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Chapter 20

Beyond the hardy moss, carefully maintained for those who wished to eat and play in what for Underhill was being outdoors under a sunny sky, were buildings. Some were shops where those who visited Fur Hold could buy the things they had forgotten—cloths to spread on the moss to lie on, on which the nuncheon dishes could be set; the dishes on which to place the food; the utensils with which to eat it; balls, hoops, various implements with which to strike balls (and each other). There were other shops, some of which sold clothing to those who had played too vigorously, and a few that displayed ornaments for those who wished to cement a new or old bond.

There were also places to supply food to those who had not intended to eat in the open. Those were largely blank doors behind which were various cook stations and food vendors congregated with their carts. Behind one of those doors, a typical Bright Court Sidhe raised the top of a food vendor's cart and lifted out a frozen Sidhe. The striped owner of the cart hissed disapprovingly.

"Why did you put him in all dirty like that? Now I need to clean out my whole cart."

The blond, green-eyed Sidhe gripped the body he had lifted in one arm and raised a hand in a way that boded no good for the speaker, who shrank back. The frightened gesture seemed to remind the Sidhe of something, and instead of striking, he smiled.

"I was in a hurry," he said. "I was afraid those who had stricken down my friend would return and strike us both." He felt in a pouch at his belt and tossed a wooden token to the striped food vendor. "That for your trouble."

And before the vendor could really examine the token, he clutched the frozen Sidhe to his side and carried him past the food-preparation stations to a rear door. The vendor did not watch him leave; all his attention was for the token he held. Bright Court Sidhe could often have strange and rich resources; he wondered for what the token could be exchanged.

Meanwhile the seemingly Bright Court Sidhe had not gone out the back door. He had turned right into a short passage that held a stairway up which he carried the frozen Sidhe to the second story of the building where there were rooms for hire. Some of the cook-folk lived in the building and some of the vendors also found it convenient, but most of those who sold to the visitors to Fur Hold had more permanent dwellings and there were always empty rooms.

Cretchar tried three doors before one opened. A swift glance showed that the room was untenanted. He laid the unmoving body on the narrow bed, the Sidhe's head at the foot so that when his eyes opened he would be looking at the wall, not out into the room. He closed the door and magicked the lock, then walked slowly to the one hard chair and sat down.

So far so good. When Cretchar had first seen Elizabeth on the performing place, he had remembered Vidal's offer of a whole domain to anyone who could rid the world of the red-haired menace. Cretchar also remembered that Oberon had forbidden any attacks on the girl. A domain was a fine thing. Cretchar would like to have one, but not if it cost Oberon's enmity. That surely meant nonexistence or such an existence as would make nonbeing a great good.

But after he had regretfully dismissed the thought of doing away with Elizabeth, Cretchar had noticed the great interest in her displayed by the plump, overdressed Sidhe on the other side of the audience. At first it was only a passing notice, but when Elizabeth left the stage and that Sidhe followed, an idea began to form in Cretchar's mind. That Sidhe was not from any elfhame under Oberon's dominion; what if he carried Elizabeth off to his domain? If Cretchar reported that to Vidal, he would be rewarded.

So Cretchar watched and discovered that Elizabeth was not easy prey. She was small and frail but with formidable shields and a really nasty stasis spell that felled her attacker. Cretchar had no interest in trying to take her himself, but the rage bottled up in the felled Sidhe . . . that might be put to use.

In moments Cretchar melted back into a wild game, slipped away, found a quiet nook, and changed his brown hair and hazel eyes to the normal appearance of a Bright Court Sidhe. Blond and green-eyed in tunic and trews of pale lavender and rose, he hurried back to where the ursos were still choosing treats.

When the food vendor finished serving the ursos, Cretchar intercepted him and made the arrangement to borrow his cart. He was given directions where to return the cart, watched as the striped creature went back to the food distribution center, and then moved slowly in a wide arc around where the unconscious Sidhe lay while Elizabeth's escort and the kitsune talked and where Elizabeth ludicrously taught kitsune kits to dance.

Cretchar had only thought to follow and discover where the escort and the kitsune would dump the Sidhe Elizabeth had frozen. Then if he could he would pick it up and see if he could reverse the stasis spell. He was pleasantly surprised when the Sidhe and the kitsune left the body all alone and went to talk to the other kitsune. Food vendors were everywhere and of every species; they often hurried to answer a signal from a customer. No one paid attention when Cretchar rushed across the field with his cart.

Cretchar was sure he would not be associated with the foreign Sidhe who abducted or killed Elizabeth. He did not think anyone had seen him pick up the body and the food vendor from whom he had borrowed the cart had only dealt with a nameless Bright Court Sidhe, one of which it probably could not tell from another. So far as the vendor knew the Sidhe who took the cart was the same Sidhe that paid for the food for the ursos.

Moreover the ursos were aware that the foreign Sidhe had wanted the red-haired girl. The Sidhe had said—Cretchar had very good hearing—that he would skin her alive. Whatever that Sidhe did to Elizabeth could not be blamed on the Dark Sidhe under Oberon's dominion nor in any way be traced to Prince Vidal. Cretchar glowered at the body on the bed. That meant he could not go to Vidal for help or advice; if Titania's fury over Elizabeth's fate drove Oberon to Seek for the guilty, Vidal must know nothing.

Sighing, Cretchar rose, leaned forward, and gently touched the forehead of the still figure. He knew magic, which was why he had conceived the idea of using the rage in this Sidhe to remove Elizabeth, but he hated to use it. Using magic drained him quickly and his power was slow to renew. It was why he left the Bright Court. Cretchar was not enamored of pain, but the absorption of life force was what best renewed him. In his own domain, he could catch and kill without restriction and always be full of power.

As he traced the intricacies of the stasis spell, his spirits fell. The enchantment was a masterwork, with so many interwoven spells that he feared even his knowledge of magic would be insufficient to break its grip. And then he saw something he could hardly believe. One hook? One single binding that, if undone, would release the whole spell? That was ridiculous! A spellmaster who created this would intend that the separate parts of the spell would hold even if one part was negated. Was there a trick? Would using the release cause a backlash?

Cretchar examined and reexamined but could find no sinister binding. Then he had to consider how to release the prisoner without being blasted or having the room blasted. Careful consideration convinced him that the only answer was shielding. That would protect him from any backlash from the spell and from the destructive magic that his almost-certainly ungrateful subject would release. To protect the room and control the furious Sidhe until he could explain the situation, he would have to place a shield on him, too.

Cursing softly, Cretchar pulled up shields and felt his power diminish; he was not yet empty and cold but he knew he would be after he released the spell. Cursing again, he prepared to undo the single binding. He had made the shield around the frozen Sidhe thin but somewhat reflective, enough to disperse a moderate magic blast and send it stinging back on the creator.

Pausing, he reconsidered the reflective innermost shield. If the offensive blast was strong enough, the reflective coating might incinerate the sender. Take it off? A moment later, Cretchar smiled. No, of course not. If the frozen Sidhe incinerated himself Cretchar would be right there to drink in the escaping life force.

Drawing a deep breath, Cretchar made a ritual gesture and spoke the words of dismissal, drawing back a little as he spoke. And . . . nothing happened. There was no trap on the unbinding, no backlash. No magic result, except that the once-frozen Sidhe roared with rage, blue light glinting on his hands.

"Stop, you fool," Cretchar snarled, hoping the intensity of his tone would get through; he could not shout lest he be heard. "You will blast yourself. Do you not see that you are shielded?"

The last words were spoken because he had already planned them, but they were not necessary. Already the blue light was dying from the hands of the Sidhe on the bed. Presumably he had felt the tingle of the reflected power before he launched any magic blow. A remarkable stasis spell indeed; it did not even momentarily cloud the mind of its victim.

Another shield sprang up within the one Cretchar had set. An interesting act of self-preservation. It seemed that the once-frozen Sidhe had reason to protect himself.

"Where are you? Who are you? Where am I?" The Sidhe on the bed pushed up to a sitting position, looking wildly around until his gaze fell on Cretchar.

"Who are you?" he repeated.

"My name is Cretchar. And as to where you are. You are in a safe place."

"Safe place? Why do I need a safe place? How did I get here? I was standing in the meadow, about to teach that little red-haired bitch a lesson—"

Cretchar laughed. "More powerful Sidhe than you have tried to lesson Lady Elizabeth of Logres. Most are dead. The rest wish they were dead."

"Nonsense! She is nothing but a mortal. How could she contest against a Sidhe?"

"First because she has the favor of very powerful Sidhe. The queen of our whole realm, Titania, has made her an especial pet, has threatened dire consequences to any who harm her. Prince Denoriel and his sister Princess Aleneil are her heart-friends and her guardians. Even the king, Oberon—" Cretchar shuddered slightly "—has forbidden any direct attack on her."

"Your king and queen are nothing to me—"

Cretchar laughed again. "Until they catch you. Our Lady Titania thinks nothing of turning such as you into a pillar of flame and when you have felt King Oberon's Thought harrow your mind . . ." Cretchar's teeth snapped together and he shuddered. "Enough. Do not be more of a fool than you must. You must realize by now that you were overmastered in magic, either by Elizabeth herself or by her escort Prince Denoriel, and placed in stasis. I stole you from them and carried you to safety. You are a stranger here and do not know the perils of these realms. Now, who are you? And why did you come here?"

There was a moment of silence while the stranger Sidhe considered what Cretchar had said. Then he nodded. "My name is Paschenka and I come from Elfhame Novosk. I have come to your realm to collect mortals. Elizabeth—that is the red-haired girl?—seems eminently suitable for my purpose.

"You wish to take her back to Novosk?" Cretchar said slowly. "Hmmm. Let me think. It is possible that I will be able to aid you."

"Why should you?"

"That is no business of yours. Be satisfied that it would be of benefit to me that Elizabeth should be removed from this realm. I am not too particular what becomes of her afterward, so long as she is gone and my part in her departure remains secret."

"Then let us go look for her. I have her aura. I should be able to pick up her whereabouts."

Cretchar groaned. "Likely she will still be teaching the kits and the young ursos to dance. Why should she fear you, who were so easily vanquished? And do you think she will be less protected now that a threat to her has been made clear?"

"But now there are two of us," Paschenka pointed out.

"Not for attacking Lady Elizabeth," Cretchar snapped. "I told you that my assistance must be secret. And I am not a fool. I do not wish to be marked as her enemy. Be careful that when she sees you again she does not Push you so hard that she caves in your chest and hurls you into the Void. That is what she did to a well-practiced mage when she was no more than thirteen or fourteen years old."

"A mortal?" Paschenka said, shaking his head, but there was some doubt in his expression. And after a pause, his lips tight around slightly gritted teeth he said, "I will have her. I will teach her not to attack her betters."

"Yes. I hope so, but not now," Cretchar replied. "For now you will avoid her. I will help you to snatch a mortal here and there. I know a place where mortals are plentiful, or—" he hesitated because his inability to gather power was intensified in the mortal world "—I could take you to the mortal world. I have a place to keep your captives and to teach them to obey you. In a few mortal weeks or months, we will lay a trap for Elizabeth. Then you can take all your spoils back to Novosk. She being one of several or many with you, her aura will be obscured from those searching for her."

Paschenka stared expressionlessly at Cretchar for a little while, then he dismissed the shield he had raised inside the one Cretchar had made. Removing his protection wordlessly affirmed that Paschenka had accepted Cretchar's offer. It did not surprise Cretchar that Paschenka did not look happy. He was having to take a lot on faith.

To give him some assurance, Cretchar relaxed the shield he had created to control Paschenka's initial anger. As the power drained away into the general ambience Underhill, Cretchar gritted his teeth. A waste that it would take him a day and a night to replace. He could only hope that Paschenka could spirit away Elizabeth and that his reward would compensate for his weakness.

 

Elizabeth came away from the mismatched dancers laughing happily. The urso female had come up with a small stringed instrument on which she could play a dance tune so Elizabeth did not need to sing any longer. She was just standing back, when several other young creatures arrived and asked to be included. Denoriel shook his head.

"I don't think she should stay here any longer," he said to the kitsune. "If we had dealt with that Sidhe . . .  But the way he disappeared makes me uneasy."

The kitsune nodded. "Take her and go. My young ones will be able to teach the others and the ursos will keep the peace."

So Denoriel came up to Elizabeth, slid an arm around her waist, and drew her away. She did not resist and he asked what she wanted to do next.

"Sit down," Elizabeth said, laughing. "And perhaps get something to eat." Then she sobered suddenly and looked around. "What did you do with that nuisance who wanted to buy me?"

Denoriel glanced around but no one seemed to be close enough to hear him and he said, "Nothing. When the kitsune and I went to help him to a Gate, he was gone."

"Gone? Do you mean my stasis spell failed?"

"I don't believe so. I think if the spell had failed that stupid fool would have blasted us or someone else. I know that spell. The bespelled come out of it with no sense of time passed and simply complete any action they had started when they were frozen."

"Then how . . ." Elizabeth began as Denoriel pushed her gently up on a Gate platform, ". . . could he have left?" She finished as they stepped off near one of the four main entry roads into the Bazaar of the Bizarre.

Accustomed from years of visits, Elizabeth did not even look around the place where vehicles and riding creatures were left. The creatures were weird and wonderful—twenty-foot long caterpillars, jewel-bright dragons, silvery vehicles with no obvious methods of propulsion, cagelike boxes suspended under what looked like large pillows, horses of every describable and indescribable coat, saddle, number of legs, and occasionally wings.

"I am sure he did not leave on his own," Denoriel said, steering her past the first warning sign. "Someone must have helped him."

"Perhaps he came with a friend," Elizabeth said doubtfully as they passed the sign that she read as Caveat Emptor.

"A friend that did not set up an outcry when he found his companion frozen stiff?"

Elizabeth giggled. "Well, if he was as arrogant and stubborn with everyone as he was with us, perhaps the friend was used to dragging him away and was just glad he didn't have to apologize to anyone."

"That would be very nice," Denoriel said, but without any real hope, as they passed under the arched gateway into the Bazaar. He looked up into the air and said, "Food and drink."

A banner promptly appeared. On it a cow lay in a green meadow, her head resting on crossed front legs. "Lazy Cow/Tender Steak" Elizabeth read.

Another banner appeared to the right: "The Never-Empty Cauldron—Stews and Soups of Every Kind."

And a third banner forced itself in front of the Lazy Cow, proclaiming that the Rolling Pin had every variety of breads and cakes.

Denoriel held up a hand. "Enough," he said. "Well, Elizabeth, what will it be, stew, soup, steak, bread and cake?"

"What would you like, love?" she asked. "Right now I could eat the whole cow, uncooked, and then go on to the soup and stew. I haven't had a meal that didn't sit in my throat and choke me since August."

"Steak, then," he said. "Lazy Cow."

The banner passed the other two, wriggled seductively, for a moment and then set off down the road. Denoriel and Elizabeth followed.

"So you don't think any friend of the fat Sidhe took him away," Elizabeth said, returning to the important subject of what had happened to the Sidhe who had been so insistent about buying her.

"No. I think it more likely to have been one of Vidal's Court who saw the interest that Sidhe had in you. The Dark Sidhe come often to Fur Hold; I am not sure why. But any Dark Sidhe who saw you would pay attention."

"I thought I saw one of the Dark Sidhe when we were just outside the performing place, but he barely glanced at me. It was you he was watching, and then he just walked away."

Denoriel sighed. "Vidal has become more sensible since he was the mist's prisoner. Possibly he is taking Oberon's threats more seriously and has told his Court to let you be. Possibly the Sidhe you saw wanted to know why the one you froze was so interested. In a way I wish Pasgen had not broken so completely with Vidal. If he still went to the Dark Court, he could have told us whether any of the Dark ones brought that Sidhe to Vidal."

"Vidal could break the stasis spell," Elizabeth said and stopped walking.

The banner was circling and then darting to the side. Denoriel looked around, saw the doorway, and drew Elizabeth inside.

"Yes, certainly," he agreed. "Any competent mage could break that spell. Mechain altered it so you could use it when you were little more than a child. One of the things we should do while we are here is to get her to put it back in its original form."

A tall, very thin being, not quite human but not quite Other either, had been waiting until Denoriel finished speaking. He bowed to them and led them to a table near an open window through which Elizabeth saw a mannered garden. A slight breeze came through the window, bringing the scent of flowers. Utterly impossible, as they had entered the eating place from the noisy, busy aisle of the market. Idly Elizabeth wondered whether the garden was an illusion or whether the entrance of the restaurant was actually a Gate that carried guests to a pocket domain that only contained the restaurant. Whichever, she was not curious enough to enquire. She was hungry.

When the server or major domo had pushed in her chair, Elizabeth looked up at him. "We would like steaks, if you please."

She was answered with another bow and a long list of cuts and methods of preparation, which made her look bewilderedly at Denoriel. He nodded and began an animated discussion with the server, who looked more pleased and interested by the moment. Here was someone who truly appreciated his calling. Elizabeth lost interest and looked around at the other patrons. She was rather relieved when she saw no other Sidhe; mostly the guests were chimeras of every kind of animal. A few had human faces or parts, but it was very odd indeed to see something with the head of a goat and the bony claws of a bird industriously cutting up and chewing a thick slab of meat.

"Do the other guests trouble you, mortal woman?" the server asked as Elizabeth looked back at him. "I can bring a screen to keep your table private."

"Oh no," Elizabeth assured him. "I was only rather surprised to see a goat eating a steak. In the mortal world goats, poor things, are more often steaks themselves."

"Stews, surely," the server said. "The flesh is too tough and . . . ah . . . rancid for steak. As to eating steak. A goat will eat anything."

He bowed and turned away. Elizabeth giggled. "That took long enough," she said to Denoriel. "I had no idea you knew one cut of meat from another or anything about cooking."

"In my misspent past," he said, smiling, "when I had no more pressing duty than to ride in Koronos's hunt, I filled my days with this and that pastime. Designing lavish meals was one of them."

"For all your elven lovers?" Elizabeth asked waspishly, her giggles gone. "Were the meals designed to tempt them into your bed or as payment after service?"

"Oh, ho." Denoriel's arched brows rose almost to touch a golden curl that had wandered down onto his forehead. "Jealous, are we? Well, I am not going to say I am sorry over what happened long, long before you were born. I did not know then that in the future I would find a lady who would care enough to be angry about whom I took to my bed."

"And if you had known, would it have changed what you did?" Elizabeth snapped.

"Not if I knew I would need to live without any pleasure of the body for a hundred and fifty mortal years," Denoriel snapped back.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth said softly looking down at the table, reminded of how long her Denno had lived before even her father was born.

How stupid to be jealous of women he had loved a hundred years past. But they were not mortal women. They were still alive, still elven beautiful. She bit her lip.

Denoriel laughed and reached across to take her hand. "An elven lover would not care enough to be angry; cold-hearted they are. But I am a little hurt that you think I would need to prepare a special meal either to tempt a lady or to make up for my deficiencies as a lover. Am I so lacking in myself?"

The tone was light, but there was a kind of uncertainty about Denoriel that Elizabeth felt. "No, of course not," she said.

"Are mortal lovers more . . . are they deeper? more intense?"

"How would I know?" Elizabeth asked, smiling ruefully. "The only mortal lover I had—if you can call Tom Somerset a lover—was only playing a game. He 'loved' for profit or ambition."

"Perhaps it is I who should be jealous, who should fear you will find someone who will satisfy you more. We . . . perhaps we live too long. Nothing is . . . desperate. There will be so many tomorrows to find anything we have missed . . . but I know now that we . . . we never find it."

"So you are still looking?" Elizabeth's voice was thin and sharp.

Denoriel shook his head. "No," he said softly. "I have found what I want, but I do not know how long I can hold it."

Now it was Elizabeth who leaned forward and took Denoriel's hand. "Mortals can be fickle also," she said, "but I will always love you, my Denno. Always. Even if I seem to waver, you are the first and the most precious, the deepest set into my heart."

There was a little silence and then he burst out suddenly, "Mary . . . Mary wants you dead. My love, will you not come and live here with me as Harry has done?"

Elizabeth paled slightly when she realized that Denno had not been talking about losing her to a mortal lover but losing her to execution, to sickness, to death from old age. Almost no matter how long she lived, that would be a short time to him. She looked out at the pretty garden, drew a breath of the perfumed air, remembered how a palace stank if the Court remained in one place too long.

"I would live longer," she agreed, "but you would lose me anyway. I would not be the same person, Denno. This lovely place, this scented air, this ease of living, would soften me until I was nothing. I have come to love Underhill, but as a needed escape, a rest from struggle, a short, pretty dream. I need the hard reality of the mortal world. I need to outwit Mary and escape her ill will." The eyes Elizabeth fixed on him glittered. "Mary will not live long. I am only one person's heartbeat away from the throne. I need to rule England."

A wide smile bloomed on Denoriel's face. "So you do, my love. And so you must. Titania would find some very special way to make me sorry if I did not see you onto the throne." He turned his hand under hers so he could grip it. "But you do love me? You do not need an elaborate dinner to bribe you to my bed or pay you for your services?"

Elizabeth laughed aloud. "Oh, that stung, did it? Enough for you to imply I need to be paid, like a whore. No, indeed. You are bribe enough in yourself, with your long-fingered hands and sweet lips. What a fool I am to be jealous. I should bless those past lovers of yours for making you so skillful. If I were not so very, very hungry, I would drag you to the nearest Gate and prove it."

"My servants—" Denoriel began, half rising from his seat, intending to say that they could leave at once and his servants would feed them at home.

At that moment, however, the tall, thin major domo arrived at the head of a procession. Since Elizabeth had not seen anyone more than a single server delivering food to other tables, she wondered whether it was because Denno was clearly High Court, Bright Court Sidhe or whether it was the discussion about cooking and cuts of meat he had had that provided the special service. A moment later, odors from the serving dishes the procession carried reached her nose. She sniffed audibly and swallowed as her mouth watered.

First came a slab of meat, thick as the first knuckle of a finger. It was browned, but not scorched hard as a piece that thick would be in the mortal world. Then there were a half dozen smaller dishes set around the central platter. Elizabeth was not sure what any of them held, but she was accustomed to eating strange things Underhill. Only once or twice had she been disappointed in a peculiar-looking dish.

There was no disappointment this time. The meat cut easily, showing a pink and tender interior. Elizabeth put a piece between her lips and sighed with satisfaction. The bits she took from the surrounding plates were equally delicious and somehow the textures made her want to touch them, to touch something that she could smooth between her fingers. Still chewing, she reached out with her free hand and stroked Denno's hair.

"A masterpiece," Denno said to the major domo, and looked back at Elizabeth with half-closed eyes.

Elizabeth took another bite of her meat. As she chewed, she added to it small bits of what was in the side dishes. She sighed and swallowed. Lifted her eyes to Denoriel's face.

"You are a monster," she whispered. "I could not be worse tortured if I were being pulled apart on the rack. I must eat slowly and savor every bite. Equally, I must stuff the food down my gullet so I can rush you into your bedchamber."

She chewed the mouthful she had faster, but was lingeringly slow about cutting another slice from the meat and choosing which side dishes to mingle with it. The major domo and the servers, who had watched while their customers took their first bites had now disappeared. Denoriel cut a thin strip of a flesh paler than beef which he was eating.

"This is very good," he said, "but I was not sure it was robust enough for you."

He put an end of the slice he had cut in his mouth and then leaned forward. Elizabeth did not hesitate. She drew the other end of the slice into her own mouth. Their lips met and moved sensuously together as they chewed. Whatever it was Denoriel had ordered for himself seemed to melt away. Elizabeth pressed farther forward and caught Denoriel's lower lip between hers and sucked.

"Stop," Denoriel whispered, drawing back. "Do you want me to leave here with a wet codpiece."

"I want to leave, dry codpiece or wet," Elizabeth muttered, even as she cut another slice from her steak. "But I cannot bear to leave this food behind."

So they finished their meal, but when they rose to go, Denoriel unhooked his entire purse from his belt and left it on the table. Just how they came to Denoriel's big bed in his chambers in Logres, Elizabeth had no idea. Her whole body ached to be handled and she was grateful to her Denno when a gesture sent the clothes from her body and from his and they fell down on the bed, already fiercely embraced.

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