without losing Edward's. She could not be formal with Edward. For one thing, she loved him and would not hurt him for the world; for another thing, Edward would someday be king—even if Elizabeth could not really envision how it would happen—but if it did, he would be more important to her future than Mary. Elizabeth thought and thought and finally came up with an idea that really pleased her.
She knew that although Mary had publicly accepted King Henry as the head of the Church of England, where and when Mary could, she clung to the strict theology of the old religion. Edward's tutors leaned the other way. Although they conformed to the king's interpretation of theology, they went much further in denying the need for good works and ardently supporting a Bible and Prayer Book in English.
If she asked Mary to explain to her why such wise men supported those ideas, Elizabeth hoped Mary would believe that she could direct her sister into a safer theology. And Mary might be right, Elizabeth thought. Sometimes the things Master Cheke said were startling, and altogether unsettling.
Feeling very righteous, Elizabeth set forth with only Blanche to accompany her to visit her sister. She really did not want to involve any of the other girls in a discussion of religion. The distance was not great and they met no one along the way. There was a guard outside Mary's door, but he recognized Elizabeth and simply opened the door for her.
Elizabeth stopped near the doorway, somewhat at a loss. Mary was not in her reception room. No one was there but a maid, wiping away dust and plumping cushions.
"Oh," Elizabeth said. "Is my sister not in her rooms?"
"I do not believe she has yet come from her bedchamber," the maid whispered, large-eyed, dropping a deep curtsey.
"I see I have come too early," Elizabeth said, but she was surprised; Mary was an early riser. "I am sorry. Can you tell Lady Mary that I was here and will return later in the day?"
The maid looked frightened and Elizabeth had to assume that she was not accustomed to speaking to Mary or any of the upper servants. Elizabeth was about to say "Never mind," that she would send Mary a note, when a Sidhe came out of the door to an inner chamber.
The air spirit that always hung somewhere about Elizabeth fled. Blanche caught at Elizabeth's arm and reached for the necklace of black iron crosses. The Sidhe abruptly stopped where she was, but she pretended not to see Blanche's defensive gesture.
"I am very sorry," the Sidhe said, "but Lady Mary is unwell today and will not be able to receive you."
"Oh, I am so sorry to hear that my sister is not well, Mistress—" Elizabeth's eyes flicked to the long, pointed ears, the slit-pupilled eyes, but she did not allow the expression on her face to change.
"Rosamund Scot is my name, Lady Elizabeth." If there were ever prizes given for maintaining a bland, even blank expression, Mistress Scot would surely take them all.
"Thank you, Mistress Scot." Elizabeth decided to err on the side of exceptionally good manners, and since the woman was her superior in age, if not in rank, she bobbed in the token curtsey she would have given someone her equal in rank. "I did not mean to disturb my sister. Would you be so good as to tell Lady Mary that I was sorry to hear of her indisposition and that when she is better and has a little time to spare for me, I have some questions about points Master Cheke has raised on the subject of good works."
"Certainly," Rhoslyn said, already reaching back for the door handle.
"Wait, Mistress Scot," Elizabeth said, suddenly deciding that it was more than time to make another set of amends. "It seems to me that when I was a little girl and did not know any better I was very rude to you about your appearance when you came with my sister to visit me."
The Sidhe's eyelids dropped a little, veiling whatever lurked in the back of her mind. "I am sure you were not, Lady Elizabeth."
Elizabeth smiled slightly and ignored the disclaimer required by etiquette. "I said something about your ears and your eyes, I believe. Please forgive me and be assured that I will never again make such an unwarranted personal remark."
The Sidhe might be good at concealing her feelings, but this did take her by surprise; she blinked. "That is very kind, Lady Elizabeth, I thank you but assure you it is not necessary. I do not remember any such incident."
"Well," Elizabeth replied, "I remember, even if you do not." Once again the Sidhe moved to leave—and Elizabeth braced herself. If this particular fence could be mended—"But wait, don't go yet, Mistress Scot. There is something else I must tell you. I know you think my Denno did a terrible thing before I was even born, but he didn't."
Rosamund Scot froze.
Elizabeth continued on, determined to correct what she was sure was a terrible mistake. "He didn't hurt the—" the word changeling was in her mind but would not come out of her mouth, and Elizabeth finished "—the little boy."
Rhoslyn let go of the door handle and came forward. Before she could reach out, however, the baleful influence of the iron crosses sent a mind-fogging miasma of pain washing over her body.
She stopped in her tracks. She wanted to back away. Blanche had now taken out the necklace of crosses. But Rhoslyn couldn't move. All the pain, all the grief she had carried over the years held her fast.
"What do you mean?" She could control the words, but the voice she uttered them in quivered and pleaded.
Elizabeth's mouth opened, but nothing came out until she said, desperately. "I can't tell you here. I know the whole story, but I am forbidden . . . constrained. I can't speak about it here."
"What story?" Now Rhoslyn's voice was harsh. "There is no story. He died."
"No. No." Elizabeth wrung her hands. "At least, he did die, but many years later. Not until I was almost three years old. Denno had nothing to do with that. If I were . . . elsewhere . . . I could tell you."
"I can take you to a safe place—"
"No!" Blanche cried. "You mustn't go, my lady. Only with Lord Denno. She'll make you put your cross away and then she could take you anywhere, do anything to you."
"Where could you take her, Rhoslyn?"
Elizabeth turned to find Lady Alana just behind her, but the voice was not Lady Alana's soft, insinuating coo; it was Aleneil's, only hard and cold rather than teasing and laughing.
But Rosamund—Rhoslyn—was a changed person. Where her face had worn no expression at all before, now she was clearly desperate and pleading. "Nowhere harmful, Aleneil, I swear. I swear by . . . by my brother's life and safety that I mean Elizabeth no harm. I only want to hear . . . I have to know what happened to the child."
Lady Alana looked startled, even shocked. And when she spoke, her voice was softer, and tinged with reluctant sympathy. "Have you grieved for him all these years? I am so sorry. I did not know." Her voice was softer still. "Where did you want Elizabeth to go?"
"Only to the Elves' Market. You know the rules," Rhoslyn said, her hands outstretched a little. "I could not hurt her there. All the Bright Sidhe would be watching too. And from what Pasgen tells me, she has her own defenses." She hesitated, bit her lip. "Please Aleneil, let her come with me. Come yourself if that seems safer. Or you tell me."
"I only know the beginning," Aleneil said slowly. "It is Elizabeth who knows the end, having heard it from the other . . . child . . . who, of course, is a child no longer."
"Please, Aleneil." Tears shone in the dark eyes. "I must know!"
"Do you have a Gate?" Aleneil asked. "I dare not show you mine or use it. Denoriel would murder me."
"Yes!" Rhoslyn said so eagerly that Blanche pulled Elizabeth backward. When she saw the movement, Rhoslyn uttered a single sob. "It has only one terminus, only one. At the Elves' Market. That is for my own safety. You can go alone and then return, Aleneil. If anything happens to you, Elizabeth will not go, so I will have lost everything."
"My lady, don't go!" Blanche exclaimed. She remembered Rhoslyn with fangs and claws fighting Aleneil on the floor of Elizabeth's bedchamber. "Wait until Lord Denno comes. To go you'll have to cover your cross. That's dangerous."
"I know," Elizabeth said and looked doubtfully at Rhoslyn. The Sidhe said nothing, but tears streaked the elegant face . . . and Elizabeth could see they were real tears visible on the cheeks under the illusion. "But I don't think Denno would let me go because he doesn't understand how sad this lady is. I really want to tell her what Da told me. My Denno didn't do anything wrong." She turned her gaze toward Aleneil. "Please—don't you see?"
"Is the Gate far?" Aleneil asked.
"In the garden," Rhoslyn replied. "I will bring us back within a few minutes of when we left. If Lady Elizabeth walks with both of us, no one will think ill of a short stroll in the garden."
"Lady Alana!" Blanche protested.
"I know you are worried, Blanche," Aleneil said, "but I think Rhoslyn is being honest with us. Still, if we are not back before it is time for Elizabeth's lessons, send the little one to bring Lord Denno and tell him where we were supposed to go and with whom. There will be such a harrowing of the Dark lands . . ."
Aleneil's eyes were very bright and Rhoslyn shook her head, whispering, "No. No. I mean no harm."
Blanche returned to Elizabeth's apartment to make excuses if they were necessary and Elizabeth walked with Lady Alana and Mistress Scot out into the formal garden of Hampton Court. At the end of the Privy Garden, not far from where the stair went down to the river was a small clump of trees. There was no brush, but the grass was rough among them, not as welcoming to those who strolled as the graveled path.
There were a few small groups of ladies on the path, and Elizabeth and her companions had to go and look down the steps toward the river. After a while their end of the garden was empty, and they hurried to a bench, which stood in the shelter of the trees.
Rhoslyn looked around once to make sure they were the only ones near, and said, "Gate." Aleneil stepped into the black maw that appeared. It was gone and almost instantly Aleneil was standing where she had disappeared.
"Very well," she said. "The Gate did, indeed, take me to the Elves' Market and let me open it to return here. Still," she turned to Elizabeth, "are you sure you want to do this, my love?"
"I want Mistress Scot—" Elizabeth now knew the Sidhe's name was Rhoslyn, but she always called the Sidhe in her world by their mortal-world names "—to know that my Denno is not an evil creature and did no harm. I want—" she hesitated "—I want as much accord among us as there can be."
Elizabeth had stood up while she was speaking. She too looked around to be sure that no one was watching and walked in under the trees. Then she slipped her cross into its spelled cover; Aleneil took a good grip on her and glared at Rhoslyn who had held out her hand. Rhoslyn retracted her hand and said, "Gate."
The Gate appeared. Aleneil immediately stepped into it, pulling Elizabeth with her. Dark. Falling. Elizabeth was no longer in the least afraid and was ready to step out into a cul-de-sac barricaded with empty crates the moment she saw light. Rhoslyn was not with them. Aleneil drew in her breath, looking very disappointed. To Elizabeth she said, "Shield."
Obediently Elizabeth raised her shields, both mental and physical, and in that moment, Rhoslyn appeared. She made no comment on Aleneil's obvious distrust, but her mouth turned down a little at the corners and her voice was not completely steady when she asked if Aleneil wished to walk around to the front and choose a drinking house or would enter through the back of the one where the Gate terminated.
They went around to one of the main aisles of the Elves' Market and a full cross lane away from the place they had entered before Aleneil saw a place she liked. Elizabeth saw that Rhoslyn was uncomfortable and asked her what was wrong.
"The landlord and other patrons of this place will not like it that I am here," she said.
Elizabeth looked around. "No one seems to mind. Why should they?"
Rhoslyn looked resigned. "Because I am of the Dark Court and they of the Bright."
Now Aleneil laughed. "How are they supposed to know that if you do or say nothing to tell them? I doubt that many even know that Elizabeth is mortal."
"Do they not know?" Rhoslyn asked doubtfully, then sighed. "Another lie." She shook her head. "Never mind that. Tell me about my poor little changeling. You claim Denoriel did not kill him?"
"Of course not! What kind of a monster do you think my brother . . . your own half-brother . . . is?"
"All I know is that my Making, my child, was gone and there was no trace of him. If Denoriel had not sucked out the power that held him together, why could I not feel him?"
"Because Miralys, the elvensteed, had covered him with his aura," Aleneil said. "We are going about this wrong. You need one whole tale from beginning to end. I do not know how you got into Windsor or convinced FitzRoy's guardian to give him into your care."
"I didn't attempt that," Rhoslyn asserted, head high. "I didn't need to. I came dressed as a nun bringing a gift from Mary to her half-brother. Norfolk . . . is a self-centered, self-important man. It did not take much of a spell to convince him. It was harder to break the watchfulness of the boy's men-at-arms."
"Da told me that part," Elizabeth put in. "Da didn't suspect anything but he was annoyed because he was sure the nun was going to give him a long lecture about something. He was a little surprised about being led to the carriage house, but then he saw Denno, who told him to go back up the path. It was then that he saw his men-at-arms sort of frozen and staring into space."
"And when I went to the carriage, where I had left my poor little copy of Richmond . . . he was gone." Her voice almost broke on a sob, then hardened. "And Denno was right behind me, gloating."
"He wasn't gloating," Aleneil said, then stopped as a dryad with beflowered, trailing willow-withies for hair asked what they would have.
Elizabeth wanted lemonade—to which she had been introduced on her last trip Underhill. Rhoslyn asked for wine. Aleneil chose ale.
"Not gloating?" Rhoslyn repeated when the server was gone. "Perhaps. But he was very well pleased with himself."
"Likely he was pleased with himself," Aleneil agreed without much sympathy. "Certainly he wanted to frighten you enough that you would not again try to replace Harry with a changeling."
Rhoslyn closed her eyes, remembering the months during which she had built her substitute Richmond and the weeks of joy and pain when she patiently created a mind that could answer questions and hold ideas. Elizabeth put her hand over Rhoslyn's and patted it.
"Denno did want to frighten you, Mistress Scot, but that was fair. He was charged with the protection of my Da. However, he had nothing against the little boy you had made. He wouldn't do anything to hurt him. He might have been a made-thing, but he didn't ask to be made."
"That's true, Rhoslyn," Aleneil said, her voice softer again. "In fact Denoriel was terribly worried about the false Richmond. The enchanted sleep you had put on him was draining his power, and in the mortal world there was no way to supply more. As soon as he was sure you were gone, Denoriel took the changeling to the best healer he knew. Richey—that was what Mwynwen called him—lived with her for seventeen years."
"Seventeen years!" Rhoslyn exclaimed, eyes wide. "That's impossible. The child . . . he was a child to me, but he was only a construct, and a construct in the mortal world, with no way to replenish its power . . ."
"Yes, well, he wasn't in the mortal world," Aleneil pointed out. "The healer to whom Denoriel took him was Underhill, of course. And the healer had long desired a child. She kept Richey and raised him as her own. He had everything a child could desire . . . everything. She doted on him, and he on her. He had a very happy childhood."
"How long?" Rhoslyn breathed.
"He was fourteen or fifteen before the power-gathering spell that Mwynwen had put on him failed and power had to be forced on him. By then he was old enough to understand when Mwynwen explained. It wasn't like torturing a little boy who didn't know why he was being hurt. But I . . ." Aleneil hesitated, then went on hurriedly, "I told Mwynwen she was doing wrong." She shook her head. "Foolish of me, that was. All that did was deprive Richey of my company." Suddenly she smiled softly. "He was a darling child, Rhoslyn. It was a marvelous creation."
Rhoslyn was now weeping openly. "It was wrong," she sobbed, "wrong. It was very wrong to make a construct that could think and feel." She looked pleadingly at Aleneil. "But I thought he would just fade away in a week or two in the mortal world. I did not think he would suffer. Poor Richmond. Poor Richmond. What happened to him in the end?"
"I know about that because Da told me," Elizabeth said. "There was a fight over seizing me and Da was barely touched by a nearly spent elf-shot. For a Sidhe that would not have been very serious, but for a mortal . . . It was bad. In only a few weeks, Da was coughing and soon, he couldn't breathe."
Remembering that night, Rhoslyn shuddered. Vidal and Pasgen both unconscious; Aurelia with the crosses burned into her forehead being dragged across the floor by Blanche.
Elizabeth saw her shiver but went on with her story. "Meanwhile, my Denno had hurt himself—I'm not sure I understand exactly how; it was something about the kind of power in the mortal world that burned him—and he was in the same healer's house as Richey."
"Denoriel kept asking for Harry," Aleneil put in. "And Mwynwen said he was so sick that she didn't dare tell him Harry was dying. Richey was sitting with us. It was one of his good days, when he could get out of bed. He was always interested in hearing about Harry. Then we began to talk about a way to get Harry Underhill where he could be cured without causing a dreadful row when he disappeared—and there was no hope he wouldn't be missed or that we could get him back soon after he was taken away. He would have to stay Underhill for so long that there would be no reconciling mortal time with Underhill."
Elizabeth nodded. "But by then, Da says, Richey wanted to die. He was in awful pain because somehow putting the power into him hurt him and even when he didn't have to take the power, he was so tired all the time. And . . . and Da told me his . . . his flesh was beginning to fall apart."
Rhoslyn covered her face with her hands. "I loved him. I never meant for him to suffer."
"But he didn't," Elizabeth said quickly. "Well, he did hurt, but at first he didn't mind because he loved Mwynwen and was happy with her. Only at the very end . . . and that didn't last long because he made Mwynwen see that his time had come, and they changed him for my Da. Then nothing hurt him anymore, and he finally got to see the World Above, which he'd always wanted to see, and sit in real sunlight. And my Da's people, they all loved him, and so Richey slipped away peacefully in a few days, never alone, never afraid, always with those who cared for him near. Da's people loved Da, and they loved Richey just as much, because they thought he was Da, and I think—" her brow wrinkled as she tried to put what she felt into words "—I think that must have made him very, very happy, because now that I'm old enough, when they talk to me about him, they always say how happy and peaceful he was in his last days."
"Is it true?" Rhoslyn had dropped her hands and lifted her head, and now she looked from Elizabeth to Aleneil. "Can I believe you? Can I? Or is this some cruel joke?"
Both Aleneil and Elizabeth looked horrified. "No," Elizabeth said. "My Da told me because I wanted to know why everyone in the mortal world thought he was dead. And Denno told me to beware of you because you hated him and might hurt me to revenge yourself. But I didn't think you wanted to hurt me. The bad Sidhe who looks like my Denno, he tried to kill me, but you never did."
"In the Bright Court we are sometimes careless and thoughtless in a way that is cruel," Aleneil said, "but it is not our way to be cruel a-purpose, just to hurt another."
"Not even to punish me for such a creation?" Rhoslyn asked.
Aleneil looked startled. "No. I have had no order from Oberon or Titania. I doubt that they even know what you did. Although it is true that Oberon does not like constructs from Underhill to go into the World Above, sometimes even he has made such things, to substitute for a child we mean to take from a life of pain and sorrow. But it is absurd to imagine that we would make up such a tale. How could it punish you to know that your poor creation had a happy life and a peaceful death? Truly Rhoslyn, Elizabeth and I want to give you a little comfort, not hurt you."
Rhoslyn took a deep breath, and blinked hard, as if her eyes were stinging her. "If what you say is true, you will have patched a broken heart. I cannot help but grieve over what I made and loved, but at least I do not need to hate as well. If my poor Richmond was happy . . . He is still gone, but I do not need to feel that I made him only to die for a cruel purpose."
"It is true that he died at peace," Elizabeth said. "And you do not need to take it on my word alone. Ask Dunstan, my majordomo, when you can catch him alone. The guardsmen, too. Gerrit, Nyle, Shaylor, and Dickson. They were with Richey when he died. Of course, they thought he was my Da and they'll call him His Grace of Richmond, but now you know the truth. And if you are still doubting, well, Da is alive and Denno will take you to see him if you want; you know that Da cannot possibly be Richey, so the Richmond that died is your little made-boy."
Rhoslyn again looked from one to the other. "I do not think I will push Denoriel's good nature so far," she said, after a long pause. "But I do not think you would have told me such things if they were not true, for you have given me the means to verify the truth on my own. You have told me the name of the healer—and even a Sidhe of the Dark Court has leave to seek out any healer of the Bright. So I have but to visit—and soon or late, I shall see your Richmond alive."
Aleneil smiled a little. "And of course, there is no reason for Mwynwen not to verify what we have said." She held out her hand to Rhoslyn. "So, if we cannot be friends, at least you and I need not be enemies?"
"Nor I and Lady Elizabeth, I pledge it by all I hold dear," Rhoslyn replied, with a light in her eyes that made Elizabeth very glad that she had gone to all this trouble. "But you need not be afraid of Pasgen any longer either, Lady Elizabeth. He is very sorry for trying to hurt you in the past, and will not do so again." She smiled a little, and it was a wry smile. "In no small part because you have taught him a sharp lesson on the danger of meddling with mortals!"