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Chapter 28

Inexorably in the early morning of March twenty-fourth, Elizabeth was removed to the Tower. To her relief the tide was too low for her to be brought in at Traitor's Gate. The barge that carried Elizabeth to the Tower landed at Tower Wharf. She was helped from the barge by Sir John Gage's men and crossed the drawbridge to the west of the fortress. There were dozens of guards lining the route and Elizabeth paused midway.

"Are all these harnessed men for me?" she asked tensely.

"No, madam," Gage replied, his lips twisting as in contempt.

"Yes," Elizabeth insisted. "I know it is so." Her eyes met his and her head turned slowly so she could see up and down the ranks of men.

"God save Your Grace," one voice called and then another.

Gage flung up his head, but before he could roar for order, about half the men were on their knees with their caps in their hands. Elizabeth shook her head and found a tremulous smile, just as Gage snarled at the men, who came to their feet in haste. Elizabeth allowed one hand to creep through the edge of her cloak and twitched her fingers in acknowledgment, looking back over her shoulder as Gage led her in through Coldharbour Gate.

Within, although she was not led to any dank dungeon, there was less comfort for her. The four commodious rooms assigned to her in the palace portion of the Tower were those in which her mother had waited to die, and the councilors who had accompanied her were planning to lock her in. Gage and Winchester wanted to turn the great keys in the heavy locks but Sussex would not agree.

Tears marking his cheeks, he said, "What will you do, my lords? She was a king's daughter and is the queen's sister. You have no sufficient commission so to do. Therefore go no further than your commission." And after a significant pause, he added, "Let us use such dealing that we may answer it hereafter."

Gage still wished to insist on treating Elizabeth like a common prisoner, but Winchester glanced at Elizabeth's white face and dark eyes and then urged Gage out of the door, Sussex following. Elizabeth listened tensely, but there was no sound of the great tumblers sliding home.

She then turned away from the door toward the three women waiting to serve her. Her heart sank and cold filled her belly. Kat was not there, nor even sweet, silly Alice Finch. She had been sure Dorothy Stafford and Frances Dodd would not be allowed; they were too clever, but even Eleanor Gage had been removed . . . no doubt because she had become fond. Elizabeth knew only one of the faces—Elizabeth Marberry.

She would not weep; she would not. She stared at them for a moment stiff with cold and terror. Was she to be all alone with not one kind face? Without a word, Elizabeth passed what she knew to be her female warders and sought sanctuary in the farthest room, the bedchamber. Eventually they would follow her, but her step was swift, her stride long. At least she would have time to wipe the tears from her eyes.

But then Blanche was there, lifting her cloak from her shoulders. Elizabeth had left all the doors open as she passed. She did not dare utter a word, but Blanche's little smile told the tale. The councilors were male fools; they had not thought to change her servants.

For now, no matter how loyal, the servants could do little beyond offer small comforts, foot-warmers and lap robes and warmed wine. All day on Palm Sunday, as if the heavens wept for her, it rained. The next day was clear, but the servants had whispered that, although the door had not been locked, there were guards just beyond it. Dutifully, Elizabeth sent one of her ladies to ask permission to take exercise; the permission was refused.

The days passed heavily. Elizabeth was not allowed either books or writing materials. She did needlework, but more often the shining needle lay still as her eyes, dark with disquiet, stared out into nothing. On March thirtieth, Good Friday, the Council came in force to question Elizabeth again. Likely they should have known better. They pressed her hard on how a copy of her letter to the queen excusing herself from coming to London because she was ill found its way into the possession of the French ambassador.

Elizabeth looked from one face to another, brows raised, as if she could not believe her ears at such stupidity. "Do you think me an idiot?" she retorted. "Why should I provide a copy of such a letter to the French? If one of my servants so betrayed me, you have my leave to punish him or her in any way you see fit. But, my lords, I would suggest you look first among your own people. They would profit far more from selling so empty a letter from me to the French than my people would."

Her near contemptuous indifference and the simple logic of her reply made too much sense. Her women and menservants had already been questioned; every one denied vehemently that Elizabeth had ever suggested giving a copy of her letter to the French. If the copy was made without her permission, she was not guilty of anything. Moreover the copy could have been as easily made when it was in the queen's possession or any member of the Council's. The line of questioning was soon abandoned.

Much more straitly she was accused of planning to go to Donnington and summoning to her support the retainers she had warned to arm themselves. She replied she never, neither by word of mouth nor word on paper, ordered a removal to Donnington.

From that avowal she could not be moved, even when Croft was brought to confront her. She acknowledged that he had suggested she go to Donnington and that she had said she would consider his advice—because it was the easiest way to quiet him and be rid of him. And then added, "But what is this to the purpose, my lords? May I not go to mine own houses at all times?"

Upon which Croft knelt and declared that he was very sorry to be brought as a witness against her, but that he had been tortured and threatened again and again touching what she had said to him.

And the earl of Arundel also begged her pardon for troubling her about nothing. But others asked what she had replied to the letters Sir Thomas Wyatt confessed he sent to her.

"I never had a letter from Sir Thomas," she replied. "If Lord Russell says he delivered one to my house, ask him if he put it into my hand. Whoever he delivered the message to had more sense than to pass it to me."

Despite Arundel's apology, they returned again and again to her planned removal to Donnington. It would have been a sensible move if Elizabeth had been part of the rebellion and if she confessed to having planned to go, incriminating.

Donnington was a castle and was defensible and it commanded the valley of the River Kennet which linked the Thames valley to the main road to Marlborough and the west. But Elizabeth could not be tricked or overawed into any confession. To every question about her plans, the stocking of the castle, and when she planned to go, Elizabeth stubbornly replied in the negative.

"I did not go to Donnington. I did not plan to go to Donnington. I did not order any man of mine to go to Donnington. I will say the same no matter how often you ask. And as I told Bishop Gardiner when he first questioned me, the captain of my guards did order extra food and weapons after Sir James Croft told me of the unrest in the country. It was for our own use in Ashridge. None was sent to Donnington nor anywhere else. I spoke the truth to Bishop Gardiner then. I have spoken the truth to you now. I did not and would not rebel against my sister, my queen. I am Queen Mary's most loving and loyal subject, now and to the end."

But Elizabeth's steady resistance to pressure to confess was not the final hurdle in the race for her life, and she had no power at all over that last test because it was not hers. She could only wait in agonizing anxiety to learn what Sir Thomas Wyatt might be forced to confess. After a month of torment both physical and mental, Wyatt was brought to the scaffold on April eleventh. The tale of the letters sent to Elizabeth had been wrung out of him, but Wyatt was a fine, brave gentleman and whatever temptations had been offered to incriminate Elizabeth faded to nothing when he stood on the scaffold.

Denoriel was in the crowd that had come to see Wyatt die. He was not there willingly; he had never before attended an execution. Bright Court Sidhe killed, although not often; however they did not indulge in public beheading. But Denoriel had to know what Wyatt would say in his last speech. If he implicated Elizabeth, Denoriel would somehow build a Gate to the Tower and bring her out.

Physically shaken, trembling with weakness, Wyatt still spoke clearly to the watching crowd. He confessed he had rebelled, but did not say he was sorry. "And whereas it is said and whistled abroad that I should accuse my Lady Elizabeth's Grace and my Lord Courtenay; it is not so, good people. For I assure you neither they nor any other now in yonder hold or durance was privy of my rising or commotion before I began. As I have declared no less to the queen's Council. And this is most true."

Denoriel uttered a gasp and tears of relief came to his eyes. Beside him, a burly man smelling strongly of onions said, "Good for him. They have used him hardly, I can see, but still he speaks the truth for Lady Elizabeth. And no man would lie when his soul will be facing God's justice in moments."

"Indeed he speaks the truth," Denoriel said fervently. "Lady Elizabeth is no rebel, and all should hear Wyatt's words."

The queen's men on the scaffold with Wyatt were not in agreement with Denoriel—or most of the watchers, many of whom had cheered Wyatt's exoneration of their beloved Lady Elizabeth. The priest who was supposed to minister to him tried to speak over his voice and say his words denied a written confession.

But there was no written confession, Denoriel knew; had there been Elizabeth would have mounted the scaffold also. He saw that Wyatt would have said more, but another of Mary's men pulled at his sleeve to turn him away from the listening crowd. It was too late; they had heard. Elizabeth was a great favorite with the people of London. Word of her exoneration spread, not least to Elizabeth herself in low and hasty whispers from Blanche, who had heard of Wyatt's speech from the other servants.

That night, Elizabeth prayed fervently for Wyatt's soul and then slept better than she had since the day she had arrived. The next day, perhaps hoping she did not know that Wyatt had cleared her moments before he died, Gardiner and some of the Council confronted Elizabeth again. They sought any hint of guilt, so little as a paling or blushing, any admission at all to save their faces and present to the people of England. They got nothing beyond steady denial and avowals of loyalty from her.

Elizabeth's popularity grew as word of Wyatt's exoneration spread. Denoriel did his bit among the merchants of the city. They were already disgruntled by the queen's favoring everything Spanish, and the common folk murmured against so innocent a lady being kept in the grim environs of the Tower. The Council ordered that the "false report" of Wyatt's speech not be repeated, but it was useless. Hundreds of people had come to see the rebel die and had heard him clear Elizabeth of compliance.

The next day, two young men were sent to the pillory for spreading the word that Wyatt had cleared Lady Elizabeth of any part in the rebellion. But they were most gently treated by the crowd; a few folk even cheered them. Moreover, Wyatt's head, which had been exhibited on a gibbet, was daringly stolen on the seventeenth, no doubt to be given an honorable burial. Rhoslyn watched Mary forbid any search for the thief; Mary was sick of death.

Without intruding on their minds—Rhoslyn was afraid that if she touched Renard Vidal would sense her interference—she also saw that Renard and Gardiner were coming to realize Elizabeth would not go to the block. Mary had abandoned that idea altogether, and as soon as she made up her mind to find a different way to deal with her sister, Rhoslyn saw to it that her headaches and stomach cramps all but disappeared. Mary now thought more and more of her coming marriage and less and less of the late unpleasantness, including Elizabeth.

Rhoslyn was sewing nearby when in a last ditch effort to get her to condemn Elizabeth, Renard told Mary that considering all the rebels she had pardoned and the fact that Elizabeth and Courtenay were still alive, he did not think Philip would be safe in England. But even that, Renard's sharpest arrow, this time did not penetrate. With tears in her eyes, Mary assured him that she would rather never have been born than that any harm should come to Philip. But she did not order Elizabeth be put on trial.

A week later, a warrant for Elizabeth's immediate execution was delivered to Sir John Brydges, Lieutenant of the Tower. Had it been delivered to Gage, Elizabeth might have died or been forced to go Underhill, but Brydges, although a firm Catholic, was an honest and careful man.

The warrant had not been delivered by a high Court functionary nor with the ceremony he would have expected to surround the condemnation of the queen's sister. Brydges examined the  warrant very carefully. A number of passionately Catholic Council members had signed it, but the queen's signature was missing. Brydges did not officially report the matter, but he did tell Lord William Howard, who thanked him with great warmth.

Mary heard of the forged death warrant through a whisper from the marchioness of Exeter, who could not make up her mind whether she was more horrified by the attempt or by Elizabeth's escape from it. And Mary was stricken by the worst headache she had had since she had first decided to send Elizabeth to the Tower—a decision she regretted more each time she thought of it.

She was so ill, she had to cancel a meeting with Renard and go to bed. Rhoslyn sat beside her, reading softly from a book of meditations. In the evening, Mary sent an order to the Tower, which she signed prominently, forbidding any act against Elizabeth unless it was confirmed by herself in person. After that, Mary felt much better and was able to attend her evening Court.

Brydges, seeking to cheer his prisoner, who was bored and tired of her confinement, told Elizabeth about Mary's care for her. Elizabeth spoke promptly and gratefully about her sister's kindness, but slid from that subject to questions about why such an order was needed. Not averse to displaying his cleverness to his enchanting ward, Brydges confessed his detection of the false warrant.

Elizabeth paled noticeably; she resolved at that moment to sleep with her shields up, but only thanked Brydges so warmly that he colored and assured her that her safety and well-being were among the most important of his duties. But only three nights later, a young man with a forged permission from Brydges to deliver a bottle of fine wine to Lady Elizabeth was passed by the indifferent and bored Tower guards into Elizabeth's chambers.

The ladies had gone to bed as soon as it grew dark; there was very little to occupy them since Elizabeth had no books for study, no writing paper for letters, and no confidence in the women. Having learned in her previous confinement that it was dangerous to be unpleasant to her assigned attendants, she spoke to them pleasantly enough, but only on the most mundane of subjects—about the dishes at dinner or their needlework.

The young man made his way through the darkened rooms without difficulty; on Renard's recommendation he had been appointed one of Elizabeth's gentlemen grooms. A little to his surprise he was stopped by the guard at the bedchamber door. He showed the bottle of wine, and when the man bent down to examine the forged pass, in one swift motion he struck the guard with the bottle.

Softly he opened the door, slipped in, and stood a moment to accustom his eyes to the even dimmer light. It did not take long for him to make his way to the great bed and most silently draw the bedcurtain aside. God's will to forward his purpose seemed clear; Elizabeth was fast asleep on the side of the bed he had approached. Silently he drew the long, thin poniard from its sheathe at his waist, raised it, and struck!

Elizabeth woke with a shriek. The young man cried out almost as loudly because his knife had simply rebounded from the lady's body. Not believing what had happened, assuming the knife had turned in his hand so it did not strike true, he struck again. The poniard still would not bite. It slid down Elizabeth's side into the bedclothes, and was torn from his hand as she twisted away.

When his victim first screamed, he reached out to close her mouth to silence her . . . and his hand simply would not touch her face. He did not believe that either, and could only account it a miracle of God's to protect her. She screamed again and again. The young man turned to flee; then he yelled as a white figure, also shrieking, rose up from the foot of the bed and clutched at him.

He shook off the hands and heard screaming, "Catch him! Catch him! Do not let him escape. Oh, Elizabeth, call the guard. Where is the guard?"

The guard was unconscious, in a pool of wine. The assassin easily evaded the pursuing women, barefoot and clad only in their night rails. He burst through the door past the outer guards and careened away down the stair. The delay of the guards to listen to the shrieking women and try to understand what they said, merely guaranteed the escape of the would-be assassin.

As soon as the women were gone, although she was panting with fear Elizabeth dismissed her shield, found the knife the assassin had tried to use, and added several large rents to the sheets. When the ladies came back, they found Blanche with a stout cudgel in her hand, standing over her weeping mistress. Mary's ladies they may have been, but the terrible shock had awakened a strong sympathy for Elizabeth and they spent the rest of the night huddled around her on her bed.

Morning brought Brydges to Elizabeth's chamber, to ask angrily why Elizabeth's women were telling so mad a tale.

"Mad?" Elizabeth shrieked, and threw a knife at him. "Look at my bed. Just look at it. Do you think I spend my nights stabbing a dagger into my bedclothes for amusement? I admit that my days here are sorely tedious, but I have not yet come to ruining my sheets and coverlets."

"Madam," Brydges said, staring at the knife, which had cut his hand slightly when he caught it, "forgive me. You were well guarded. How . . . how could this happen?"

"Well guarded . . .  Yes, by God's mercy, which alone protected me so that the assassin's knife strokes went awry. Not by the men you set to watch. They are keen to prevent me from escape, but not to protect me from harm. They do not care for me. They did not even stop to question whether I was awake and wished to receive a bottle of wine, they just let a murderer into my chamber."

She burst into tears. Brydges did too, but that was little comfort to Elizabeth. She would not listen to his offers of doubled or tripled guards. A hundred men lined up who did not care a pin for her would not protect her, she shouted. She wailed for her own guardsmen, men who loved her, men who had fought for her and kept her safe since she was three years old.

Soon after noon, Gerrit, Nyle, Shaylor, and Dickson were summoned to watch over Elizabeth's inner chambers. In fact, though they were either bald or greying and thickening around the waists, Brydges was rather impressed with the well-used and well-cared-for arms and armor. He was impressed, also, with how they dealt with their trembling mistress and with the Tower guards who would watch the outer door.

Having pacified Elizabeth, who agreed not to complain to the Council, Brydges had every intention of keeping news of the attack on Elizabeth a secret. However, although Elizabeth was confined to the Tower, her maids of honor were not. They were faithful servants of the queen and carried no gossip or rumor that could comfort Elizabeth back to the Tower, but the tale of the would-be assassin was something else entirely. Such excitement, such an adventure slipped out despite Brydges's warning.

Rumor passed from lip to lip. More unkind glances were cast at Renard. Mary did not believe what those looks said, would not believe that the Imperial ambassador had attempted murder because she would not execute her sister. Nonetheless the excuse that keeping Elizabeth in the Tower was for her own safety grew thinner and more tattered with every new rumor.

The people were tired of bloodletting and opposed to any further punishment of the rebels. Mary was tired of the bloody punishments also, and Gardiner realized that even if he found evidence of Elizabeth's involvement now, to attempt to bring her to trial or to induce Parliament to disinherit her was impossible.

Only a few days after Wyatt's death Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, who was actually guilty of having taken part in the rebellion, was acquitted at his trial. And only eight jurors were willing to condemn Sir James Croft even though he had confessed his guilt. The court dismissed those jurors and found other jurors more compliant, but it was clear that to try Elizabeth would waken a tornado of protest. And the queen was unwilling to go further. Despite Sir James's conviction, he was not executed. Mary pardoned him; she wanted to forget the whole horrible episode.

By the end of April Renard had given up any hope of having Elizabeth killed either by law or by stealth. No matter how the yellow diamond on his finger sparkled and tingled, he could find no path to that goal. As he spoke to Queen Mary, still urging some solution to the problem Elizabeth posed, he often pulled at the ring and twisted it on his finger. One day he pulled it off and dropped it. Then Rhoslyn was able to touch his mind when he was not actually in contact with Vidal's amulet. Swiftly she stabbed into his mind a distaste for the yellow diamond.

He never put the ring back on and for once he slept well without a single dream about Elizabeth. He did think about her, but without any roiling hate, without feeling sick because she still lived. The next morning before Rhoslyn's strike could wear off, he dropped the ring into his small chest of jewels. He never associated the yellow diamond with his hatred of Elizabeth, but suddenly he was able to think about other fates for her than death.

He wrote several of his suggestions to his master. By the beginning of the second week in May he had Emperor Charles's approval and he presented his ideas to Queen Mary. For now, he suggested, since the people were growing angry at Elizabeth's detention in the Tower, she should be sent to house arrest in the country.

"I have tried to do that already," Mary replied through stiff lips. "The great lords who could afford to keep her have refused to do me that particular service."

"Madam, I do not blame them," Renard said, smiling. "It would be an onerous burden. But why should the lords pay? Let Lady Elizabeth support herself. She will then have less money available for assisting rebels. If the pecuniary burden is removed, you can find a man totally loyal to yourself. He need not be a great lord, so long as he is a gentleman."

Mary looked at him for a moment with a kind of wondering disbelief and then with dawning joy. "Of course. Of course. My dear Ambassador. You are always of the greatest help. Why did I never think of that myself? And I know just the man. He was the very first to come to support me after Northumberland crowned poor Jane. And he is a man who will follow an order exactly, regardless of clever reasons or enchanting pleas—" Mary's lips twisted in distaste "—why he should not."

Rhoslyn was sitting at a tactful distance, supposedly out of hearing, with Mary's other ladies. She kept her eyes on the book of sermons she was seemingly reading, but if anyone could have seen them, they would have noted her ears were perked sharply forward. Most of the "smell" of Vidal's presence was gone from Renard, but enough remained to make Rhoslyn uneasy. She listened more intently than ever for every mention of Elizabeth's name and within days learned that Elizabeth was to be moved to Woodstock, an ancient and unvisited royal manor, on the nineteenth of May.

Soon the plans were approved by the Council. Gardiner was content because Woodstock was a royal manor, an honorable residence Elizabeth's supporters would accept. Renard was content because the place was old and run down. Elizabeth might fall ill and die there or become resentful enough to try to escape. When all was settled, Rhoslyn asked leave to visit Adjoran, Mercer.

"He has such fabrics as no one has ever seen before," she said, smiling hopefully up at Mary from her curtsey. "You remember the lace shawl. And with the arrival of the prince so soon . . . I wish to be sure my gowns are fine enough. I must choose the fabrics now so that the dressmakers have time to do their best."

Mary smiled indulgently, but a small frown creased her brow. "Yes, the shawl is beautiful, but to honor the prince perhaps you might first examine what the Spanish merchants have brought."

If she went to the Spaniards, she would have to buy from them and would lose her excuse to talk to Denoriel. "I have always bought from Adjoran," Rhoslyn said sadly. "Would it not be unkind to take my custom from him when so many others have gone to the Spaniards?" Then she smiled again, adding, "But I will have all my new gowns in the Spanish style. I find it most pleasing."

Mary put out her hand for Rhoslyn to kiss. "You are a most faithful friend, Rosamund. I do not forget that you rode with me when I escaped from Northumberland's men and stood by my side when many ladies fled Wyatt's attack. Indeed, you shall go to your own favorite merchant."

"You are always so kind, madam," Rhoslyn said, kissing the hand and then backing away as she sent the air spirit to Denoriel.

Mary was kind, but Rhoslyn was very tired of the queen's Spanish obsession. And when Elizabeth had been sent to the Tower, Denoriel, almost out of his mind with fear, had begged her to watch for the smallest hint of execution or assassination, and he had bound an air spirit to her to give him warning if she perceived a threat. Rhoslyn did not think Mary would condone assassination, but Denoriel was in such a state that his anxiety and suspicion caught her and would not let her rest.

Rhoslyn had managed to escape the mortal world almost every night, but it had not done her much good. The domains of the Bright Court were thin of power so her renewal was not complete. And Rhoslyn had discovered a few mortal months past, just before Wyatt's rebellion, that she was debarred from truly living among the Unseleighe ever again.

 

So far none of the Bright Court had been overtly unpleasant to Rhoslyn. Mostly they scarcely noticed her, but as the anger and dissatisfaction with Queen Mary's choice of husband diminished the general joy in England, power diminished in the Bright Court. Rhoslyn had heard complaints while walking in the public places of Elfhame Logres. The complaints were not directed at her, but Rhoslyn felt guilty about absorbing power that she felt was not rightfully hers.

To avoid taking from the limited supply of power for the Bright Court Sidhe, Rhoslyn had Gated to Caer Mordwyn. There she found power in plenty; the atmosphere was rich with fear as well as pain, anger and misery. Biting her lip in miserable expectation of the discomfort and distaste the sour/bitter power would cause her but needing the strength so freely available, Rhoslyn drew on it.

Her hand flew to her throat. She would have screamed, but she could not make a sound, could not breathe; her whole body was torn and pierced by the pain that had leaked from the mortal world. It was fortunate she had not moved far from the Gate and was able to fling herself onto the Gate platform although vision and sensation were fading.

Harry—

It was not a destination but a mental cry for help. And the Gate at Caer Mordwyn was capable of responding to a desperate need. That was a new ability Vidal had incorporated into his Gates since he realized what his past carelessness had cost him in subjects. He had decided that any creature he had punished so severely it could not think of a destination but still managed to get to the Gate was strong enough to deserve to live.

Darkness and falling . . . Rhoslyn did not know whether it was her failing senses or the operation of the Gate, but in the next instant, when her lungs filled with clean air and her eyes opened, she saw the sparkling bright moss and twinkling sky of Elfhame Elder-Elf.

She could breathe now, but was so weak that she could not stand up. She barely managed to creep to the edge of the platform. Harry must be here, she thought, with Elidir or Mechain or one of the others who had helped him rid Alhambra of evil, but the small, pretty dwellings seemed to be miles away across the flower-starred moss. And she did not know whether she would be welcome in this elfhame. Usually she met Harry at the Inn of Kindly Laughter and he took her to other domains in the Bright Court.

Tears burned in her eyes and she closed them, only to be startled by the pressure of a soft nose and a sharp nip. Her eyes snapped open and she sat rigid, wide-eyed and openmouthed with shock.

"Talog?" she whispered.

For a long time Rhoslyn had done her best not to think about the not-horses. Every time they crossed her mind she had become sick with worry. She had no idea what to do about Talog and Torgen. They were dangerous and certainly would not be welcome in any Seleighe domain. She knew they should be destroyed, but she could not!

Vicious as they were, the not-horses were faithful to her and to Pasgen. They had fought for them and saved them from attacks by the creatures of the Dark Court. Some would say they were only made things, but over time they had become more and more real. Now, knowing she could never live in the Unseleighe domains again, how could she arrange their care?

One red eye was fixed on her (no horse could look at anything close with both eyes), the red mouth was open showing the gleaming white teeth, one clawed foot impatiently raked the ground. But the foot did not strike out to disembowel her, the teeth had nipped very gently rather than tearing a gobbet of flesh from her arm.

"Talog?"

Tears ran over her lower lids and down her cheeks. Had her need for help to get to Harry been powerful enough to somehow summon the not-horse? But it was impossible! How could a construct have found her? How could a construct have directed a Gate to bring it to Elfhame Elder-Elf?

Rhoslyn struggled to her feet, reaching out for the arched and shining black neck . . . and found herself somehow mounted. Only there were no reins in her hands, no spurs on her heels. Before she could scream with terror . . .  What would an uncontrolled Talog do in the peaceful elfhame? They were at the door of a large cottage . . .  At least, she was at the door of the cottage. Of Talog, there was no sign at all.

The door opened and Harry came rushing out. "Rhoslyn!" he exclaimed. And put an arm around her asking, "My dear, what has happened? What is wrong?"

"I am no longer Unseleighe," she whispered.

Harry pulled her closer in a warm hug and laughed softly. "If that is a surprise to you, Rhoslyn, let me tell you that you are the only one who could be surprised."

"But I could not draw power in Caer Mordwyn!" she said, swallowing hard as tears began to run down her cheeks again. "Oh, Harry, what am I to do? I have no home, no place to go. And it is wrong for me to take power from Seleighe domains when there is so little."

"What do you mean you have no place to go?" Harry asked, raising a hand to wipe her tears away. "Rhoslyn, don't cry. I'll make it right for you, I promise."

"Dear Harry . . .  But I don't see how you can make this right. I have not liked Unseleighe power for a long time, but this time when I tried to draw . . . I strangled! I felt as if I had been stabbed and torn with knives and swords. If I cannot draw power . . . I . . . will die."

"No you will not." A second voice, a little thin with age but not at all uncertain drew Rhoslyn's eyes.

On the step before the door of the cottage stood the oldest Sidhe Rhoslyn had ever seen. Her hair was so white and so thin it was like a silver mist; her face was actually graven with lines like an aged mortal. But her eyes, though their green was faded with time, were bright and her expression was more alive than many of the bored ladies of the Bright Court.

"But is it not wrong for me to draw power here when there may not be enough for those whose place this is?"

Mechain wrinkled her nose. "You have as much right to what there is as any other Sidhe . . . and more right than some, I would say. You are at least trying to protect dear Elizabeth, who will bring joy back to England and make the Bright Court rich again. All those others do is complain. Come in, my dear, and I will explain to you."

Harry urged Rhoslyn toward the three steps up to the small entryway. She was trembling and he supported her, asking "How did you get here, Rhoslyn? Did you walk from the Gate?"

Her eyes went wide. "No. Oh, the strangest thing happened to me. I cannot believe it, and yet if it was not Talog who carried me, how did I get here?"

"Talog?"

"My not-horse." Rhoslyn smiled slightly at Harry's puzzled expression. When he had helped her to a soft chair and settled her into it, she went on, "Pasgen and I . . ." Then her voice faltered. How did it come about that in her extremity she called for Harry instead of her brother? The obvious answer made her blush and continue hastily, "We desired elvensteeds, but you know that elvensteeds will not live in the Dark domains. And there is no way to compel an elvensteed."

"So you made not-horses?" Mechain, who had come in quietly from another room, handed her a beautiful goblet. "Drink this. It will make you feel better."

Rhoslyn sipped. "We were young and I was—" she shrugged "—I was so proud of my newly mastered ability as a maker. I made Talog and Torgen—Pasgen's steed. They were a terrible mixture of beauty and horror . . . Vicious, dangerous, but faithful to Pasgen and me and for constructs, quite intelligent." Her voice shook on the last words. "I don't know what to do about them now."

Mechain cocked her head like an inquisitive bird. "You say this Talog brought you here from the Gate?"

Rhoslyn nodded and described what had happened. Mechain smiled and a mischievous glint lit her faded eyes. "Don't worry about them any more. I promise you the problem will resolve itself." Then she frowned. "Now, your problem with using Dark Court power is lack of practice. You used to enjoy the bite of the pain and rage it carries. You have just become unaccustomed and, because you don't like it any more, you tried to draw too much all at once to get it over with quickly. Go someplace—"

 

"Where did you wish to go, Mistress Rosamund? Do you want a horse or a litter or an escort?"

The sharp impatience in the voice jerked Rhoslyn out of her memories and she realized the gentleman usher of the outer chamber must have asked her the question more than once. Probably he had asked separately about each form of transport and she had just stared at him.

"I am so sorry," she said. "I have been trying to think what would be best. A horse, I suppose. The horse will not mind waiting no matter how long it takes me to choose the fabrics and if I must go on to the warehouse . . .  Yes, a horse."

And a horse is not likely to mention how long I stayed or if Lord Denno acted as if we were old friends. There were a number of ladies new to Mary's service and of high rank who would be glad to be rid of Mistress Rosamund Scott. Mary was too fond of her.

Rosamund's place had not been envied in the past, when Mary was always in disgrace because of her religion; now that Mary was queen, almost anything that could be used to lessen Mary's affection for the nobody Rosamund Scott was used.

That was why Rhoslyn had told Mary about buying from Adjoran. If she had not, someone would surely have reported that Mistress Rosamund rejected the Spanish and clung to her old connections. These days that was enough to erode Mary's trust. So many still urged her to abandon the Spanish marriage.

Rhoslyn hurried to her chamber to change into riding dress. By the time she reached the side entrance of the palace closest to the stable, the horse was waiting. Rhoslyn mounted and set off without delay. She hoped that Denoriel would be at the house on Bucklersbury, that he had not panicked and Gated to the Tower because of the air spirit's message. She was not skilled in dealing with air spirits. They were not clever and she had not dared to try to tell it more than that she needed to speak to Denoriel.

In fact, she was barely in time to stop Denoriel, with his pockets and his purse full of golden angels and gems for trying to bribe his way to Elizabeth. When he saw her, he almost dragged her off the horse, mumbling, "What? Where is she? Is she hurt? What happened?" as he dragged her into the house.

"Everything is fine, fine," Rhoslyn said three times over until she had closed the door of Denoriel's study behind her.

"Denoriel, stop acting like a lunatic. Elizabeth is well. She is about to be removed from the Tower—"

"Removed! What do you mean removed?" His eyes bulged.

"I mean moved to a new dwelling, and that is all I mean. I told you some time ago that Mary had completely given up any idea of execution."

"Yes, I remember," Denoriel said bitterly, "and the next I heard someone had forged an order for instant execution and when that failed sent an assassin."

Rhoslyn sighed. She had not passed the whispered rumors about the attacks on Elizabeth to Denoriel because she was afraid he would do something foolish. Apparently he had heard anyway, likely through William Cecil who was, although not restored to office because of his reformist ideas, quietly working for Lord Paget.

"I remember too, which is why I sent the air spirit for you, but there is no immediate danger. Elizabeth has her own guardsmen about her now. You know Gerrit, Shaylor, Nyle and Dickson will not allow any assassin to pass. And Brydges has been sharply alerted."

"Then what did make you send the air spirit for me?"

"I do not really know." Rhoslyn frowned uneasily. "But with Elizabeth's well-being at risk, I prefer to be careful. And the Council is being so secretive about releasing Elizabeth from the Tower that I have begun to suspect . . . I know not what."

"That she is to have an accident on the way?" Denoriel's voice rose. "That she is to be murdered in . . .  Where are they sending her?"

"To an ancient manor called Woodstock. It was built by Henry II, but Henry VII liked it and restored it. Since he died, it has fallen out of favor and has been long neglected." Rhoslyn shook her head. "And no, I do not believe Mary has any part in any plan to harm Elizabeth . . . I just . . . do not like the secrecy."

"You think others have not protested Elizabeth's release because they hope she will be more vulnerable beyond Brydges's careful wardenship?"

Rhoslyn shrugged. "I finally managed to get Vidal's ring off Renard's hand. I am almost sure the attempts on Elizabeth were urged or engineered by him, but he is more flexible now. Still, I do not like the secrecy with which the Council is trying to act. I know something of the man Queen Mary has chosen as Elizabeth's gaoler. He is solid, he is honorable, he is also stubborn and not too clever. He will do exactly as Queen Mary orders—and the last order she gave was that no harm should be done to Elizabeth unless she, in person, gives the order."

Denoriel drew a long breath and shuddered, like a dog trying to rid his coat of something unpleasant. Then he looked around the room vaguely. "Sorry," he said. "I am half out of my mind."

Rhoslyn smiled. "More than half," she agreed dryly. "There is no immediate danger, as I said, but I think London should know that Elizabeth has been released. That she is set free would be a mark of her innocence. And I think her route and where she is settled should be known also. She should not be buried in a countryside away from her own people so she can be forgotten."

"I see." Denoriel looked around and gestured toward a large leather chair. "Sit down, Rhoslyn. Would you like something to eat? To drink?"

Rhoslyn took the offer of the chair and shook her head at the others. "I'm sorry about sending the air spirit when I could not explain to it why, but the time is rather short. Elizabeth will start her journey on the nineteenth of May."

"Three days?" Denoriel's voice again rose, in protest this time.

"I think the short time was deliberate. I think the Council hoped to spirit her out of London without anyone knowing. She would still be believed to be in the Tower and thus still marked as suspect of being a traitor."

For a long moment Denoriel sat and stared into space. Then, slowly, his lips curved upward. "I will go to the Hanse," he said. "I will set someone to watch the Tower, and tell the Steelyard when Elizabeth's barge starts." He was now grinning broadly. "The Hanse is not pleased with Queen Mary. They will fire their guns, a full salute when Elizabeth's barge passes the Steelyard. And when people rush to discover what occasioned the firing, the merchants will tell them that the salute was to celebrate the release of Lady Elizabeth. The news will be in every shop and merchant's stall in London within hours. I will see that news of her route to Woodstock is spread also."

"Good." Rhoslyn sighed with relief. "And now to fulfill my reason for coming here. I need fabric for gowns in which to welcome Philip. And I need one special length of exceptional quality to present to the queen."

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