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Chapter 27

It was indeed fortunate, Elizabeth thought as she reluctantly released Denno and slipped into her bed, that time Underhill could be stretched. Between learning the sleep spells—she would have to try the first one on Alice Finch tonight—and cooling the heat that her long separation from Denno had generated, she would not have had time to close her eyes at all in a mortal night. As it was, she had had a full night's rest before returning to Seymour Place.

She smiled up at her bedcurtains as she thought it was more than sleep spells Elidir and Mechain could teach her. Before Denno could display his eagerness to whisk her back to Llachar Lle as soon as she had the spells fixed in her mind, and allow Da to think about what they would be doing there, Mechain had said she was sorry to be inhospitable but she and Elidir had to get to the Elves' Faire. And when Da had asked what they wanted there, both had looked at him as if he were losing his mind and said it was mortal Tuesday and he had told them he wanted to meet Rhoslyn there.

Da hadn't told them any such thing, Elizabeth thought, grinning. He had blinked with surprise; but any discomfort he might have felt about Denno taking her off to Denno's rooms had been pushed out of Da's mind. And he had gone off with them to see if they could find Rhoslyn with no more than a quick kiss on her forehead and a "Until we meet once more."

Then Elizabeth frowned. Da seemed very interested in Rhoslyn. He had said he wanted to make her comfortable at the ball, but surely his dancing with her and asking her to eat with them was more than kindliness. And she thought there was a distance between Da and Mwynwen now.

But Rhoslyn was Unseleighe. Was it safe for Da to be interested in her? She would not dare harm him physically; Oberon's blue star still burned on his forehead, but she could hurt him other ways. Elizabeth drew a breath as pain flicked through her at the thought that Denno might abandon her. No. That could not happen. But what could she do to protect Da? He would laugh at her warnings—she was his little girl.

She would have to ask Denno. Da would listen to him. But was any warning necessary? Da knew Rhoslyn was Unseleighe, and Rhoslyn was . . . nice. She had really cared about Richey. Lady Alana liked her. And Da . . . well, Da was a grown man now. He wouldn't be pleased that she interfered in his life, any more than she was pleased at the thought that he might interfere in hers. Her instinct told her that Rhoslyn was no longer a threat. Perhaps she should listen to it.

Sighing and stretching, Elizabeth sat up, leaned forward to look at Eleanor Fitzalan, who was still under the spell Denno had cast, soundly asleep. Smiling, she whispered, dihuno, then lay down again while Eleanor began to stir.

For the following weeks Elizabeth was aware of little beside the renewed pleasures of her body and the adventures she shared with Denno, and often with Da, Underhill. It was just as well that lessons had been temporarily suspended because Master Grindal was ill. Catherine sent her own physician and Elizabeth sent what comforts she could think of. Now and again, Elizabeth felt a little guilty because she did not worry much . . .

. . . and she felt worse when Grindal died.

"I should have begged you to bring Mwynwen to him," she said to Denno and Da, tears streaking her cheeks, a few days after her tutor's death had been broken to her.

"No, love," Da said, an arm around her shoulders so her head rested against his breast. "It would have done no good. Mwynwen cannot cure most mortal diseases. She can draw off elven poisons, break curses, and heal most wounds and elven illnesses, but she could not draw off the mortal plague, which is what killed Master Grindal."

"I am sorry about him," Denno agreed, patting her hand, "and you must grieve, of course, for he served you well, but I must warn you not to grieve too long lest you find yourself with a teacher you will not like. It would behoove you to think of a man you would enjoy learning from and suggest him to Queen Catherine. If she makes an arrangement, I doubt the Protector would interfere, but if you have no tutor . . ."

"Master Ascham," Elizabeth said, the thought of the strict and rigid tutor Somerset or his wife might favor making her sit upright and wipe away her tears. "I know Master Ascham would like to be my tutor; he has hinted as much to me now and again. We do not agree on all subjects, but he taught me to write so beautifully and—" she found a watery smile "—I enjoy our quarrels."

"Yes, well, take your preference to Queen Catherine soon," Denno urged. "The Court has moved to Greenwich, but it cannot be very long before the news of Master Grindal's death comes to Somerset."

Ah, Elizabeth thought, so that was why she had not seen Sir Thomas recently and why Catherine had been so quiet. Thomas must be pursuing Edward at Greenwich, giving him money and hinting that Edward should appeal to the Council for a change of guardians. Edward, Elizabeth had heard Thomas say at dinner one day, would be much happier if Somerset managed the affairs of the kingdom and Thomas managed the king.

Elizabeth was not certain what she thought of Thomas' notion. Edward probably would be happier, as Thomas was far more lighthearted than his brother the Protector, but would Edward be a better king for Thomas' guardianship? She put the thought aside while Da took her and Denno to the Elves' Faire to seek out steel bolts for his gun . . . and to meet Rhoslyn. Elizabeth greeted her pleasantly and pretended to be much taken with a pretty silver dagger, but she watched the Dark Sidhe and her Da as closely as she could.

She forgot all about Master Ascham until she came down to the queen's parlor after breaking her fast the next morning and found the room empty. Then she remembered that Sir Thomas had doubtless spent the day at Greenwich and either had not come back to Seymour Place at all or had come back very late. So much the better if he were out of the house, Elizabeth thought; she did not trust him not to interfere with her choice of a tutor.

Having settled herself to a new piece of embroidery, Elizabeth sent Alice Finch to request a meeting with the queen. To her surprise, Catherine did not at once come to the parlor nor immediately send for her. She was not refused but had to wait near half an hour and was then shown into Catherine's bedchamber.

The queen was not yet dressed and was sitting rather limply in a padded chair by the foot of the bed. And she did not look well! Catherine was greenish-pale and heavy-eyed.

Lovestruck herself, the first thing that leapt into Elizabeth's mind was Sir Thomas' absence. Simultaneous with that thought came the memories of his flirtations with her and with the other ladies. Catherine had always laughed at what she called Thomas' antics, but looking at Catherine's pallid face Elizabeth could not help wondering if the queen now feared her husband was unfaithful.

She dared not say a word that might imply she had noticed Catherine's misery, so Elizabeth launched at once into her desire for a new tutor that would suit her taste. Catherine seemed to welcome the subject; they spoke of Master Aylmer, Lady Jane Grey's tutor, but Catherine hinted that Lady Jane would not be happy sharing Aylmer with the far more animated Lady Elizabeth. And when Elizabeth suggested Ascham, Catherine agreed at once that he would be ideal and that she would write to him.

That made Elizabeth feel guilty about seeming to forget Master Grindal so quickly, and she mentioned not being so indifferent to his loss as she seemed. Catherine was immediately sympathetic, sighing, and saying she understood. But then she leaned back in her chair, growing noticeably paler and her lady signed to Elizabeth that she should go.

Only then, with the thought of Master Grindal's death foremost in her mind, did it occur to Elizabeth that the queen might not be grieved over her husband's behavior but seriously unwell. She asked the lady who accompanied her back to the parlor, but received no more than a smile and a shake of the head. Next, Elizabeth set Blanche to ask tactful questions of Catherine's maids. The result was that she was frightened half out of her wits by learning that Catherine was frequently sick and had trouble keeping down her food.

Then Elizabeth herself waylaid Catherine's maid and asked what physician had been summoned and what he had advised; the maid was evasive. Elizabeth asked whether there was anything she could do, offering Lord Denno's ability to obtain exotic and expensive medications. To her surprise the maid seemed to be stifling laughter, but aloud the woman only made excuses and said she knew of nothing that would help.

If those words had not frightened Elizabeth so much, she would have understood at once from the behavior of the maids and Catherine's ladies that the queen was with child. As it was, she burst into tears when she reached her own apartment and could not eat her dinner when she regained enough calm to join the company. Fortunately she was not recovered enough to look other than terrified and miserable, and Catherine sought her out and asked what was wrong—which made Elizabeth burst into tears again and wail that she lost everyone she loved.

The queen was shocked and asked pressing questions, eventually wringing from Elizabeth the fear that her beloved stepmother was failing. Whereupon Catherine began to laugh.

"Oh my poor Bessie, it does my heart good to know that you love me so much, but you mustn't fear for me. I did not mean to frighten you. I only did not want to say too much too soon lest Tom be disappointed. I believe I am with child, my dear one. That is why I am sick."

"With child!" Elizabeth echoed, catching the queen's hands in her own. "Oh by God's sweet grace, how stupid I am!"

"Yes, well, it is only two months and one can never be certain so soon."

"I will pray it is so, madam. With all my heart, I hope it is so."

Later, of course, after the first joy of relief had passed, Elizabeth was not so completely satisfied as she had been. She added prayers for a safe delivery and a quick return to health to her prayers that the queen be truly carrying a child.

Toward the end of February, Sir Thomas left the Court. He did not seem in a terribly good mood and said nothing about what he had accomplished. He was pleased about the child Catherine was now sure she carried, but less pleased by Catherine's continued uneasy health. He suggested, and Catherine agreed with some relief, that they should return to Chelsea, where the purer air and water might do her good.

Elizabeth was equally happy with the projected move and looked forward to the greater comfort of Chelsea some time in March. Although Denno had managed a Gate in her tiny dressing room in Seymour Place, the house was much more crowded than Chelsea Palace and exposure a greater danger. Poor Denno had needed to use the Don't-see-me spell several times to avoid detection.

Also in Seymour Place Elizabeth's rooms were only a flight of back stairs above those of Thomas and Catherine. Only servants were supposed to use those stairs, but one morning Thomas, wearing nothing but a night gown, burst into her bedchamber "to say good morning" to her. Elizabeth sent Blanche scurrying to Kat's chamber and remained as long as she could behind the dressing room door.

She came out when Thomas threatened to come in; the dressing room was so small they would have been nearly breast to breast. He made some jest about how long it had taken her to get into her clothing and professed to see some irregularity in the way her points were tied. She was trying to ward him off, having a feeling that the points, which she knew Blanche had tied, would be soon undone and perhaps her skirt down on the floor, when mercifully Kat entered the room.

This time Kat was not amused by Thomas' behavior. She gaped at his naked legs and flapping gown and cried out that it was not decent for a man to visit a maiden's bedchamber in such disarray. All Thomas' good humor disappeared; he snapped angrily that he intended no harm, only to please Elizabeth with early morning cheer. In reply to which Kat said that such cheer could ruin a maiden's reputation and that if he did not promise not to come unclothed to Elizabeth's chamber again, she would have to beg the queen either to accompany him or to send Elizabeth away.

He left in a temper, and Elizabeth was quite alarmed. She certainly did not want Kat to trouble Queen Catherine, who was having a very sickly pregnancy. However, she realized she could not take a chance of Thomas' catching her in a nightdress so she decided to ask Denno to return her to the mortal world fully clothed.

Denno, of course, asked why. Elizabeth sighed, but it was what she had expected and she had deliberately chosen a time when Da was with them to describe Thomas' flirtation, thinking Da's presence would prevent Denno from scolding her. Oddly, it was Da who was most upset and who lectured her on the danger any slur on her reputation would be to the likelihood she would come to the throne.

Elizabeth said, "Oh, Da, don't say that. Edward is so young, younger than I, and he is healthy and clever."

"Master Grindal was healthy and clever, too, and he is dead," Harry said, shaking his head. "I do not wish Edward any ill. I will be very happy if he lives a long and fruitful life. Believe me, Bess, my love, I do not wish you to come to the throne. It is a hard and bitter life to rule. But if any accident should befall Edward . . . Mary is much older than you and she is in poor health. It is your duty to be ready to keep England safe, for a failure in the direct line—such as your disgrace and removal from the succession—will mean civil war."

Elizabeth stared at her half brother. Denno looked down at his hands, then squarely at Elizabeth. He did not wish to burden her either with hope or with fear, but he felt she needed to know more. This last year, living in safety with Catherine, she had become less cautious, less suspicious. Or perhaps it was just her age; halflings, as those between the age of childhood and full adulthood were called, were notoriously wild and careless, unable to believe that any ill could befall them.

"There has always been the possibility that you would rule," he said. "It is one of the futures in the Visions of the FarSeers."

"Oh," Elizabeth said, but she did not look distressed at all. Her eyes grew very bright. "Truly? Is there truly a possibility that I will come to the throne?" She drew a breath. "I will be more careful. Thomas is only boisterous and careless, but perhaps I have not discouraged him as much as I should."

"And why not?" Harry asked sharply.

Elizabeth blushed faintly. "I suppose a little because the flirting flattered me, but truly, mostly it is because Catherine becomes distressed if he is too firmly rejected."

"I have been careless, too." Denoriel sighed. "It was so . . . ah . . . convenient for you to come in a nightdress, but I see it will not do. You will need to bring some clothing to keep in my lodgings at Llachar Lle and I will make sure you are fully dressed when I bring you back to the mortal world in the morning. If you are already up and at your book, Seymour cannot talk about undone points or have any excuse to touch you."

Harry shook his head. "Grace of God, Catherine is your stepmother. Seymour is your stepfather by marriage. And to meddle with you, second in line for the throne, is treason. His behavior could ruin him, too. Why is the man such a fool?"

Suddenly Denoriel felt much better. He had been seething with rage and, yes, jealousy since Elizabeth had begun her tale of Seymour's attentions. The blush and admission that she had been flattered twisted his gut. It had taken all his determination to maintain an attitude of indifference. He knew his Elizabeth. To expose his hurt and jealousy would only encourage her to torment him. Now Harry—blessed Harry—had given him a good reason for Elizabeth to avoid Seymour.

"A very interesting question, Harry," Denoriel said, frowning. "I hope it is because he is the kind that cannot leave any pretty girl alone. But I fear there may be a darker side to his pursuit." He turned and smiled at Elizabeth. "Not that you are not worth it, my sweet, but Seymour has always seemed to me a man first devoted to himself."

"A monster of selfishness," Harry said angrily. "Would he chance hurting his breeding wife with playing with her ladies and her stepdaughter otherwise?"

"Catherine only laughs," Elizabeth put in, looking rather shamefaced.

"Who knows what hurt that laughter could conceal," Harry said, still angry.

"I am sorry, but I am afraid there is a real reason for his carelessness, which may not be carelessness at all. Do you remember, Harry, that Oberon ordered Vidal not to do or cause any hurt to Elizabeth?"

"Of course I remember."

"Vidal fears Oberon too much to violate that order by any physical attack, but do you think he has forgotten how Elizabeth's reign would benefit the Bright Court and starve the Dark of the power of misery? Vidal is very experienced in manipulating courts and courtiers. Once Catherine brought a man who might be thought attractive to women into her household, do you think Vidal would overlook the chance of removing Elizabeth from the succession by disgrace?"

Elizabeth's lips thinned into a scarcely visible line and Denoriel had to bite his own lips to hide a smile. He recalled how her eyes glowed when he mentioned the FarSeers' Vision of her as queen. Elizabeth would be playing no more games with Sir Thomas Seymour.

"You think Vidal may have sunk his hooks into Seymour?" Harry said thoughtfully.

Denoriel shrugged. "If Edward fails, Mary's reign will be short, I think. Then, if Elizabeth has been removed from the succession . . . there will be civil war. Elizabeth will have partisans who oppose whoever else is proposed to take the throne. She is the legitimate heir and the people love her. Nothing could give Vidal more pleasure than a civil war in England and that would also provide opportunities for Elizabeth to be killed by her enemies—for which Oberon could not blame Vidal."

"Civil war is not to be thought of," Harry said, mouth and chin set mulishly. Duty to his country had been drilled into Henry FitzRoy, blood and bone. There had been civil war before . . . most recently, the Wars of the Roses that had been finally ended in exhaustion and compromise with the ascension of his own grandfather, Henry VII, to the throne. Harry would do anything, sacrifice anything, to prevent another such bloodbath.

But unfortunately, as he well knew, there were others who would do anything to bring such a calamity to pass.

 

Thus, on the following mortal Tuesday, Harry went to the Elves' Faire to find Rhoslyn. Llanelli greeted him warmly. She had seen how Rhoslyn bloomed in his presence and welcomed any diversion for her daughter, who had been deeply depressed by the loss of any hope for acceptance into the Bright Court.

In an ordinary way, Llanelli would have opposed any relationship between her daughter and a mortal, knowing that a short mortal life would only cause Rhoslyn pain. But Harry was not only marked by Oberon's protection but was a permanent resident Underhill. Mortal life was greatly extended by living Underhill and Llanelli supposed that like most Sidhe Rhoslyn would grow bored with her mortal lover and abandon him long before his life ended.

In due course, Rhoslyn arrived, her whole face lighting with her smile at Harry when he proposed that they go to the Inn of Kindly Laughter for dinner. Llanelli agreed and sent them on ahead because, she said, she still had one patient to see. Rhoslyn blushed and said, "Mother!" but Harry extended his arm for her to take and Llanelli waved them away.

"I must tell you," Harry said, as soon as they were out of hearing of Llanelli, "that I have an ulterior motive. Not that I would not come without one. I cannot tell you, Rhoslyn, how much pleasure your company gives me, but I know you are kindly disposed toward Elizabeth and there may be a threat brewing for her."

"Not from Lady Mary," Rhoslyn said defensively and then, "But she does not love Elizabeth, that is true."

"No, not from Lady Mary. I would not ask you to betray Mary in any way. I think you once told me that your brother took on the guise of a mortal sorcerer called Otstargi?"

Rhoslyn shook her head vigorously. "He has not played the role of Otstargi for many years, and he promised me he would not act against Elizabeth. He is Dark Court, but would not break his word to me."

Harry laid his hand over Rhoslyn's and squeezed it gently, hearing the pain in her voice. "No, I did not mean that your brother was doing anything to hurt Elizabeth. I just wondered whether he would do me a favor and, in the guise of Otstargi, discover whether there were any unpleasant rumors linking Elizabeth and her stepmother's husband, Sir Thomas Seymour. Seymour has been misbehaving toward her, and she told me and Denno. I want to learn whatever I can about this Seymour." Harry's mouth and eyes hardened. "He might have an accident if he is any danger to my little girl."

Rhoslyn raised anxious eyes to Harry's, eyes unshadowed by envy or jealousy because of the words "my little girl." She had heard a lot of stories about how adorable Elizabeth was as a baby, and she had seen Harry's behavior to Elizabeth at the ball. Besides it was obvious that Elizabeth wanted Denoriel's attention, and not Harry's.

Or at least, not in that way.

"Pasgen knows about Seymour. I told him because when Lady Mary learned that Seymour was married, or to be married, to Queen Catherine, she wrote to offer Elizabeth a haven in her household. Elizabeth refused, very politely, but very decidedly. Mary was hurt and said no good could come of Elizabeth living in the household of a well-known lecher." Rhoslyn bit her lip. "Lady Mary would not start any ill-natured tales about Elizabeth . . . but she would believe them."

Harry sighed. "I feared as much. Even when Elizabeth was a baby, Lady Mary was of two minds about her. Mary loves all children, and she was very kind to Elizabeth after Anne's execution, but she never forgot for a moment the pain Anne had caused her mother . . . and Elizabeth was part of that."

Rhoslyn nodded. "And Elizabeth is no longer a child. She is a young woman whose manner and appearance scream aloud that she is old King Henry's daughter. Mary cannot forgive her for that. There is little left in Mary of love or sympathy for Elizabeth." She nodded again. "I will do what I can. I cannot always reach Pasgen quickly, but I know he has been in Otstargi's household recently. I will ask him to find out what he can."

"I thank you," Harry said, and raised Rhoslyn's hand and kissed it. "Elizabeth is the daughter I will never have."

 

As Rhoslyn had suspected, Llanelli did not have another patient but she was very pleased with herself when she saw Rhoslyn and Harry walk off deep in conversation. Rhoslyn would have him bound fast whenever she wanted him, Llanelli thought with satisfaction, then lifted her head to look enquiringly at the brown-haired, rosy-faced maid who had come to her side.

"Lady," the maid said, "there is a Sidhe in the outer chamber who begs you to come to his companion, who was torn in a personal battle."

Llanelli shook her head. "No. Tell the Sidhe that I do not visit patients. I will wait and do what I can for his companion if he will bring that companion here or to the Goblin Market or the Bazaar of the Bizarre. However, I no longer heal in any place except the three great markets."

"I have told him that already," the maid said. "He said he wishes to explain to you the pitiable condition of his companion and says he is sure you will not be so hard of heart as to refuse him."

About to tell the maid to send the insistent Sidhe away, Llanelli realized she had to leave to join Rhoslyn and Harry anyway, and went out to the receiving room. The Sidhe waiting had the usual golden hair and light eyes but was thin to emaciation. He stretched a hand toward her, but Llanelli did not raise her hand to meet his.

"I will not come with you," she said. "You waste your time. If your companion is so much injured that he or she cannot be moved, I could not heal him or her anyway. I am a good healer but not a worker of magic. There are other healers also."

"You must come. You must. My name is Goeel. Eforian told me how you healed his arm from iron poison. Only you will be able to heal my friend."

"That healing was something special. I had a . . . an instrument that I no longer possess. It was only lent to me."

"Come." Goeel took a step forward. He did not notice Lliwglas stir from against the wall beside the entryway. "I will take you to the lender of the instrument. You can borrow it again . . ."

He leapt forward but before he could seize Llanelli's arm, Lliwglas had her long, sharp, spider-leg fingers around his neck.

"No!" Llanelli cried. "Do not harm him. I do not want you to be Removed. The market permits no violence."

Lliwglas nodded and sidled around so that her body was between the Sidhe and Llanelli. "Go away," she said quietly. "I will not let you touch her, so you are wasting your time."

"Vidal wants you," the Sidhe spat at Llanelli. "And the more of his time you waste, the worse your fate will be. Come now and he will give you all the oleander you want. He will do you no harm. He only wants you as his guest so that your stubborn, stupid children will obey him as they should."

Fear paralyzed Llanelli so completely that she lost her illusion of a red-haired, hazel-eyed, full-bodied woman. The eyes faded to dull, pale green, the hair into wispy mist-white, and the clothing hung on her emaciated frame.

"Go," Lliwglas said to the angry Sidhe. "Your master is powerless here. No one can take or touch the lady. The market cares for its own."

Without touching Goeel, Lliwglas chivvied him out of Llanelli's outer chamber, keeping her body between him and any path he wished to take, except the way out of the market. He cursed and spat, but she never touched him or lost her patience, and at last he charged straight at her and struck at her with a knife he had pulled from a hidden place. Lliwglas did not even raise her arms to protect herself . . . and the Unseleighe Sidhe was Removed. Her pursed lips pulled back, showing the wolflike teeth in a smile of satisfaction. Rhoslyn's girls were constructs, but not mindless.

By the time Lliwglas returned to Llanelli's chambers, Llanelli's illusion had been restored. She had even colored her cheeks and lips a touch more than usual so that Rhoslyn would not perceive the pallor of her terror. Despite the proof that Rhoslyn's girl could and would protect her and was clever enough, now that she was warned, to avoid Removal, Llanelli was sliding down into a pit of despair.

He would have her. She knew it. Despite what Rhoslyn or Pasgen said, Llanelli knew that they could not stand against Vidal. What was she to do? She had hoped by establishing herself in the markets where they could easily visit her, she could convince her children that they could leave the Dark Court for the Bright. But if they discovered that Vidal was pursuing her and why he was pursuing her . . . and they would learn. Rhoslyn's girl would tell everything if Rhoslyn asked.

Smiling cheerfully, and falsely, Llanelli said to Lliwglas, "That was simple. He has learned better. He will not come here again."

"No," Lliwglas agreed stolidly; she knew Llanelli did not like it when she smiled. "He attacked me and was Removed. He will not come again."

Llanelli's heart lifted. Removed. Then he would never report to Vidal. She would have time to think about what to do. She set out for the Inn of Kindly Laughter. Her whole attention was fixed on subjects of conversation that would keep Rhoslyn too occupied to ask Lliwglas questions. She did not see Piteka, bent over a clever device for concealing a dagger, glance swiftly once in her direction.

 

Pasgen was at first even more difficult than usual to find and then was simply at home, just sitting in his black and white parlor, doing nothing. He was also willing—Rhoslyn would have said eager, except that it was so unlike his usual attitude toward mortal affairs—to investigate Sir Thomas Seymour. The eagerness, the obvious need to do some external task, concerned Rhoslyn, who at last asked what was wrong. Pasgen smiled faintly and said he was just tired of research about power. These last weeks, he had been involved with Gaenor in discovering why a Bright Court Sidhe's domain had come apart, nearly killing its maker.

Rhoslyn paled and whispered, "How is that possible?" She swallowed. "Is it like . . . Did it want to kill him?"

"No." Pasgen sighed and then uttered a somewhat shamefaced chuckle. "Gaenor and I—I am afraid we spend too much time watching and thinking about that self-willed Chaos Land. That was the first idea that came to us and we tried and tried to find even a scrap of "thinking" mist. Finally Gaenor called in her last student, Lady Hafwen."

There was no difference in Pasgen's expression; there was no change in his voice when he said the name. Nonetheless Rhoslyn's heart squeezed and she had to look down at her hands to hide her eyes.

"She had a good laugh at our expense for seeking out mysterious horrors that did not exist," Pasgen continued, without seeming to notice Rhoslyn's reaction, "and in half a day she had found what Gaenor and I completely overlooked, a basic flaw in the construction that caused the collapse. You would like Lady Hafwen, Rhoslyn. She is a maker of some ability. She was fascinated when I told her about the not-horses and your girls, about how much self-will they have."

"If she did not disapprove of my girls," Rhoslyn said, "I know I would like her. Should we arrange to meet?"

"She is Bright Court," Pasgen said flatly.

Rhoslyn's heart sank and a hot fury rose in her. Seleighe bitch, she thought. She was all sweetness and fluttering eyelashes when she recognized Pasgen's power, and then Gaenor, the old fool, must have told her that Pasgen was Dark Court and that non-Lady Hafwen had acted as if he were meat turned putrid.

"Well." Rhoslyn shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I don't have time to spend Underhill right now. I need to be with Lady Mary to try to keep her from doing any damage to Elizabeth. And I hope you will now have time to run a spike or two into Sir Thomas' wheels. He must not, out of vanity and carelessness, ruin Elizabeth's reputation."

"I will see to him," Pasgen said. "Do not give him another thought, sister. I think you will have the far harder task in soothing Mary."

"I think I may," Rhoslyn sighed. "Mary was not at all pleased by the favor Edward showed Elizabeth during the Court visit. Truly she was furious. Edward invited Elizabeth to his side often; he called her 'Sweet Sister Temperance' because she dressed simply and let her hair fall without crimpings and curlings." Rhoslyn snorted with amusement. "Clever, that Elizabeth. Mary, Edward lectured about her religious practices and urged to conform to the 'true' form of worship."

This time it was Pasgen who shook his head. "I will never understand how mortals can get so passionate about an invisible being they cannot prove exists because it does nothing at all." He chuckled again. "I wonder what they would do if Oberon appeared and sent his Thought over them."

"Call him Satan and bring a crusade of millions to destroy him," Rhoslyn said with a shudder. "Let us not create horrors. I feel I have enough to deal with. But Pasgen, it really is important that you attend to Sir Thomas. Lady Ann, the Protector's wife, also has no love for Elizabeth. I think she speaks subtle evil of Elizabeth to Somerset, partly because she is attached to Lady Mary and partly because the people cheer whenever Elizabeth appears. And Somerset listens because he does not like Edward to be attached to anyone."

"I will. I will. I will go this very day," Pasgen said.

Which he actually did, leaving his house soon after Rhoslyn did and transporting himself to Otstargi's house. There he avoided the slack-jawed servant, who could not then betray his presence in the mortal world to Vidal. In the street, he summoned a chair to take him to Seymour Place, since he did not know where it was.

The servant who came to the door opened his mouth to say no one was home but instead backed away as Pasgen entered. It was then a matter of moments for Pasgen to extract everything he knew about his master from his mind. He was only the footman who answered the door and did not know very much, but what he did know gave Pasgen considerable food for thought.

Pasgen learned of Seymour's early morning visits to Elizabeth's chamber because they were common gossip among the servants; Seymour had used the servants' back stairs and shocked two maids by his presence and his undressed condition. Pasgen knew he was not wise in the ways of mortals, but such behavior seemed so peculiar to him that he began to wonder if Seymour was not under some compulsion to bring shame to Elizabeth.

Oddly, because he had more than once, unwillingly and against his better judgment but because it was the easiest way for him, sought to destroy Elizabeth, Pasgen now felt that he "owed" her. Resentment pricked him; it was Vidal who had set him that unwelcome task. If Vidal had tried to use him to destroy Elizabeth, was it possible that it was Vidal who had set a compulsion on Seymour?

Recalling Rhoslyn's affection for Elizabeth made Pasgen feel protective, that it was "unfair" for Vidal, practiced in evil for millennia, to so test an innocent mortal halfling. He sought deeper in the footman's mind, this time keying the man's thoughts to the name Otstargi.

That brought immediate results for the footman who answered the door was usually the one who took messages or letters delivered to the house. Two letters had been received from someone named Otstargi. The first had been discarded—the servant himself had straightened and ironed the crumpled parchment, which he then sold to a scrivner. After the second, which had a strange raised seal, Sir Thomas had ordered the footman to summon a chair to take him to visit the "sorcerer's" house.

Strange raised seal, Pasgen thought with satisfaction. So Sir Thomas was under a compulsion. Naturally the footman knew nothing of the actual visit of Sir Thomas to Otstargi, but the servant did remember that his master had returned from Otstargi's house very excited and had given instructions to prepare for a hurried journey to the west.

The servant assumed Seymour had gone to fulfill some duty as Lord High Admiral. Pasgen doubted that, but was interested when the servant remarked on Sir Thomas' very good temper and extra liberality when he returned. That good temper had been increased on two occasions when a special messenger had come from Bristol and had lasted until the entire household had returned to Seymour Place for a visit to Court.

Closer probing about the sources of Sir Thomas' change of disposition brought an overheard snippet of conversation between Sir Thomas and his wife. Sir Thomas was displeased because Catherine had not refused permission to Elizabeth to lodge in Whitehall at the king's invitation. He was even less pleased, the servant said a maid had told him, when Elizabeth's visit was extended. The maid was rather resentful of Sir Thomas' indifference to the fact that her work would be doubled or tripled if Elizabeth was in Seymour Place. Following the tale of ill temper, Pasgen learned that Sir Thomas turned quite sour after he had followed the Court to Greenwich.

Pasgen was not at all sure about what that meant. Sir Thomas had obviously intended to accomplish some purpose at Court and had not succeeded. It was clear enough that the purpose might have been costly and that some of the cost had been defrayed by actions Sir Thomas took in the west according to advice that Vidal had given him. That seemed to be separate from his actions toward Elizabeth.

Having removed himself from the memory of the footman and replaced himself with a garrulous, and later apologetic, stranger to London, Pasgen returned to his waiting chair. He waved the men down the street, but when they turned toward Fleet Street and were out of sight of Seymour Place, he bade them stop.

What to do next? Pasgen had no friends at Court who could tell him what caused Sir Thomas' dissatisfaction or what profit one was likely to find in Bristol. And he did not dare try to warn Elizabeth, who could see through illusion and would know him for what he was and believe he was still her enemy. He could warn Denoriel. Yes, and Denoriel could tell him who to question about Sir Thomas' activities.

With a sigh of relief, Pasgen instructed the chairmen to carry him to Lord Denno's house on Bucklersbury.

 

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Framed