Chancellor Gardiner's dispatch of Lord Paget and the earl of Arundel with warnings and strictures about her behavior, was a source of unintentional happiness to Elizabeth. The advent of Paget and the earl of Arundel, who gravely lectured her about the necessity of keeping absolutely free from any and all political action when she was on her own lands, was the first hint she had been given that Mary did intend to let her go.
To Lord Privy Seal and the earl of Arundel she insisted with a gravity (and an honesty) equal to theirs that she had no interest in politics; that she was only Queen Mary's loyal subject and loving sister. However, with Paget and Arundel she took no chances; she made no plea to remain at Court, saying that her first object was always to do what would best please and comfort the queen. She believed she convinced Paget, who had always liked her and considered her clever and cautious; Arundel gave no sign of his opinion and she could only hope.
The very next day, Elizabeth was summoned to the queen, who met her in a private parlor. Mary came forward alone; her ladies grouped at some distance, too far away to hear what was said. Elizabeth had entered the parlor alone to be seen to be without support. She knelt at once, trembling with hope, with anxiety, with fear that her chains would not be unlocked.
"There is no need to be so fearful," Mary said, recalling that both Renard and Gardiner had insisted that if she let Elizabeth escape the Court, she must make her sister sure of her goodwill. But she could not help adding, "Although I think you will be happier where your tender pride will not be so easily affronted. Still, I wish you to know I love you well."
With some considerable effort, Elizabeth kept her head bent so the blazing fury that had, she knew, turned her eyes a burning gold could not be seen. What she wanted to do was remind Mary of how she had felt when their father had given Elizabeth precedence over her elder sister. Of course, Elizabeth had been totally unaware of that, being an infant in arms at the time. Suddenly, Elizabeth remembered how clumsy Mary was politically and wondered if her inept sister had been taking a petty revenge in giving Margaret Stuart precedence rather than making a political point.
"Your affection is my greatest treasure," Elizabeth murmured; if she was only sure Margaret Stuart's precedence was not politics but revenge, she would gladly grant Mary her little triumph. "That I may carry your assurance of love with me warms my heart."
Elizabeth did not see Mary's sudden frown or her quick angry glance at the ladies clustered out of hearing range behind her. To assure Elizabeth of her affection, Mary had selected a valuable sable hood and two strings of pearls as a parting gift. That remark about warming her heart sounded as if Elizabeth knew about the hood. Mary wondered if one of her ladies was passing news. No, it could not be.
"To remind you of that love, I will arrange that your head as well as your heart be warm," Mary said, trying to smile and not succeeding. "Here, take this as a parting gift."
Elizabeth looked up, allowing the hope she had felt to show in her face. Mary nodded and gestured for her sister to rise, then turned and beckoned to Jane Dormer, who came forward carrying the hood in one hand and the pearls in the other. Mary's expression became less dour, a slight smile touching her lips as she saw surprise changing to delight on Elizabeth's face.
"Oh, madam," Elizabeth said. "How very kind of you. How very generous. I thank you. These will be precious to me indeed, not for their value but as a mark of your good will."
But the slight smile disappeared. Mary did not respond to the real warmth in Elizabeth's voice. She only nodded again and said, "You may go."
Release! Until Mary said those words, Elizabeth had expected every moment that Mary would change her mind, would laugh and say it was all a jest and Elizabeth must stay at Court. The fear was ridiculous, not a real expectation, just a mark of how desperately Elizabeth wanted to get away.
With that fear still driving her, Elizabeth barely managed to retain her dignity, backing slowly away from the queen and bowing again just before the guard stationed at the door opened it for her. In the corridor her women joined her, all smiling when they saw the parting gifts clutched to Elizabeth's bosom. She said nothing, swallowing and swallowing nervously until they were out of sight of Mary's guards. Then she cast dignity to the wind and fled to her apartment where she bade her household make ready to leave. At once.
There were a few moments of panic while the maids of honor asked shrilly what was wrong? Why had the queen been so generous if Elizabeth was in disgrace? Were they trying to escaping arrest?
"No, no, of course not," Elizabeth assured them, and holding out the hood and the pearls, told them they were parting gifts from the queen, marks of her sister's affection. "Just . . . just I have this crazy fear that she . . . she loves me too much to let me go. And I am so tired of the formalities of Court, so tired of all the talk about Prince Philip and the emperor, may they both live forever and the queen also. I need the peace of the country. Let us go now."
Fortunately a great deal of packing had been done after the visit of the earl of Arundel and Lord Privy Seal had provided Elizabeth with the expectation that Mary would release her. Still there was a little more than an hour of chaos while messages were sent to the stables, wagons to carry Elizabeth's goods were made ready, and the household was organized to leave.
Still in irrational terror of pursuit, Elizabeth insisted on riding. Being mounted gave her the feeling that she was free, that she could gallop away if pursuit came. Despite the cold and the fine rain drifting from the sky, she could not bear the thought of being closed into a litter. That might protect her from the weather, but it could not move faster than a walk.
The ladies foisted on her by the queen stood by the litter that Elizabeth ignored and expostulated with her until she was actually mounted and riding away. Lady Alana sighed softly and gestured for Ladbroke, the head groom, to bring forward her own horse. Ystwyth was already saddled, and Ladbroke only seemed to lead her, knowing the bridle would fall away from her head at a touch. Lady Alana mounted and rode after Elizabeth.
"Oh, surely Lady Elizabeth does not expect us to ride in this weather," Elizabeth Marberry said, her voice high with protest.
"No, no," Kat assured them calmly, moving toward the luxuriously cushioned travel wagon. "Truthfully, none of you rides well enough to keep up with our lady. Lady Alana will be with her. The travel wagon is for us. Ladbroke and Tolliver will ride with us until Sir Edward's men are sent to watch over us and the baggage."
Elizabeth Marberry and Eleanor Gage exchanged worried glances. The previous day, the chancellor had sent for them and told them again that they must watch everything Elizabeth did, to whom she spoke, who were her favorites specially now that she was on her own. There was some danger, Gardiner explained, that Lady Elizabeth might be led astray by her distaste for the Spanish marriage into consorting with rebels. She must be saved from the dangers inherent in such an association. And now, in the first hour of her freedom, Elizabeth might well escape them.
She did not, however, try to escape while they passed through the city, curbing her horse to respond with smiles and waves to the increasing number of people to who came out into the rain to see her pass. Beyond the city, not half a mile along the road, Lady Elizabeth's four elderly guardsmen were joined by a dozen armsmen dressed in Tudor colors. As soon as their wagon came into view, six of the men offered Lady Elizabeth brief bows and rode back to meet the travel wagon and baggage. Ladbroke and Tolliver rode ahead to join Elizabeth, who waved and gestured to the road.
But then Lady Elizabeth did escape their watchful eyes. Sir Edward himself and four of his men, Master Dunstan, now armed with a sword and two pistols, the four elderly guardsmen who always watched Elizabeth's apartment, and Ladbroke and Tolliver, also well armed, set out at a fast trot with Lady Elizabeth and Lady Alana in the center of the group.
Eleanor Gage looked alarmed. How could they watch Lady Elizabeth if she were so far ahead? They should have insisted on riding too. But Marberry smiled and leaned closer to Eleanor Gage.
"We don't have to ride with her," she murmured. "I'll find out from the armsmen who she spoke to and where she stopped."
The trot escalated into a canter and the entire party disappeared. Marberry and Eleanor Gage looked at Kat Ashley, but she did not look after Lady Elizabeth's party. Her attention seemed totally absorbed by arranging the cushions to ease the jolting of the wagon. Blanche Parry, who had been Elizabeth's nurse and was now her personal maid, laughed. Despite her low birth, she always traveled with the maids of honor, which was shocking; but Lady Elizabeth was much attached to her.
"Don't worry about her ladyship," Blanche said. "She sticks on a horse like a burr." She looked knowingly at Marberry and Gage and added, her lips slightly twisted, "She's truly eager to get to Ashridge. Won't stop to talk to nobody until the horses need a rest."
About halfway to Ashridge that prediction proved accurate. The rain had ended and Kat rolled up one of the leather curtains to look ahead. A turn in the road disclosed a crowd of horses being led through the gates of a large inn. Sir Edward stepped out and signaled them to stop. The jolted and bruised travelers in the wagon all smiled with relief. Sometimes the slow vehicles were sent on ahead instead of being allowed to rest with the riders.
Queen Mary's women hurried into the inn and saw that Elizabeth and Alana were alone at a table with cups of what smelled like mulled cider in their hands. There was no one in the inn except the armsmen, sitting at a large table, but Marberry knew that any number of conspirators could have come and gone before they arrived. Then she told herself not to be foolish. The armsmen were too relaxed to have been watching Lady Elizabeth conferring with strangers.
Nonetheless when she had approached Lady Elizabeth and dropped a curtsey, she asked innocently why the inn was so empty.
Elizabeth laughed. "Because Sir Edward had his men drive out the poor folk who were warming themselves here. Well, not really. They are gone into the kitchen, I think . . . and are likely warmer than we."
"No doubt," Alana said, also smiling "because all we have is the one fireplace and the kitchen is also warmed by the baking ovens." She shook her head at Elizabeth. "You will have to tell Sir Edward to leave the innkeeper a few more shillings as I suspect the company now in the kitchen may have snatched some extra loaves of bread or slices of cheese."
"Lady Alana is a clever traveler," Elizabeth said, nodding at her women and gesturing for them to join her at the table. "The warm cider was a good thought." But when they were seated she looked around, sighed and said, "Very well, now who has remembered something left behind that must be fetched? We are just too far along in our journey to go back, but a servant can ride back to London and likely still reach Ashridge at the same time as the traveling wagon and baggage."
To the protests that they were not so careless, since she had warned them a day ahead, Elizabeth shrugged.
"Now how can you know you have forgotten anything before we are even unpacked?" Kat asked.
Elizabeth leaned closer to Kat, who had seated herself on Elizabeth's left. "Because it is something I never had," she said softly, although her voice was just loud enough for the ladies across the table to hear. "The queen was so kind to me, and her gifts so much surprised me, that every idea beyond that of her gentleness and generosity went out of my head." Elizabeth stared hard, warningly, into Kat's eyes. "I completely forgot that the chapel in Ashridge is not properly furnished."
Kat's eyes widened, but she only nodded and said, "True. I had not thought of that."
Most of the other ladies looked either surprised or dropped their eyes to hide their expressions.
Eleanor Gage smiled brightly. She had found that she liked Lady Elizabeth and enjoyed her company; she wanted to believe the best of her. "Of course, you are right," she said. "As I remember the king required chapels to be unadorned." She gave a little shiver of distaste. "So . . . plain. So . . . ugly. Nothing to lift the heart."
Elizabeth made no direct reply to Eleanor's remark. She said only. "I had intended to ask my sister what I should do, what I would need to fit the chapel for worship."
"Oh, my," Eleanor said. "It is really too bad that you did not ask. It would have given Her Majesty so much pleasure. I am quite sure that the queen would be willing to advise you. In fact, perhaps you could write to Her Majesty. Doubtless her reply would reach Ashridge before time for vespers so you could send out at once for proper furnishings."
"A most excellent idea," Elizabeth said and gestured at Dorothy Stafford.
Dorothy, her lips tight with distaste but her eyes full of understanding, nodded. She rose, went to the table where the armsmen sat, and sent one of the men to fetch a servant who could discover and bring to her Lady Elizabeth's writing desk with its paper and pens and stoppered ink flask.
Elizabeth was not sure how much effect her request for chapel furniture would have on Mary, but she hoped it would assure her sister that she intended to continue to worship by the Catholic rite. Likely the request would save her the cost of the chapel furniture too, Elizabeth, who kept a tight reign on expenditures, specially unnecessary ones, thought.
Likely Mary would send a priest as well as chapel furniture. Elizabeth repressed a sigh. At least her request had been private. Those who clung to the reform rite might never know, and she had not been burdened with a black-garbed priest riding with her for all the people who had come out to cheer her to see.
One of the servants was sent off with Elizabeth's letter. Warm drinks were served to the latest come ladies. They had barely finished when Sir Edward came to tell them the horses were sufficiently rested. Elizabeth rose at once. Kat groaned, but also got to her feet. A party of guards went out first, then two of Elizabeth's guards, then the ladies, the other two guards and the rest of the armsmen.
By now the folk who had been sent to the kitchen had had time to spread the word in the village around the inn of who had come. The inn yard was full of folk, and the murmur "Elizabeth, the Lady Elizabeth" ran, until she appeared, when hearty cheers rang out. Elizabeth smiled and waved graciously and sharply ordered her men to be gentle when they pushed back the crowd so the horses could be brought.
When they were mounted, Elizabeth smiled all around again and said sweetly, "Thank you, good people," waving as the party rode out. She knew the signs of her popularity would be reported, both the crowds that had gathered in the London streets and this, but was uncertain of the result. It might be a danger or a protection, but one thing she was certain about: she was not going to have her armsmen use force to disperse any crowd cheering her.
Having worked out their fidgets and high spirits on the first lap of the journey, both horses and Elizabeth, who had at last shaken the fear she would be pursued and ordered back to the Court, were willing to go forward at a walk. The travel wagon was still easily in sight of her when a single horseman appeared riding toward them. He waved his cap, then pulled to the side of the road as if to wait until they passed.
Suddenly Elizabeth burst through the horses ahead of her, crying aloud, "Denno! Oh, my Denno how glad I am to see you."
Marberry and Gage gasped with shock, but Kat, Blanche Parry, and most of Elizabeth's long-time ladies were all laughing.
"Who wagered against his appearing?" Dorothy Stafford asked.
All of Elizabeth's ladies, except the queen's new additions, grinned and shook their heads, Agnes Fitzalan remarking, "I swear if we were magically carried to China and set off from one of their cities to come home, Lord Denno would be on the road somewhere, waiting for us."
"Who or what is this Denno?" Marberry asked, gazing with horror at Lady Elizabeth leaning precariously from her saddle to offer her hand to a white-haired old man, who kissed it . . . rather too lingeringly in Marberry's opinion.
"Lord Denno is a merchant, rich as Croesus, who, quite literally, I believe, dandled Lady Elizabeth on his lap when she was an infant," Kat said, smiling fondly at Denno and Elizabeth who were talking hard and fast. "I only became her governess when she was three so I did not see that myself. Lady Bryan told me—and mentioned his generosity."
"A merchant was given such access to a royal child?" Marberry's voice was contemptuous. "No doubt he was her mother's friend."
"Oh no." Kat flushed, knowing what kind of stories ladies in Mary's confidence would have heard about Ann Boleyn. "He was friend and companion to the duke of Richmond and came with him when Richmond visited. Until he died, the duke was mad for Lady Elizabeth. She called him Da, although we explained and explained that Richmond was not her father."
"But Richmond died years ago," Marberry remarked. "How come this merchant is still so much a favorite that Lady Elizabeth nearly falls off her horse to give him her hand."
Kat shook her head. "Lord Denno grieved terribly over Richmond when he returned from a long voyage and discovered the young duke had died. He said Lady Elizabeth was his legacy from his dear Harry, that to please her gave meaning to his life. He has no one of his own at all . . . except Lady Alana is some distant cousin." She smiled reminiscently. "When Lady Elizabeth was a little girl, she was a veritable plague to him, always quarreling with him and demanding the most unsuitable things. But he never lost patience and always gave her only what was right and proper."
"And very rich and expensive," Alice Finch said, giggling.
"And he is most generous to us also," Dorothy Stafford added, grinning again. "You should see the furs he brought us—all Lady Elizabeth's ladies. A very nice man, clever and amusing."
"And what does he get in return?" Eleanor Gage asked, her eyes round with distress.
Kat laughed. "A smile from Lady Elizabeth. Her hand to kiss. The privilege of being soundly beaten at chess—although he usually beats her at tables. He adores her and is so rich that what he gives is meaningless to him, except as it makes our lady smile."
"Surely she arranges lower taxes or easier passage for his goods through customs," Marberry said.
"No," Kat answered sharply. "You are newly come to Lady Elizabeth's service and do not understand Lord Denno's special place. Though it may shock you, I must say it so you understand. He is her friend, her true friend. He cares nothing for any favor. It is as if she is all he has in the world to . . . love."
"Not in any wrong way," Dorothy Stafford said quickly. "You can see he is too old to be interesting as a man, but she has a very strong affection for him."
"And he is a safe friend," Kat put in, defending her indifference to the relationship. "He never cared about political party. He is so rich that the trading is a game to keep him busy. He pays his taxes and if the way of his goods is eased through customs, it is his man of business, Joseph Clayborne, who arranges it. In all the years Lord Denno has come visiting Lady Elizabeth, I have never heard him say a single word about his business, except sometimes to make us laugh over his or Master Clayborne's experiences with foolish or greedy clients."
"Does he cling strongly to the reformist rite?" Gage sounded worried. "Many merchants do espouse that false rite."
"If he does, he has never spoken of it to us," Alice Finch remarked; her brow furrowed in difficult thought. "And he never, that I can remember, came to any church service with us."
"He never talks about politics or religion." Dorothy Stafford offered a guileless smile.
"What does he talk about then? Gossip?" Marberry asked.
"No, Lord Denno doesn't gossip," Kat said, seriously. "He doesn't seem at all interested in the Court or the courtiers. He was friends with Sir Anthony Denny, but Sir Anthony died, and I know the duke of Norfolk is the one who got permission for him to visit Lady Elizabeth while she was at Court, so Norfolk must know him. Mostly he talks about the strange countries he has visited and his adventures as a trader."
Elizabeth Marberry made some inconsequential remark. It was clear that Dorothy Stafford knew she was Mary's spy and would say nothing that could cast a shadow on Lady Elizabeth. Likely Kat Ashley knew too, but Alice Finch did not; poor Alice though not totally simple was certainly a few bricks short of a full hod. It was significant that Alice innocently confirmed what Ashley and Stafford said. This Denno was no rebel and no contact for them.
While those thoughts passed through her mind, Marberry watched as Sir Edward rode over to join Lady Elizabeth and Lord Denno. It was interesting to see that Sir Edward, who was careful and punctilious about his place, accorded the older man a bow, and as the wagon drew nearer the small group, they could see that all three were smiling. In another moment the old man nodded; the women heard Elizabeth's joyous laugh and Sir Edward's hearty "Glad to have you, my lord."
Then Elizabeth rode back to the armsmen with Lord Denno by her side. Lady Alana fell back to give him room. Sir Edward again moved to the head of the cavalcade and they all set off. It did seem a little strange to Marberry that Lord Denno, who had come from the direction of Ashridge should ride back again, but when she remarked on it, Kat smiled again.
"Lord Denno must have ridden to Ashridge to see if Lady Elizabeth was yet in residence and been disappointed. So, when he found her on the road, it is not at all surprising that he should ride back to make the visit he had hoped for."
"But it will be dark if he stays to visit. Will he ride back to London in the dark?" Gage asked.
"No," Dorothy Stafford said, rolling her eyes. "He doubtless has a house or a lodge only a mile or two from the manor."
Alice Finch nodded. "Yes, it is very strange. Lord Denno seems to have a lodging very near all of Lady Elizabeth's manors."
Blanche Parry, who sat as far back in the wagon as she could so as to give the least offense with her presence to the high-born ladies, looked down at the jewel box safely cradled on her lap. She did not smile, but inside her head bubbles of mirth rose. She could easily imagine what had been said in the few moments of earnest talk before Sir Edward joined her Bessie and Lord Denno. "Where have you been?" Elizabeth would have snarled at her long-suffering lover, and he would have made some gentle rejoinder, reminding her of how terrible their meeting at Court had been.
Poor Bessie, she had wept so hard in Blanche's arms after her maid of honor was deep-spelled in sleep. Not seeing her Denno was terrible, she had sobbed, but seeing him where foul-minded and loose-tongued courtiers watched her every word and glance was far worse. She did not dare even seek a quiet corner to converse with one they would consider a common merchant so she was unable to truly speak to him or smile at him or touch him. Denno would remind her, Blanche thought, that Elizabeth herself had told him she could not bear such meetings and told him not to return.
In fact, for once Blanche was wrong about what had passed between Elizabeth and Denoriel. She had wasted no time in quarreling. Too aware of the armsmen who had seen her rush to him and aware that any with keen hearing would catch some of their exchange across the too-small width of the road, Elizabeth had said, "Denno! I did not know you were back. How long have you been in England?"
He, with his back to the armsmen, had asked softly, "Will you come Underhill tonight?"
His eyes were as bright a green as the finest emerald touched by sunlight. Elizabeth had a double vision—of her Denno in the mortal world worn by years of watching over her and of her lover Underhill, smooth-skinned and golden-haired. How she loved them both. She laughed aloud but ducked her head so her lips would be hidden from the watching men and her voice was only a murmur.
"I am so eager—" through gritted teeth "—that if you do not come I swear I will build a Gate myself," and then, louder, she asked, "Will you not come back to Ashridge with us?"
"Yes, I will." And more softly, "I think your new ladies should see how much at ease I am in your household."
"Yes, they should. Even Gardiner cannot make your visit a crime. Everyone knows you have no interest in politics."
"Good. I have some pretty trinkets for you from the voyage also."
That was when Sir Edward rode up, and Denoriel explained that he had a rumor from the Court that Lady Elizabeth would be leaving to take up residence in Ashridge. Naturally, since he was just back from a trading voyage and had a bag-full of trinkets for his lady and her ladies, he had ridden out to Ashridge. He had been at his lodge for two days and then decided he had better return to London to discover if the rumor had changed.
"And so here I am. And Lady Elizabeth has just asked if I would ride back to Ashridge—to make my visit after all."
Elizabeth laughed aloud and Sir Edward smiled. He hoped there would be no attack on the road, but if there were, he was doubly happy to have Lord Denno's skilled sword in their party.
Sir Edward had been appalled when he was told of the attempts on the queen's life while Elizabeth was beside her. He had at once applied to the chancellor for the right to assign guards to Lady Elizabeth. His request had been refused angrily, the chancellor saying that Elizabeth was in no danger; it was Queen Mary who had been attacked. Sir Edward knew better, but he could not prove it.
Now Sir Edward joined Nyle at the head of the cavalcade. "Be wary," he warned.
Arriving at the Gate in Avalon, Harry swept his hair back from the blue star that blazed on his forehead. The four knights, armored and with their visors obscuring their faces, looked at his companions.
"You know us," Mechain said sharply.
"No, maybe they do not," Elidir suggested in a reasonable voice. "Likely they were not born when we still came regularly to Oberon's Court."
"Oh, very well. I am Mechain and he is Elidir. We are both of Elfhame Elder-Elf."
"You are recognized . . . And most welcome."
There was a definite note of surprise in the somewhat hollow voice that appeared to come from the air about the middle of the Gate platform. Often the Sidhe of Elfhame Elder-Elf had lived too long. Because there was nothing new for them, nothing to keep their minds alert, they drifted off into Dreaming and eventually ceased being. Harry had changed that for most of the older Sidhe. One way and another, between mortal curiosity and love of meddling, he had involved them in challenging and dangerous projects and they had come alive.
As Harry stepped off the Gate platform Lady Aeron, Phylyr, and Gogonedd appeared. All three mounted and set out across the white-starred mosslike ground cover toward Avalon.
"Welcome?" Elidir repeated. "Are we likely to be welcome?"
Mechain made a indeterminate noise that was not an answer, and Harry looked up at the palace, which changed frequently. Today it seemed to be made of slightly translucent mother-of-pearl. Light from within a myriad of lacy minarets stirred pale gleams of gold, of rose, of soft blue within the walls. From the tallest, central tower, Oberon's black and gold banner flew.
Harry sighed. "He is here. I sort of hoped . . . I don't know whether we will be welcome. I'm sure he would have been pleased to know we had cleared Alhambra of evil, but not knowing where it went?" He sighed again. "He isn't going to be pleased that we waited so long to tell him about it, that's for sure."
"Let's get it over with," Mechain said.
One stride after Mechain spoke, the elvensteeds were at the broad steps of the palace. Harry dismounted and then stood still, looking doubtfully down at what appeared to be mother-of-pearl steps and then at his sturdy boots. In the mortal world, mother-of-pearl was fragile. However, Elidir and Mechain had started up the stair without cracking anything; they were heavier than he, and their boots were as sturdy.
He followed them through the tall central doors and along a gracious corridor to another pair of wonderfully decorated golden doors, before which, quite suddenly, there was a tall, elegant Sidhe whose silver hair trailed down his back and over his shoulders in shining waves. He smiled at the elder Sidhe and bowed.
"Elidir. Mechain. What a pleasure it is to see you here."
"So, Lord Ffrancon, you are still serving Oberon," Elidir said.
"Yes indeed. You laughed at me once because I had no time for pleasure, but I have no time to grow bored either."
Mechain laughed. "And we have grown old enough, at last, to come to your way of thinking. But it took a mortal to teach us. Can you find time for us to speak to King Oberon? Harry has news."
"And it may not be welcome news," Elidir said flatly.
"A private meeting?" Lord Ffrancon suggested.
"Perhaps that would be best," Elidir agreed.
Harry said nothing. If a great Evil had been loosed Underhill it was his fault. He was the one who had suggested clearing the evil from Alhambra and El Dorado, not leaving those wonderful domains in the grip of the Bright Court's enemies. The elder Sidhe had risen to the challenge and helped him, but it was his idea, his fault.
The elder Sidhe might be reprimanded, but Oberon would do them no harm, except perhaps banish them to their lovely (and very boring) elfhame and tell them to stay there. But he . . . He could be sent back to the mortal world. The elfshot poison had been completely leached from his body. He had not felt ill or needed to ask Mwynwyn's help in a long time. If so, he could survive in the mortal world. But who would he be? What would he do?
The thought of being driven out of Underhill was terrible to him. From the first time he had come here with Denno, he had been enchanted by the place. He loved the silver twilight coming from the star-spangled sky that held no sun, no moon, the lawns of dark moss with their tiny white flowerlets, the faintly perfumed air. He even loved the swirling and dangerous mists of the Unformed lands and the ugly, inimical domains. And Lady Aeron . . . if he were banished, he would lose Lady Aeron!
A faint snort sounded in his mind, and his spirits lifted. Lady Aeron, like any other elvensteed, was her own law. If she wished to come to him in the mortal world, she would. Then Harry reminded himself that the duke of Richmond was dead, long enough dead that it was likely no one would recognize him.
He would not need to worry about money; he could trust Denno to provide for him. He could live in the house on Bucklersbury where the servants were Low Court Sidhe, who would speak Elven and bring him news. He could see Elizabeth . . . That thought cheered him enough that when Lord Ffrancon beckoned them along a corridor to a side door, Harry squared his shoulders and went in first.
The room was (for a palace Underhill) small. The wall that faced the door from which he and his friends had entered seemed to be one large sheet of glass that displayed rolling hills with silver water in the distance. It was impossible, of course; that wall should have either faced the corridor or been part of an equivalent wall in another room. Harry hardly gave it a glance or a thought. The apartment he lived in in Llachar Lle had a wall like that.
What Harry's eyes fixed on was the being who stood looking out of the window. Harry was a tall man, but considerably shorter than his Sidhe friends. This being—he was not really a man at all—stood head and shoulders above Elidir and Mechain. He turned slowly to face them.
His hair was thick and black, combed back in smooth waves from a deep widow's peak. His eyes were black too, so vibrantly alive that to Harry they seemed to flicker with golden lights. The nose was fine, the lips perfect, the chin firm without being aggressive. Altogether the face was so beautiful, it was unreal.
"So you have news, and since you request a private audience it must be bad news." A deep chuckle sounded. "I have never known a subject to want to give good news in private."
"My lord." Harry took half a step forward and bowed. "Some of the news is good. Alhambra is free of evil."
There was a moment of silence and then Oberon asked with some amusement, "Now how did you manage that?"
He could have sent his Thought into their minds and known everything at once, but the Thought caused pain and sometimes even damaged the minds it touched too directly, especially those of fragile humans. Besides he found it interesting, and amusing, to ask and be answered.
"That is the bad news." Harry sighed. "We have no idea. Can evil die?"
"No," Oberon said. "It can be diminished and then bound, but it will always exist."
"Yes, that is what we were trying to do, to diminish it. And one of the elder Sidhe who has long studied mortal Christianity was seeking a spell to bind the evil. Then we hoped to send it off into the Void."
Oberon cocked his head. "As good a plan as any. Even evil would find escape from the Void difficult. From the fact that you are here, clearly your plan did not work. What happened?"
"We were successful in diminishing the evil and confining it to one place in Alhambra, what had, we thought, been the place to which it was first drawn when the priests cursed the domain."
"How?"
"By attrition, my lord," the warrior Elidir said. "It created evil things and we killed them, draining its power."
"I sealed the domain against the dark power of sorrow and pain," Mechain said, "and drew to it the strength that comes from light and laughter. In that way the evil was not fed."
"That is powerful magic," Oberon said.
"I was once a sorcerer of power," Mechain replied, lifting her chin and smiling.
Oberon's curved brows rose. "And you are again, it seems."
Mechain's smile grew broader. "By Harry's mischief. You do not know the half of the spells I have uncovered from eons past and learned to use again to protect him . . . and us."
Oberon looked at Harry. "And your part?"
"I helped Elidir kill the little evil creatures, and as we cleared parts of the palace Elidir and Mechain placed silver sigils and when they were away I put down iron. Little by little we wore the evil down."
"And then?"
"We went away for a time, leaving behind some simple constructs. They were corrupted when we returned and we destroyed them. The evil was weaker after that; it had used much of its power to alter the constructs. I think it intended us to use the constructs so that they would have a chance to harm us."
"Likely enough. But you were not fooled?"
"A friend, who is very sensitive, warned us and told us that it was in the altar and we surrounded that with silver and iron. We intended to return quickly to discover if it was still contained, but Sewel had not yet completed his spell and . . . and we were distracted by another problem. When we did come back . . . in mortal July, the new constructs we had left were untouched and our sensitive told us the evil was entirely gone."
"Where?"
Harry, Elidir, and Mechain all swallowed. "We don't know."
"That was July. This is mortal December . . ." Oberon no longer sounded amused.
"We have been seeking it, my lord," Harry said. "We have been seeking news of what it can breed, what it can do. Of course, we cannot seek in the Dark Court's domains, but there is nothing unusual, not in any Unformed land we have visited and not even in such places as Wormgay Hold and Fur Hold."
There was a long silence into which Oberon loosed a heavy sigh; however, the amusement was back in his eyes.
After another moment, he shook his head. "Mortals," he said.