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Chapter 21

Elizabeth and Denoriel were surrounded by young women, all asking in high voices where was the fox? the rabbit? before Denoriel could say what would happen tonight and about what Elizabeth should warn Blanche. If she could have stunned every one of those encroaching idiots, Elizabeth would have done so.

Laughing heartily, as if he were glad to see the intruders, Lord Denno pointed out that both fox and rabbit would have been frightened altogether out of the garden and the wilderness by the noise they made. He flashed a glance at Elizabeth, but she was staring purposefully down the path and somewhat too intently invited the girls to accompany her on a search. She drew a sharp breath when they all agreed Lord Denno was right, they should have been quieter.

"Nonetheless," she began, hoping she could manage to lose the whole party for at least a few minutes in the wilderness, but she was interrupted by the sound of church bells chiming Nones.

"Too late," Lady Alana said. "We really must return now. Remember, Elizabeth, that the music master is appointed to come to you."

"Bother the music master!" Elizabeth muttered under her breath, and then somewhat louder, "I have hardly had a chance to hear about Lord Denno's latest voyage, which I gather was exciting and profitable."

"Tales of my voyage will keep," Lord Denno said, laughing again. "They would perhaps be better told at a time when there are fewer distractions by wild beasts."

"Not if I have to wait two months for them," Elizabeth complained, her voice just a trifle tremulous.

"No, no." Denoriel smiled at her, his eyes peculiarly intent. "I am done voyaging and will see you again very soon. But I hope you will pardon me for parting here, since we are much closer to the stable and your excuse will save my poor old legs from double the distance."

Elizabeth was quite startled. In the past Denno never mentioned his age, never asked any relief from any physical task, always insisted he was well and very strong, which, indeed, he was. Stronger, in fact, than any other man she knew. Quite unreasonably, Elizabeth could feel the warmth of his lips gently clinging to hers. It occurred to her that he would want her attendants to think of him as old. She could take greater liberties with an old man . . . like kissing him.

She drew her lips into what she hoped looked like a pitying smile and said, "You will never be old, Lord Denno. I—I will not permit it." Then she sighed and shrugged. "But I will give you permission to leave us now."

As she said the words, she suddenly felt resentful. Denno had always clung to her company for every minute he could eke out. She was quite sure he had not begged leave to save himself the walk back to the palace. Perhaps he was eager to get back to the business he had mentioned when she asked where he had been.

She had a sudden vision of the elven women she had seen in the market places, of Mwynwen's exquisite face. But he had sworn she was the woman he desired, and swore too that he had never lied to her. Well, that was true, as far as she knew. And he had said "Tonight" just before her maidens had caught up with them. What could he mean by "Tonight"? Certainly he would not dare try to visit again? But perhaps he would. Perhaps he would claim to have forgotten something in her apartment when he left from the garden.

That seemed a reasonable idea, and Elizabeth's mind was so occupied with ways to find some privacy so she could again touch Denno's lips that her music lesson was less than a success. She apologized and promised to practice more, but she was thinking of Denno's brief kiss. She had kissed many other men in greeting and parting, but she had never felt anything—except disgust sometimes when the lips were wet and slobbery. She must see if the little feeling of warmth in her breasts, the little frisson of tickling that was not tickling between her legs would come again when Denno kissed her.

All her plans to get Denno off into a private corner, however, were in vain. He never came.

As the evening wore on, Elizabeth became quite waspish, so much so that Catherine asked her whether her visitor had tired her. At least she was able to answer honestly that he had frustrated her—but that it was all her own fault, which was, of course, she said with a laugh, what put her so much out of temper. She had spent so much time quarreling with him about not warning her in advance he would be away, that she had had no opportunity to hear about the strange and wonderful places he had seen on his voyage.

Catherine laughed at her kindly and promised to allow another visit, even to write and invite Lord Denno to visit. They would all enjoy hearing about his foreign voyages, so perhaps she would ask him to join them for dinner and an evening. Then she sighed and shook her head.

"I am afraid I am looking to fill time with a safe and harmless visitor. Tom will be away longer than he thought. It seems he must travel into the west about these stupid pirates and assign some ships to watch the east coast to keep the French from supplying the Scots."

All of the ladies, including Elizabeth, expressed their sympathy over her husband's absence. They all—all except for Lady Alana who, as she often did, held her peace—said, with perfect sincerity that they would miss him. His loud voice and boisterous suggestions for games such as hoodman-blind, where smacking kisses were exchanged when a victim was caught, enlivened the quiet days and evenings at Chelsea.

Like all the other young women, Elizabeth had been somewhat excited by those smacking kisses, and the way Seymour's hands ran over her body as he claimed to be trying to identify her. It was perfectly safe, of course, with Catherine playing with them and laughing as heartily as anyone else over Tom's antics.

That kiss of Denno's—that had not been at all safe, and was all the more exciting. Elizabeth's tongue peeped out to touch her lips. But then the lips set hard. He had said "Tonight," but he had not come. Elizabeth's needle stabbed so hard into the book cover she was embroidering that it went quite through the cloth, and she barely repressed some pungent words as she worked it out again.

By the time she had recovered the needle, Catherine had put down her own needlework and was gesturing all the ladies to come together for evening prayers. Elizabeth's heart felt oddly heavy, but in one way it was a relief. She need not suffer expectation any longer. It was far too late for Denno to come. What had he meant? Had she misheard the low, hasty words? "Tonight. Tell Blanche." Tell Blanche what?

The answer to that question became apparent when Blanche almost drove Elizabeth into her dressing room as soon as she arrived at her apartment. However, instead of hastily beginning to remove Elizabeth's clothing and make her ready for bed, the maid turned her and pointed.

"Look, my lady," Blanche murmured, softly enough not to be heard if one of the maids of honor should step into the bechamber.

She gestured to a pretty porcelain oval lying just atop Elizabeth's jewel box. The trinket was about as long as Elizabeth's thumb and was painted with a delicate scene of a doorway surrounded by climbing flowers.

"I don't remember having anything like that," Elizabeth said, her own voice a murmur in sympathy with Blanche's desire not to be overheard. She bent over the trinket, all at once soothed, beginning to smile, a hand rising to pick it up. "Where did it come from?"

"Something brought it," Blanche said with a tremor in her voice. "Something laid it down on the box—right in front of my eyes. I haven't touched it."

Elizabeth drew back, catching at the maid's hand. "Something evil?" she breathed.

She remembered all too well having been driven nearly to ending her own life by a spell of dissolution transmitted by a jewel embedded in the cover—of all things—of a Bible. But that, she remembered, had made her feel uneasy, drawn to touch it, but slightly sick and unwilling. This, this also carried a temptation to touch but it made her smile.

"Oh no," Blanche assured her, her worried look easing. "It . . . what I felt was like that little thing I could never see that used to stay near you after you were sick that time and then again last year. No, it didn't feel good or bad but . . . I felt it was a happy thing. The reason I wouldn't touch it was because of the crosses. I was afraid I would spoil it."

Air spirit, Elizabeth thought but could not say. Air spirits often carried news or brief messages Underhill, but they did not ordinarily come into the mortal world unless they were sent. Elizabeth eyed the porcelain oval with a momentary doubt and then suddenly knew what her Denno had meant when he said, "Tonight. Tell Blanche."

She remembered the time when he had brought her Da back to the mortal world. They had needed a Gate and Denno had given her a token carrying a spell that would call the Gate to it. Elizabeth drew a deep happy breath. He would come tonight to take her Underhill and, of course, he had meant to warn Blanche not to touch the token for fear that the necklace of Cold Iron crosses she wore as a defense against Unseleighe attack would destroy the magic Denno had spelled into the token.

"Where shall we put it?" she asked Blanche, looking around the dressing room.

It was a small chamber, cluttered with Elizabeth's hanging dresses, chests of undergarments, a small table with a mirror, and several stools. Remembering the last time she had used Denno's token to draw a Gate, Elizabeth giggled. Forgetting that Denno would have to step forward out of the Gate, she had laid the token on a garden bench at the center of the maze and poor Denno had fallen off the bench right into a bed of dead flowers.

He had been surprisingly understanding, but once was more than enough for that kind of stupidity. "Not in here," she said to Blanche.

"And not in your bedchamber," Blanche said at once. "That is too dangerous. No matter what I say to those girls, they will poke their heads inside the door—to see if they would be disturbing you or if you are asleep and a scratch would wake you." Blanche sighed with exasperation. "And, of course, Mistress Ashley cannot be kept out. We cannot take the chance that someone will step in or look in just at the moment Lord Denno takes you away or brings you back."

"Your chamber?" Elizabeth asked hesitantly.

That was the best choice because it was just the other side of the dressing room, but Elizabeth hated to ask Blanche to permit a man into her room. The maid was very particular about her reputation and even met old fellow servants like Dunstan and Ladbroke in the corridor outside of her room rather than within it.

But Blanche nodded without reluctance. "No one will see him. If a maid pops in by accident, I know he can disappear. Besides, I have the very place. I guessed that thing appearing as it did meant he would be coming." She drew Elizabeth behind her through the dressing room and into her own small, dark chamber.

There, between two wardrobes stood a figure molded of pasteboard—actually Elizabeth's form, which allowed her maid to mend and adjust her clothing. If that figure was pulled forward, and perhaps dressed, in the dim room the space behind it would be mostly invisible.

"Very good!" Elizabeth exclaimed, eyes bright, turning toward the dressing room. "Now, what should I wear?"

"Your nightdress," Blanche said.

"But I wanted . . ." she sighed and then giggled.

What was she thinking? The clothing that Lady Alana could produce Underhill far outshone anything in her own wardrobe, to be truthful, anything in the queen's wardrobe . . . or that of the Protector's wife, who really put on most unsuitable airs.

"And you have a very pretty nightdress," Blanche reminded her. "I made up that last packet of silk and lace Lord Denno brought when you were so worried about where you were going to live. You hardly looked at it, my lady, but it is quite beautiful. You know Lord Denno never skimps you."

No he did not, Elizabeth thought, pulling her Cold Iron cross out of the bosom of her gown and slipping it into the heavy pouch of silk that would shield Denno's token from its influence. She went into the dressing room then, and picked up the pretty porcelain oval, smiling as she realized that the door design was a clever message.

Blanche had already moved the pasteboard form and Elizabeth laid the token on the floor, not too close to the back wall. She wondered about how Denno would know they were ready, but could not guess since she could not sense any air spirit. Just in case some word was necessary to activate the guide, she touched the oval and said "Fiat," which keyed most of her own spells.

Then she pressed a hand to her lips and rushed back to the dressing room. If Denno responded to the call of the token and came at once, she would not be ready. He would see her undressing. With lips parted to urge Blanche to hurry, Elizabeth suddenly smiled and swallowed the words. If Denno should see her undressed by accident . . .

Thoughts wavering now between hope and shame, she stood still while Blanche began to remove her sleeves and then unfasten the points of her skirt. As the heavy fabric slid down, she stepped out of it. The elaborate brocade was another gift from Denno and made her recall Blanche's remark.

It was true, Denno would never skimp her in any way. Not in the gifts he brought . . . nor in the touch of his lips. That was right, somehow; it was thrilling, it woke odd exciting sensations in her body. How wonderful that Denno was not human! What she did with him or felt about him had nothing to do with her life in the mortal world. Elizabeth hoped she would never need to marry, but if political necessity forced her into that state, human to human she would be a virgin still.

Human to human made her think of Thomas. When he touched her and kissed her, she felt hot and fluttery . . . and uneasy and ashamed. She knew that even though Catherine was with them and even joined in the games, Thomas should not be so handling her innocent maidens—or a king's daughter. Catherine was too much in love, Elizabeth thought. She could not bear to deny her husband any pleasure.

The soft slither of silk down her body, simultaneous with the click of a door latch, drew her lips into a brief pout. It was too late for Denno to catch a glimpse of her clothed in nothing but her hair. But in the next moment she realized it was not the door to Blanche's room that had opened, that had been left open, but the door to her parlor.

Elizabeth uttered a small, exasperated sigh. She had been glad when she came to Chelsea that Catherine had told her the door to her apartment need no longer be guarded. Not that she had dismissed Gerrit, Nyle, Shaylor, and Dickson. They still guarded her when she went riding or down the river to London. And they stood guard on the palace as a whole with Catherine's men, but she would never have escaped such long-time, devoted servants when she crept out to watch Catherine meeting Thomas. They would have clumped along behind her . . . Elizabeth giggled at the image, then sighed. Tonight a guard at the door would have been useful to keep out intruders.

Likely the unwelcome arrival was Eleanor Fitzalan, a sweet child, but far too prone to wish to be helpful. Forever creeping into her bedchamber to ask if she wanted a drink or to have her candle trimmed or some other service. Elizabeth frowned. How was she going to make sure that none of those silly girls discovered she was absent from her bed?

Blanche had already stepped around her to send away whoever had come in, but she stopped and Elizabeth heard her sigh with relief. In a moment she herself smiled as she understood. Lady Alana had just stepped through the dressing room door.

"With a tongue as sharp as yours is, Lady Elizabeth, I cannot imagine how you inspire such devotion. No less than three of your ladies were on their way to discover if they could do anything to amuse you and soothe your irritation. I did manage to send them back to their own beds, but it was not easy."

"Likely my sharp tongue is the reason." Elizabeth said, grinning. "They think if they divert me, I will be less sharp tomorrow. You would think that experience would teach them better. However, it is very likely that I will be mild as milk tomorrow without their attentions. I wish I could hope that would start a precedent. Are you coming with me?"

"Yes." Aleneil smiled and turned to Blanche. "No need for you to look so worried, Blanche. The door to the parlor is stuck and will not open until I return. Go to bed and get a good night's sleep for a change."

"I don't sleep easy when my lady is . . . is away," Blanche said, frowning.

Elizabeth embraced her. "There's no need to worry. Lady Alana and Lord Denno will both be with me and for once I am not grieving and distracted." Suddenly a smile like sunshine lit her face; over Blanche's shoulder she had seen Denno standing in the doorway. "Sleep well, Blanche," she said but without looking at her maid, and walked past her into her Denno's arms.

He drew her with him so quickly to a black gaping between the wardrobes that at first Elizabeth did not take in what she saw. Even as the blackness and falling that was Gating passed over her, however, she realized that the other end of the Gate opened into the bedchamber she used in Denno's house. Had Lady Alana been left behind? Elizabeth stiffened slightly. Did Denno intend to . . . to take her to bed now? Without even asking her? She had responded to his kiss, yes. But . . .

But his mouth was on hers even as they touched the bedchamber floor and the half-frightened, half-resentful thoughts puffed away, evaporated by the warmth that coursed from his lips to hers. Only for a moment, though, as the kiss was broken and both of them pushed forward by the arrival of another body.

"I am so sorry," Alana said, chuckling, "but the Gate was so small and narrow, and already starting to close, that I had no choice."

She did not sound particularly sorry, and the voice was not Lady Alana's coo but Aleneil's sweet, brisk tones. Elizabeth did not care; she had no attention to give to Alana/Aleneil. She was staring at Denno. He had looked just as he always did when he came to the door of Blanche's room, his hair white, his face browned and lined by exposure to mortal weather. Now he looked . . . young. His hair was gold, his skin pale and smooth as cream. His eyes had not changed, except that they were sparkling, emeralds touched by a beam of sunlight. The points of his ears though were pink.

"Denno?" Elizabeth asked uncertainly.

"Yes."

He studied her face and Elizabeth wondered what it showed. She herself was uncertain of what she felt. Now that the first shock of seeing him young again had passed, her remaining surprise was largely owing to the fact that his appearance was not strange but utterly familiar. She realized suddenly that was how Denno had looked when she was little more than a babe, when he had come with Da to play with her—and he looked utterly familiar because it was how her mind had "seen" him all these years, why to her Denno would never grow old.

Gently she raised a hand and touched his cheek, then slid the hand around behind his head so she could pull his mouth down to hers. Aleneil's voice made Elizabeth start back and Denno lift his head.

"If you two intend to stand there staring at each other much longer, I wish you would tell me so I can think of some excuse to carry to Queen Titania. You did agree to go to this ball, didn't you, Denoriel? And Ilar will think I am not coming if I don't get there soon."

"Ball?" Elizabeth repeated, staring now at Aleneil, who was dressed in the most fantastic creation Elizabeth had ever seen.

She had to call it a creation because there was not enough of it to be called a gown. It was made completely of golden ribbons, one over a handspan wide went around the back of Aleneil's neck, crossed over her breasts barely hiding them, and then went around her narrow waist, fastening with a golden rose seemingly carved out of a giant topaz. The top of the skirt did manage to hide her private parts, being made of rosettes of the same ribbon in strategic places. But below her hips the skirt was all ribbons, showing a long length of white and shapely leg when Aleneil moved.

"Yes," Denno replied, "one of the great balls given by Oberon and Titania twice a year. It is open to all Sidhe, Dark Court and Bright alike."

Elizabeth started slightly, having almost forgotten the question in her voice when she repeated the word "ball." Then she blinked. "Dark Sidhe are also invited? But are they not evil and dangerous?"

"Not at the ball," Denno said, laughing. "There is a truce during the ball, all differences being set aside until a full mortal day after the ball ends."

"Truce?" Elizabeth's doubt showed in her voice.

Denno laughed again. "Oberon's truce is somewhat different from those of the mortal world. One cannot do any violence or even utter threats during Oberon's truce. Poisons are made harmless; even fingernails become too soft to scratch. Do you remember how he froze us all when Vidal attacked us? An impulse to violence or a threat has the same effect on any Sidhe who dares violate the truce. And it does make one look very silly to be frozen until Oberon decides to release one."

"You will be quite safe," Aleneil assured Elizabeth, twirling around so that all her ribbons floated up and gave glimpses of her legs. "Now, what would you like to wear? You can, of course, have the gown with the fur sleeves, but there is a great deal of dancing, quite lively dancing, and I think that gown would restrict you."

"I couldn't," Elizabeth said hesitantly, staring at Aleneil's dress.

"Oh, nothing like this," Aleneil assured her. "Just something soft and flowing that will let you feel free."

Elizabeth considered for a moment and then asked hesitantly, "If I don't feel comfortable in what you make for me, could I change into my other gown?"

"Of course you could, love." Aleneil cocked her head at Denoriel who was still looking at Elizabeth with a rather bemused expression. "Denoriel, go change your own clothing while I devise something Elizabeth will like." And when he did not move, she walked over and pushed him gently toward the door. "Go. Dress."

When she had closed the door behind him, she stared intently at Elizabeth for a moment. Now, as had happened the first time Elizabeth visited Underhill, her nightdress appeared on the bed and she could feel soft undergarments against the skin of her body. A moment later another soft, silken weight on her body—although nothing near the weight of a full Court dress—told her she was dressed, except that her left arm felt bare. Slowly Elizabeth turned to look in the full-length cheval glass.

"Oh, my," she breathed.

The dress, of a heavy amber silk, was softly fitted to her body from her left shoulder to the gentle rounded curve of her hips. From there, the thick and shining silk flowed smoothly to her ankles where a band of gleaming black fur made a hem and then spiraled up her body, past her waist, to form the edge of a huge sleeve/cloak that could be drawn up to cover her bare right shoulder.

There was no left sleeve either; the long armhole was decorated by an incredibly complex embroidery of gold around ovals of jet. The edge of the sleeve/cloak was also embroidered in gold around jet. A choker of brilliant topazes circled her neck and a broad bracelet to match covered her left wrist. Her head was free of any cap, but the hair in front of her ears had been plaited into several thin braids and then wound into a kind of crown at the top of her head fastened in place by a tiara of topaz.

Elizabeth stared at the coronet, flashing in the bright red of her hair. In the mortal world she would never dare wear such an ornament; she was a king's daughter and in the royal succession but by her father's decree not a princess.

"Well, love, can you wear that?"

Elizabeth looked at the smooth, white skin of her left arm; it almost seemed to glow against the amber silk and dark fur. She pulled the cloak/sleeve up a little higher on her right shoulder; the silk draped gracefully against her neck, and the fur border lay against her hand without slipping. She could dance in that gown, Elizabeth thought, even a great galloping dance without feeling as if she might be tripped or toppled by its weight.

"Yes, oh yes. That is . . . if you and I will not be the . . . the barest people in the room."

Aleneil laughed again. "No, you need not fear that. We may be the best covered. Of course some will wear gowns that cover them from neck to instep, except that the fabric will be nearly transparent. Last ball one of the ladies wore nothing but a web of pearls. All sorts of things peeped out here and there."

Elizabeth took a few steps to one side and then turned quickly so that the hem of the gown, weighted as it was by the fur, flared around her legs. "It's light as a feather," she said, then sighed. "I do love my Court dresses, but they are not light . . ."

Her voice trailed away as Denoriel came to the door. He wore a silver jacket piped in black with a stand-up collar. It was fastened with jet buttons slantwise along his left shoulder and then down the side. Under the silver jacket were close-fitting black silk trews, piped in silver. His sword belt was black, the scabbard and hilt of his sword silver, the hilt of his long knife silver topped with a coruscating opal. Shining silver half boots covered his legs to the calf.

"Do you approve? Will you dance with me, my lady?"

"Every dance," Elizabeth said, moving forward to take his hand.

"Oh, no," Aleneil put in giggling. "There will be many others who wish to dance with the mortal princess, Elizabeth, and they will be quite cross with poor Denoriel if you cling too close to him. Besides, I think Harry will be coming. Will you not want to give your Da at least one dance?"

"Da will be invited?" Elizabeth's expression grew radiant.

"Everyone is invited," Denoriel said, frowning suddenly. "Which reminds me. You must be very circumspect in what you say, Elizabeth. Although violence and threats are forbidden, promises made at the ball are still promises. You must not even say things like 'I will see you again soon.' You may say 'I am glad to meet you' and other meaningless phrases, but nothing that can be taken as a promise."

"I will be careful," Elizabeth said solemnly.

"Then let us go," Aleneil urged, shooing them toward the door. "Ilar will have given me up as lost."

The elvensteeds were waiting at the foot of the stair, Ystwyth black as night with a golden mane and tail, Miralys a deep blue with silver mane and tail. Denoriel mounted, then leaned down and lifted Elizabeth to the smaller saddle behind his own. Elizabeth was not surprised when the skirt of her gown, which had not been so full, simply widened to allow her to sit astride. For a moment she felt annoyed again by the easy accommodations magic permitted, then she smiled.

Underhill was a game, a dream, a place where the forbidden and impossible could happen. It was a momentary escape from real life and should be enjoyed as such. Yet Elizabeth did not have the smallest desire to live in the dream for more than a short time. Longer, it would bore her to death.

Sliding an arm around Denno's waist to balance herself, Elizabeth offered up a small prayer of thanks to the real God for allowing her this delightful distraction. That thought sent a chill and then a flush of warmth through her. She knew, although even here Underhill she did not dare articulate the idea clearly, that this had been given her to support her in a time when duty and responsibility would grow so heavy as to crush her if some relief were not offered.

A flash of gold broke her thoughts and drew her attention to Aleneil, who floated up into Ystwyth's saddle. The ribbons glittered, even in the moonless, sunless twilight, shining, rising up and then drifting down around her. Magic. Elizabeth grinned, watching as the ribbons fell in such a way that Aleneil's legs were not completely exposed, only a tempting glimpse of white skin being revealed now and again.

The usual few strides of the elvensteeds brought them the seemingly long distance from the Summer Palace to the Gate of Logres. Ystwyth mounted the white, blue-veined marble under the high dome of opal lace supported on the pillars of chalcedony and promptly disappeared. Miralys followed. Elizabeth was a trifle surprised when they did not even pause a moment for Denoriel to visualize his destination, but then dismissed the puzzlement. Likely Oberon had bespelled every pattern holder in Underhill to bring Sidhe to the site of the ball.

That they had arrived where they should was immediately apparent. Before them stretched an enormous field of the soft moss starred with small white flowers that seemed to cover the ground in Logres and Avalon. Far ahead Elizabeth saw the darkness of a large building, but it was too distant to make out any details. She looked down at where Ystwyth preceded them, noting with some amusement that the moss, soft as it looked and felt, never bruised or broke no matter the weight that compressed it.

Suddenly very happy over this very minor example of the silly dreamlike quality of Underhill, Elizabeth rubbed her face against Denno's back, and he turned his head and kissed her forehead. Elizabeth started to raise her face to bring their lips together, but they had come close enough for her to see the building and the garden in front of it and she could not help drawing in an awed breath.

The palace, for it could be nothing else, was no more than three stories high but seemed to stretch a mile on each side of the huge, open double doors. It glowed a pale gold, lighted by thousands and thousands of small lights. On each end were four towers, topped by onion-shaped domes and in the center was a single structure, rising another five levels, surrounded by four smaller towers, each topped with an onion dome. The front of the building was protected by a dozen pillars connected by wide arches, which supported the overhanging third story of the building.

There were details that Elizabeth could see as they drew closer which were well worthy of examination, but her attention was drawn to the people, strolling in the garden, walking up the broad stairs to enter the building while others came down. In a sense it was not much of a garden. Mostly it was more of the ubiquitous moss with only a few beds of flowers around a handsome but not spectacular fountain.

The fountain was a boundary of some kind for Miralys stopped there and Denno helped Elizabeth down and then dismounted. Off in the distance to right and left Elizabeth could see many other elvensteeds, and Miralys and Ystwyth, from whom Aleneil had dismounted, started off to join their fellow creatures.

"Good," Aleneil said, "the musicians haven't set up yet so we are early. I said I'd meet Ilar at the fountain—"

"Have you been here before?" Denoriel asked, sounding surprised.

"Of course not. You know Oberon creates a different palace and garden for each ball, but—" she giggled "—there is always a fountain."

"So there is," a new voice said.

It was a pleasant tenor, lighter than Denno's strong baritone, and the Sidhe who had spoken was somewhat shorter and more slender. His hair was a paler gold, his eyes also a lighter green than Denno's vivid emerald, but his smile was very sweet and a more than usually warm expression made his face attractive.

He held out his hand to Aleneil and said, "Magnificent. Exquisite. I have never seen the like of that gown." He then kissed the hand Aleneil had placed in his.

"This," Aleneil said, "is Ilar from Elfhame Cymry."

As Aleneil introduced him, he turned his head to look at Elizabeth. "What a lovely mortal child. Wherever did you find her?"

"This is the Lady Elizabeth, the late King Henry of England's daughter. By permission of Queen Titania she is welcome to visit Underhill when it pleases her." Denoriel's voice was cold and hard and his hand came down firmly on Elizabeth's shoulder.

"Ah," Ilar said, dropping the hand he had raised as if to take hold of Elizabeth. "She is yours, Prince Denoriel."

"She is her own," Elizabeth said sharply. Although she was startled by hearing the new Sidhe name Denno a prince, she had a more important point to make. "Prince Denoriel is my friend and my protector, for which I am sometimes grateful—" she glanced sidelong at Denno "—and sometimes not. But I belong to no one except myself."

Ilar looked startled but took his cue from Aleneil's slight laugh and Denoriel's resigned sigh, both forms of acceptance of Elizabeth's words, and shrugged slightly. Then dismissing an awkward subject, he gestured widely around the grounds and toward the glowing palace.

"I think King Oberon has outdone himself this time. Shall we go in and see what marvels he has made for us to wonder at?"

All the rest murmured agreement and Denoriel stepped to the side and placed Elizabeth's hand on his arm. However they had hardly taken five steps to go around the fountain toward the palace, when the sound of hooves made them draw together. An elvensteed stopped almost too close to their group and someone leapt down, crying, "Bess."

Elizabeth promptly turned away from Denoriel. "Da!"

"Oh, my love," Harry FitzRoy exclaimed, "you are a woman, a fine lady. Where is my little girl gone?"

"She is still right here," Elizabeth said, rushing into FitzRoy's outstretched arms. "I will never be too grown up for a cuddle from my Da."

Ilar was staring at Harry with disbelief as Lady Aeron nudged him gently. He turned, with an arm still around Elizabeth, to put a kiss on the elvensteed's muzzle and stroke his cheek down hers. Lady Aeron, now seemingly satisfied, loped off in the direction Miralys and Ystwyth had taken.

"Another mortal?" Ilar murmured to Aleneil. "A mortal with an elvensteed? I did not think that was possible."

"Elvensteeds do as they like. Lady Aeron has always been Harry's from when Denoriel was forced to bring him Underhill to save his life when he was a child. Harry is also King Henry's get, but outside of the mortal custom of marriage."

Denoriel had joined Harry and Elizabeth and Harry was laughing and shaking his head about something Denoriel said. The movement disarranged his hair, and Oberon's blue star shone clear on his forehead. Ilar's eyes widened again.

"You of Logres are well entangled with King Henry's children." But before Aleneil could answer, Ilar nodded. "Yes. I remember. One of our FarSeers Saw that three of that king's children would rule."

"All three?" Aleneil asked eagerly.

Ilar shook his head. "I think so, but it matters very little to us in Cymry who rules in Logres so I am afraid I did not pay attention. I will ask, if you would like me to, when I return home." He stiffened and turned his head. "Ah, the musicians are tuning their instruments. There will be dancing soon."

The sounds preliminary to music drew the attention of the other three, and Denoriel stepped over to Ilar and Aleneil to tell them to go ahead as he, Harry, and Elizabeth were waiting for Mwynwen who had been delayed by a last-minute patient. However, they had hardly started toward the palace again when the healer arrived. When she had dismounted and shaken out the many layers of filmy gauze that made up her gown, the first strains of a galliard were floating over the garden. Couples were forming. Harry took Mwynwen's hand and bowed over it.

"Lady, will you dance?" he asked.

"Why not?" Mwynwen replied.

The tone of her voice drew Denoriel's eyes to her face. It was pleasant and indulgent—a friend accepting a pleasant offer from a friend. There was none of the delight, the faint excitement that colored an exchange by lovers. Afraid to look at Harry and see pain or incomprehension in his face, Denoriel turned to Elizabeth and took her hand.

"And you, my lady?" he asked.

Her eyes were bright gold and a very faint color tinged her normally pale cheeks. The delight, the excitement—a lover's welcome to his question—were there. Denoriel raised her hand to his lips.

"Yes," Elizabeth said, "yes I will, thank you."

 

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Framed