By Slanderous Tongues Read online

  Suddenly Denoriel remembered the tears streaming down Rhoslyn’s face when she accused him of murdering the poor changeling. And she had never taken any active part in threatening Elizabeth. Perhaps she was not all bad.

  Then he shook his head. “Even if Rhoslyn is not evil, what of Pasgen? He tried to kill Elizabeth, not once but twice! And you must also remember that Rhoslyn is not her own mistress. Vidal must have his hooks into her and might well force her into something she would not wish to do. Aleneil, do not trust her. Elizabeth is too precious. Vidal will do anything at all to prevent Elizabeth from coming to the throne. Who knows what pressure he can bring to bear on Rhoslyn?”

  Aleneil sighed again. “Well, I will be careful, but I cannot see what the harm could be for me to ask whether she knows what Vidal’s FarSeers have Seen and what she thinks it means. I will not tell her what Eirianell believes.”

  “How can you reach her?”

  “That is easy enough in the mortal world. She attends on the Lady Mary as Rosamund Scott. I can simply write her a note, perhaps to say that Elizabeth wishes to send her sister Mary a mourning prayer or something of that sort. It would not be thought strange. Elizabeth and Mary do write to each other from time to time.”

  Reluctantly, Denoriel nodded his assent. “Very well, but not yet. My principal source of information at Court is in the Tower waiting beheading. And the friend I have made more recently, Sir Anthony Denny, is so overwhelmed with business that I dare not intrude on him. Also Sir Anthony is not young and not perfectly well. I need to find a new friend in the heart of the King’s Council.”

  Aleneil pursed her lips. “Why not Edward Seymour … ah, earl of Hertford? He is the king’s maternal uncle and likely to be close to the boy.”

  Again, Denoriel shook his head. These mortals and their wayward Gifts—they made things very difficult sometimes. “Not Hertford. I suspect he has a thread of Talent and is made most uneasy by any touch of magic. He has a strong distaste for me.”

  “Then avoid him, and above all stay away from Edward.” She sighed heavily. “That poor child. What a misery his life will be.” She sighed again. “Does Elizabeth need Lady Alana?” Aleneil asked, mentioning her mortal world alter ego.

  Denoriel sensed that his sister had some private business she wished to pursue … perhaps connected with the flooding of Underhill with its rulers’ lust. Had she found a male in whom she could feel a real interest? Denoriel sometimes worried that because he and Aleneil were so close she could not find a partner to whom she could bond.

  “Not yet,” he said. “She needs first and foremost to know whether the Council will honor the terms of her father’s will so she can settle her mind to where and how she will live.” Then Denoriel’s expression lightened. “And I think I have just come up with an answer to that, and an answer that will make Elizabeth very happy.”

  “Elizabeth needs some time of happiness. I sense that— Oh, Good Mother, what a fool I am,” Aleneil exclaimed, laughing. “I forgot the most important result of Oberon’s and Titania’s reconciliation. Titania demanded, and received in response to her promise to do nothing to trouble Mary, permission for Elizabeth to come Underhill and, of course, to return to the World Above.”

  Denoriel blinked. “But none of us ever thought of doing Mary any harm! Poor woman, I fear the fanatical faith she clings to will hurt her and all of England without any help from the Sidhe.”

  “Poor woman indeed!” But Aleneil’s expression was shadowed by just a trace of fear. “There is something about her that makes me most uneasy. I fear she would welcome the Great Evil if it would promise to return England to the old faith.”

  Denoriel felt himself blanch. “Aleneil! For the Mother’s sake do not say things like that!”

  “Sorry,” Aleneil muttered. “Mary was once sweet and kind. It annoys me to see her so much a dupe of her priests.” She sighed impatiently, “But I do not wish her ill. She has had ill enough in her life.”

  Denoriel raised his brows and then chuckled, good humor swiftly returning. “Titania knew we never meant Mary harm. And I cannot believe that Oberon did not also know it.” He grinned. “That means the king was willing all along for Elizabeth to come Underhill.”

  Aleneil smiled, with a hint of mischief. “Yes, Oberon is often devious, and I think sometimes he does things deliberately to infuriate Titania. But not this time. He was really angry at Elizabeth, yet Titania faced him down—over a mortal. She is determined to see Elizabeth come to the throne and bring in what she feels will be a golden age for the Seleighe Sidhe.”

  Denoriel nodded and chuckled again softly. “I have a feeling she intends to sample some of those joys for herself. Poor mortals. Well, better them than me. And now I must get back to the World Above and arrange for Elizabeth to be safe and happy.”

  He rose as he spoke the last few words and touched his sister’s cheek.

  But Aleneil frowned, holding his hand against her. “Be careful,” she said. “I swear I felt an ice faery slide down my spine. I have just remembered Oberon’s strict order to Vidal not to touch Elizabeth. It is true that Vidal might be afraid to harm her directly, but he must realize that if he is rid of those she loves—you, Kat, Blanche … was not an attempt made on Blanche already? So soon after her father’s death to lose any of them … all stability and safety will be gone from Elizabeth’s world. She is so close to the edge all the time, so prone to make herself ill with fear and worry, she could be utterly vulnerable to the most ordinary misfortunes.”

  Denoriel went very still, but then nodded. “I had not thought of that. I will be careful and warn Blanche—and you guard yourself also.”

  Chapter 2

  The house that Pasgen and Rhoslyn had once called the empty house—and still did because they could not think of another name for it—was now actually very full. Both of them visited regularly to make sure that all was well with their mother, Llanelli, who now lived in a new wing of the house with a full complement of guards and servants.

  The visits were not the penances they would once have been. Llanelli had finally accepted that her twin children had grown into fully functioning adults, that they no longer needed a mother’s care.

  She had not forgotten or given up her first purpose, which was to preserve Pasgen and Rhoslyn from sinking into the foulness of Unseleighe malice and cruelty. However she had learned that the way to keep them longing for Seleighe lightness and laughter and love of beauty was to be as Seleighe as possible herself. When Rhoslyn or Pasgen or both came to visit, she was bright and beautiful, she sang or played music, she spoke of art and the most interesting of the healings she had done.

  Those healings were even more important than art and music and laughter. Llanelli had found a genuine purpose in life and her children could feel the change in her. She had discovered in herself the ability to heal and had developed the talent into a full art.

  Pasgen had arranged for booths to be set up in the three great markets, the Goblin Market, the Elves’ Faire, and the Bazaar of the Bizarre. Roslyn had provided a construct for each booth that was able to describe what healings were available and where to find the Gate that would take a sufferer to the healer’s place of business.

  Both Pasgen and Rhoslyn were aware that allowing Llanelli to see patients was dangerous, but neither could condemn their mother to fading into nothing. Still, both knew the Unseleighe Sidhe were not trustworthy. Any of them might think it deeply amusing to seize a gentle healer and torture her or play other nasty tricks. Also the possibility existed that Prince Vidal would realize that the healer was Llanelli and try to seize her, although he had shown no interest in her for years. Still, the one way to ensure the twins’ obedience would be to hold their mother, and as Prince Vidal’s mind and powers returned to their former state, he might well remember that. Both had done their best to protect her.

  The terminus of each Gate was staffed by one of Pasgen’s constructs, a huge hulking creature that was almost impervious to magic and
was incredibly strong, with a skin like stone. There really was not a great deal that anyone could do to hurt it. The construct was very stupid, but it could fight and could sense an overt intention to do evil, which would call forth a challenge. That usually sent most of those planning to wreak havoc back from where they came.

  The paths from the Gate to the house were walled off by force fields so that no one could either damage the garden or hide in it. And at the entrance to the healer’s wing of the house, the patient was greeted by two of Rhoslyn’s “girls.”

  The girls were obviously constructs because they were perfectly identical, except for the colored ribbon tied in a little bow each wore around her neck. It was an innocent touch. Likely those who persisted either because of their need for healing or their cleverer concealment of the will to do evil felt a sense of relief and safety with the girls after the seemingly overt threat of the Gate guard and the imprisoning walls of force.

  For those able to conceal their evil intentions from the Gate guard, the relief was a grave mistake. Although the girls looked like starveling children with huge eyes, small pursed lips, and sticklike arms and legs, they were as strong as the brute at the Gate and far cleverer. Their little pursed mouths could open almost to their ears and held teeth to rival a wolf’s and their spider-leg fingers could slice flesh and grind through bone. There was one who came truly needing healing and shivered whenever he saw them. He had seen one of the girls slice up an ogre into finger-food lumps, and he never could be easy in their presence again. The girls, too, were almost impervious to magic and understood their purpose, their only purpose, was to protect Llanelli.

  A final set of protections were the two seemingly mortal servant/nurses, who assisted Llanelli in her healings. Also constructs, they looked like smiling, plump country girls, one brown-haired and the other blonde, both blue-eyed and rosy cheeked. They were not particularly clever, but were very strong, very devoted to Llanelli, and were able to perceive her emotions. They knew at once if she were frightened. Without any sense of self at all, either or both were ready to interpose their own bodies between her and any threat and fight for her to the death.

  So far the elaborate scheme of protection seemed more than was necessary. There had been two Dark Sidhe who had felt that the extended torment of a healer would be very amusing. One, whose mind was not befogged with drugs, had recognized from the presence of the Gate guard that Llanelli would be protected and abandoned his purpose. The second had not survived his meeting with Lliwglas, she of the blue ribbon.

  The Sidhe who had fled had mentioned the healer’s protections to another, who had commented on the foolishness of a healer setting up a practice in an Unseleighe domain, but then, later, seemed to have reconsidered the “foolishness” in light of the extraordinary precautions. And no less than the Seleighe, the Unseleighe were inveterate gossips. The word of the healer’s protections spread from him to still others. Pasgen was pleased by that development. It served two purposes: it discouraged those who wished to prey on a helpless healer, and now only those desperate for healing and surcease from pain came to the empty house.

  In the dead of night of what was the fifth of February, 1547 in the mortal world, Pasgen waited in the parlor of the empty house for Rhoslyn to arrive. The parlor was a compromise between Pasgen’s desire for absolute plainness and order and Rhoslyn’s need for warmth and decorative surroundings.

  The walls were a soft cream color with rich, but unadorned, wood moldings. There were pictures on the walls, which provided splashes of color, but they were not scenes of beautiful landscapes like those that adorned the walls of Iach Hafn, Roslyn’s home. The pictures were portraits: one of Llanelli, nearly as disorderly as an untamed landscape with her flowing hair and diaphanous robes; one of Rhoslyn, dark and severe in her Wild Hunt costume with Talog, the claw-footed, wolf-toothed, flame-eyed not-horse behind her; one of Pasgen, sitting quietly at his stark black and white desk with a single open book before him and to his right a wisp of coiling mist.

  The door opened to admit Rhoslyn in full Tudor court dress. Her black hair was parted in the center and partially covered by a French hood of black satin and velvet trimmed with jet, her throat was almost covered by the upstanding ruffle of the white chemise gathered at the neck. Below this a dull silver kirtle, with the most minimal embroidery all in black, was visible above the low, square neckline of her black velvet gown and where the gown parted in the center. The silver sleeves of the kirtle were also visible where the sleeve of the gown, which widened below the elbow, was folded back displaying silver-gray squirrel fur in a wide cuff. Her only ornament was a necklace of jet beads supporting a jet-trimmed pendant holding a miniature portrait of Henry VIII.

  A single glance was all Pasgen needed to satisfy himself that Rhoslyn had suffered no serious anxieties since he had last seen her. “Well, well,” he said with a broad grin, “did you dress specially to please me, all white and gray and black?”

  Rhoslyn was examining him with great care, feeling—because she knew Pasgen would hide anything wrong from her if he could—for pain or strain. She did detect a little tension, but the kind that came with excitement rather than with anger or fear. His looks were totally normal: gold hair combed back smoothly from a high forehead, ear points well up toward the crown of his head, large green eyes wide open now and displaying his pleasure in her company. That was rather new.

  She smiled warmly at him, shaking her head as she seated herself with care for her wide skirts. “No, I did not even think once of you. The black and gray colors are to please Lady Mary, who is in deep mourning for her father. You did know that Henry VIII died in the early morning of January twenty-seventh?”

  “I knew he was dead although not when,” Pasgen said, “because I heard Elizabeth say so, but only by the strangest accident. And by the same accident I learned a great deal about what is going on in the Seleighe Court.”

  “That sounds like a dangerous accident.”

  “Oh, it was. I could have been dead or mind-wiped in one moment—”

  “Pasgen!” Rhoslyn protested.

  He laughed. “I said it was an accident. I assure you I did not intrude on King Oberon’s business apurpose.”

  “Oberon,” Rhoslyn whispered.

  “He must have known I was not there to interfere in any way. He must have read my surprise when Vidal arrived and began what amounted to a war against our dear half brother Denoriel and his friends. I felt his Thought pass over me and sweep up everything in my mind.”

  Rhoslyn shivered. “I cannot help it. I am afraid of him. Vidal at his best—or worst—is a helpless child compared to King Oberon.”

  “You need not apologize to me,” Pasgen replied dryly. “I feel just as you do and I would have fled incontinent”—his lips twisted wryly—“and I mean that in all ways, if I had not been too afraid to move.”

  “Then how—”

  “You know I have been living mostly in the Unformed or Chaos Lands and that I have discovered that they are by no means all the same. Many are simply raw material but there are a few others—well, you know I have found sports in the mist, that red stuff and the bit you found that seems almost intelligent.”

  “Have you not got rid of that red devourer yet?”

  Pasgen raised his brows. “Tell me how.”

  Roslyn sighed, lifted a hand, and when one of the servants appeared, ordered wine and cakes. “Not too much of anything,” she said, and then to Pasgen, “I hope you will stay and dine with us when mother is free?”

  “Yes. I like to hear who she is healing of what. Sometimes I can tell from that where Vidal is and what he is doing. But to get back to what I was saying, I came across what seemed like a whole domain of intelligent mist.”

  “What? Oh, Pasgen, are you sure you did not do something to the place? A whole domain of intelligent mist?” She shuddered. “Think what it could do if it became inimical?”

  “I am not an idiot. That was the first thing I did think of
and I have been very, very careful. Thus, you can imagine that I was not too thrilled when Denoriel and Aleneil with that damned clever Elizabeth and two Sidhe who should long have been dead or Dreaming popped out of a gate.”

  “Whenever something happens that disturbs her Denoriel brings Elizabeth Underhill. They take her all kinds of places and teach her magic—”

  “You mean she can now apurpose use the force that flung me into the void?” Pasgen interrupted, wide-eyed.

  “No. She can only do little things, like stickfast. The great power is somehow tied inside of her so that she cannot usually reach it, but if she gets very frightened or very angry … She flung one of Vidal’s mages into the void with his whole body caved in because he was threatening to cast a spell at Denoriel. She melded another’s feet into the earth.”

  “How did you know that?” Pasgen asked. “I saw it happen. That was the next part of my tale.”

  “Aleneil told me,” Rhoslyn said softly. “I will explain in a moment, but first I wish to beg of you Pasgen, down on my knees if you desire it, that you do not trouble Elizabeth, that you think kindly of her even though she hurt you.”

  For a long moment Pasgen was silent, staring at his sister, whose eyes were full of tears. “Since I was trying to kill her when she hurt me, I cannot really blame her for defending herself. But … but why, Rhoslyn?”

  “Because she told me, and I have confirmed her tale with the healer Mwynwen in Elfhame Logres, that Denoriel did not kill my poor little changeling. He carried the child to Mwynwen and she … she made a spell to feed it power so that it lived for ten years longer. She loved it, as much … no, more, I think, than I did. She named it Richey …”

  “You put too much into that changeling,” Pasgen said, his voice tight and hard.

  “Yes,” Rhoslyn whispered. “I will never make another like that. There was a great bleeding hole in my heart over that … construct. And one reason I wish you to spare Elizabeth is that it was her idea to tell me that Richey had lived many happy years. She almost forced Aleneil to tell me of Richey’s life and death—”