Ill Met by Moonlight Page 6

  Rhoslyn shuddered. She remembered being forced to watch such events. “But will he not hate you and fear you more than ever now? And … and he had a token for finding you.” Her voice rose with fear. “What if he has another? How can you be safe from him?” She drew a sharp breath. “If he had a token for you, has he one for me? How did he get them?”

  “He got them from me.” The voice was soft, a little hoarse, and broken with tears. “One from each of you.”

  Both Pasgen and Rhoslyn jumped to their feet and faced the door they had carelessly left open, believing they were alone in Rhoslyn’s portion of the castle, except for her servants, who could not be subverted.

  “Mother!” Rhoslyn breathed.

  “Llanelli!” Pasgen exclaimed.

  Both her children looked at Llanelli Ffridd Gwynneth Arian, Rhoslyn with tears of love and despair in her eyes and Pasgen with exasperated irritation. However, neither approached her. The Sidhe woman hardly seemed real, she was so fragile; less than translucent—almost transparent. Her skin was like white alabaster, untouched with any hint of pink, her hair was like a worn gilt mist, thin and a little tarnished, her eyes were so soft and faded a green that they were nearly colorless too. There were no such beings as elven ghosts, but if there had been, Llanelli would surely have been taken for one.

  “She’s got some of the drug again,” Pasgen said, as if the fragile beauty before him was deaf and senseless. “That is the limit, Rhoslyn. You cannot control her. I will—”

  “Pasgen, do not talk about me as if I were a block of wood, or a statue you no longer care for.” Llanelli’s voice was no longer broken. A thread of Pasgen’s exasperation seemed to have caught in it and strengthened it. “I am your mother. And I am not drugged, nor have I been these four or five mortal years.”

  Pasgen’s frown did not fade in the least. “Then how did Vidal get tokens of our flesh, if you did not sell them to him to feed your vice?”

  “Pasgen!” Rhoslyn cried.

  Llanelli put a pale hand on the table to steady herself. “I am sorry about the tokens, but I had no choice but to yield them to Vidal. They were taken when you were both infants. He was going to take you away from me, separate you, and have you brought up by Sidhe he trusted.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I do not know whether you would have survived at all. But I tell you this, if you had done so, you would not have survived with whole minds.”

  Pasgen and Rhoslyn looked at each other. Had she bargained to save their minds or to keep them for herself? Could they believe her about anything? She had told them how, desperate to have a child, she had forced three mages to work a terrible magic involving the death of several mortals to force enhanced virility onto Kefni Deulwyn Siarl Silverhair and fecundity upon herself, then laid an enchantment on him that drew him to her bed despite the fact that he had a life-mate.

  On the one hand, they knew she could be selfish and weak, totally without loyalty or gratitude. She never for a moment regretted the deaths of the mortals although they had been faithful servants; she cared nothing for the ruination of the young mages, mad and dead after the blood magic they had done. She had obtained what she wanted, a child … better, two children. The only thing she regretted was that Kefni, breaking free of her ensorcellment, fled to his true love … and made her pregnant too. She had not forgiven him for that. She had wanted a child, but she had wanted Kefni nearly as much. She certainly had not wanted her rival to share in the results of her magic.

  Then the Unseleighe had taken both sets of twins, and Llanelli blamed Kefni still for having rescued the children of his life-mate first and for having died instead of successfully rescuing her children.

  Still, on the other hand, both knew that she was utterly, completely devoted to them, without doubt or reservation. She had given up the life she dearly loved in the Bright Court, had given up the light, the laughter, the poetry and art, the dancing and singing—everything that made a Seleighe life sweet—to follow her children into hatred and pain and ugliness. And she had worn away her substance protecting them from the hatred and pain and ugliness, showing them that there was light and laughter and beauty despite what they were surrounded by.

  “How?” Pasgen asked, a little less harshly. “How did you find the power to bargain with Vidal?”

  Llanelli smiled slightly. “It did not take much power. I laid a death spell on both of you so that you could not be separated from me for more than a stadia or for more than half a candlemark. The spell wore off eventually, of course, but by then Vidal was taken up with other things.”

  “But if he had not believed you and took us away, we would have died,” Rhoslyn cried, as if she could not believe what their mother had just revealed.

  “Yes, but Vidal would not have had you nor the hope of what you might become.” She looked proud of herself and her machinations.

  “You would not have had us either,” Pasgen remarked with raised brows.

  Llanelli seemed to fade even more, and shrank a little. “I knew that,” she whispered. “And in the end, though he did believe me, still he threatened to take you unless I offered him some other hold over you. That was why I agreed to take a token from each of you and give it into his keeping. He suspected me, you see, of trying to escape with you back to some Seleighe dominion, and the tokens would allow him to find you no matter where you were.”

  “And they still do,” Pasgen growled.

  His glance at his mother was cold. She wilted still more and Rhoslyn went and put an arm around her, murmuring that she was tired and should go with her maids and rest. At Rhoslyn’s gesture, the door their mother had shut behind her when she entered opened. Two pretty maids, one brown-haired the other blond, both with round, rosy cheeks and large blue eyes, stood in the doorway. They were plump and soft-looking, nothing like Rhoslyn’s starveling girls, but Pasgen was not deceived by their mortal appearances and did not doubt they were as strong and deadly as the other constructs.

  Both maids rushed into the room as soon as the door opened, the blonde murmuring that it was very wrong to shut them out while the other, at Rhoslyn’s gesture, lifted Llanelli as if she were a small child and carried her away.

  Rhoslyn sighed and turned back toward Pasgen. “She still has power to bespell, and if I put strong enough protections on the constructs to resist her spells they would become no more than wooden automata.” She shrugged. “She has been so compliant since you were ill, that I relaxed my vigilance.”

  “Do not make her unhappy,” Pasgen muttered, then, as if he were ashamed of the soft sentiment, he explained. “She knew we would be deeply worried about how Vidal got the tokens. She knew we would not like the answer to the puzzle, but she confessed anyway to give us peace of mind. Whatever she is, Rhoslyn, she will still sacrifice herself for us. And it is a relief to know how Vidal obtained that token and that only one was given.”

  “But could he have divided it?” Rhoslyn frowned and then coming back toward Pasgen, said, “If you will trust me enough to leave it with me, I will try to call to it everything of like nature.”

  Pasgen sighed. “I brought it to give to you. I … I do not know what power it has over me, if any. When I first took it from the imp, I closed my hand on it … and felt I was choking, that I was being closed in. But I had felt no constriction or other ill effect when it was inside the imp, so I wondered if it might have been because I knew what I was doing to the token. Will you test it for me, Rhoslyn?”

  She did not answer immediately, instead coming to him and putting her arms around his neck in a rare embrace. Even when she spoke it was not to reply to his question. She said, “I love you, brother.”

  Pasgen raised a hand and drew it gently down her cheek. “And I, you,” he murmured. “That we are two, together, against all outsiders … makes living possible.”

  They stood for a moment, and then Pasgen turned slightly away. Rhoslyn released him immediately and began to talk of the practical necessities for the testing. That Pasgen not
know what or when the test would occur, but that she have some way of knowing if he reacted though he was nowhere near her. She fell silent, biting her lip, then sent Elyn to fetch two of the small creatures she used to keep watch on her mother.

  When she returned, Elyn handed him a little creature like a furry, rainbow-colored snake that began to quiver as it nestled just under his collar. Curled on Rhoslyn’s shoulder the small creature’s twin also quivered. Pasgen’s quieted under his hand, having faithfully registered his slight uneasiness when he contemplated facing Vidal Dhu, and Rhoslyn’s also stilled.

  Rhoslyn nodded; the creatures faithfully reflected one another, and Pasgen’s reflected what his current state was. They agreed that she would do no testing while he was in Vidal’s presence, but might before others, who would not matter much.

  And Pasgen taught her the spell that he had used to catch and hold the imp. Once it was caught, Rhoslyn’s girls would be able to extract her token from it and dispose of it.

  “I’ll go to Vidal now,” Pasgen said.

  “Save yourself all the Gating,” Rhoslyn said and snorted. “You might as well go directly to Caer Mordwyn. Lord of Darkness, when I think of all the trouble you and I have taken to conceal our domains, and all the while he could have found us at any time, I am almost out of patience with Llanelli.”

  “No,” Pasgen replied. “He still does not know where we abide. At least, not yet, and I hope to keep that secret from him still. I will not be quite so circuitous, but I will not give him any direct route to you either. I’ll go out to the Unformed land and then Gate to the Goblin Fair. I doubt Vidal will trouble to follow every Gating to the market to try to find you when he already has a more direct way.” He paused for a moment and then added. “I wonder why he only used the token now if he has held it since we were babies.”

  Rhoslyn laughed. “Would you lay odds that he had put it in safekeeping in his own secret place and forgot he had it? And when he was beginning to recover enough to need some occupation, he began to look through his treasures and found the tokens.”

  Pasgen stared and then laughed also. “You may be right. That sounds very much like what Vidal Dhu might have done.” The little creature under his collar quivered again, reacting to his renewed anxiety, then stilled as Pasgen touched Rhoslyn softly on the shoulder.

  “Be careful,” she whispered, “the weakest-seeming snake has the most virulent poison.” And Crinlys of the violet ribbon walked him to the outer door and shut it behind him.

  At the edge of Rhoslyn’s domain, Pasgen created a small Gate which deposited him near a Gate in an Unformed domain. Pasgen didn’t know which domain; it felt as if he had never been in it before, but he resisted pulling in any of the moving mists and simply Gated to Goblin’s Fair. He walked quickly through the market to yet another Gate, which he patterned to take him to Caer Mordwyn. Fortunately the terminus was close to the castle and Pasgen did not have to make his way through the half-finished surroundings.

  He was a little surprised when he had mounted the black marble steps and the great doors did not open for him. Was this a sign of Vidal’s spite? He raised a hand to blast the doors open and then dropped it. He did not, after all, want to give Vidal any indication of the strength he now had, and if he wanted Vidal to rule the Unseleighe Court again, he must hide the fact that he was now probably stronger than the old prince, even from the old prince himself.

  In fact, Pasgen thought, as he went meekly aside to the small door that was used by the mortal servants, if he did not want Oberon demanding that he continue supervision of the Dark Court, he had better make sure the Unseleighe would obey Vidal. So, if he, who had defeated and killed dozens of the strongest of them, seemed overawed by Vidal, bowed to him, obeyed him, the dark Sidhe and the Unseleighe creatures would assume he was afraid and they would be more afraid.

  Pasgen walked slowly down the red and black corridor considering his thoughts. Could he swallow his pride and seem to cower before Vidal Dhu? Could he remember to endure the sneers of the dark Sidhe, the filthy tricks of the ogres, witches, and the other spiteful, evil creatures without losing his temper and blasting them into nothing or rendering them incapable of offense in other ways?

  The doors of the throne room were also closed and it was quiet behind them. Pasgen listened for a little while, but no burst of shrieks and catcalls assaulted his ears. So, it seemed that Vidal was not holding court and had summoned him to a private meeting. So much the better. A smile curved Pasgen’s lips and was immediately suppressed into an expression of (he hoped) acute anxiety. He could much better endure to crawl to Vidal without an audience.

  Almost eagerly, Pasgen turned his back on the throne room doors. To the right and left of the entryway, great staircases curved gracefully upward. To the left was the way to the tower of the FarSeers. To the right were private apartments and guest suites. Pasgen was glad he had never been able to stomach Vidal’s apartment; he had left it closed and unused and had adopted for himself the guest suite at the very end of the corridor. He did not go that way now, but went to the first, most elaborate door.

  Once more the door did not open. Pasgen stood outside it, blinking with surprise. This could not be spite or a desire to shame him before the others of the Unseleighe Court; this must be either because Vidal did not know he was there or because Vidal was not strong enough to open the door by magic. Pasgen took a deep breath. Was it possible that Vidal had not been restored fully from the poisoning of the iron bolt Henry FitzRoy had fired at him?

  If that were true, if Vidal was so diminished, what should he do? Must he drive the weakened ruler out and take his place? Pasgen’s teeth set hard. No. He had barely tasted the power that could be sucked from the Unformed lands and the strange directions in which that power could lead him. There were so many questions he had not had time to find answers for because the ogres were quarreling with the witches or the bane-sidhe were eating the boggles or some other silly crisis demanded his attention.

  He would leave those joys to Vidal. He would even help Vidal if he seemed to be losing control. He would grovel, pretend terror … No, not that. Thanks to the Powers That Be he would not need to diminish himself. He had never groveled, never showed fear, even when he was frozen with it within. He merely needed to act with respect, perhaps a little more respect than he had showed Vidal in the past, and accept and obey Vidal’s orders.

  That settled, he called out, “Prince Vidal, I have come in answer to your summons.”

  Now the door jerked open and Vidal Dhu rose slowly from the thronelike chair in which he had been sitting. Pasgen bowed his head in greeting, but not before he took a quick look around. Aurelia, Vidal’s consort, was not present. Pasgen was not surprised. He now understood that Vidal did not want an audience any more than he did. Vidal wanted to be sure of his domination of Pasgen before he let even his consort watch their meeting.

  Then under his lashes, Pasgen took a good look at the ruler of the Unseleighe Court. Almost, he lost control of his mouth and sneered. Vidal’s appearance was no more than a weak, flawed imitation, an imperfect image, reflected in a dark mirror, of High King Oberon.

  Vidal’s hair was also black, also slicked back from a deep point on his forehead, but somehow the hair looked limp and greasy rather than appearing as a vibrant mane. Vidal’s eyes were also black. Pasgen almost sighed to see the vitality that had been there so utterly erased. They were just a pair of dull irises surrounded by slightly bloodshot whites. The memory of Oberon’s penetrating, too-keen eyes came back to Pasgen and he banished it quickly, unable to restrain a slight shiver.

  That worked out to his advantage, however, because Vidal noticed and puffed himself up to roar, “Shiver you should! But don’t think that that will save you. I know. I know what you did. Killing my boggles and ogres! Setting yourself up as prince of Caer Mordwyn! Sitting in my chair—”

  Pasgen shook his head, irritated by Vidal’s pettiness.“No. I never did that.”

  Vidal laug
hed. “Couldn’t break the protections on it, could you?”

  Pasgen prevented himself from showing any surprise, but he was surprised. He had not known there were protections on the chair—it seemed such a childish thing to do that it had never occurred to him. What did it matter who sat in the chair; it was not the black throne that bestowed authority over the creatures of the court. Only a great enough power of magic and will could do that. Pasgen had never sat in Vidal’s chair because from the beginning he wanted no sense of permanency about his selection as ruler of Caer Mordwyn. And, truth to tell, he shunned the quasi-throne because the ostentatious bit of furniture had always struck him as pretentious and thus ridiculous. And furthermore, it was an inferior attempt to replicate something like the High King’s throne. Pasgen flattered himself with the thought that he never copied anything of anyone’s if he could help it.

  “No, I could not,” Pasgen agreed, willing to flatter Vidal about the chair. “But taking your place was no notion of mine. I was barely out of a sickbed myself. What happened was that King Oberon called me before him and bade me bring your Dark Court to order or he would destroy it.”

  “Destroy it?” Vidal looked contemptuous. Or tried, at least. “How could he destroy an entire Unseleighe Court?”

  “I do not know, Prince Vidal, but I could not argue with High King Oberon.” Pasgen shrugged. “He said that whole herds of sheep had been slaughtered and other mischiefs had been perpetrated, and that masses were being sung in several churches preparatory to following the perpetrators back to their home-place. You can well imagine just how unlikely it is that your lesser creatures would be able to hide their trail from a tracking party of truly angry and determined mortals. That would have meant the discovery of Underhill, and once they knew where to come, hordes of mortals—all armed with steel weapons—would have descended upon us.”