This Scepter'd Isle (20 page)

"By Our Lady, what would I do without you, Harry? You've got the wisdom for both of us. A poor fairy guardian I seem to be!"

FitzRoy giggled. "You're a very good fairy guardian—at least I'm sure Master Croke would say so. He is forever telling me I must apply what I learn. You don't do everything for me. You let me think up things for myself." He shook his head. "But I can't think of an answer to that question."

He smiled, glad that he was finally able to think of something else to add to FitzRoy's protections. "Aha! That's where fairy guardians have an advantage. We do have some helpful magic. Do you think your nurse would let you have a mouse as a pet?"

The child blinked at him. "A
mouse
?"

"Don't you like mice? Most boys do."

"
I
like mice, but nurse . . ." He shook his head. "No. Not a mouse. One got into the room and she screamed and screamed, even after it was caught."

Denoriel laid his hand on FitzRoy's shoulder, about to say he could manage the nurse but a dull ache started in his hand. Even shielded, the cold iron troubled him on close contact. He realized the boy had saved him from a serious mistake again—although this time without intending it. If Denoriel had brought a spirit of the air enchanted to look like a mouse and FitzRoy had touched it while wearing the unshielded cross, he might have killed the poor thing.

"All right," he said, "no mice. Do you think I could talk her into a kitten?"

FitzRoy wrinkled his nose again. "Her, sure. She'd like a kitten, but kittens are for girls!"

"That doesn't matter," Denoriel urged. "You won't be able to touch it while you're wearing the cross anyway, so you can pretend it's Nurse's kitten and just has taken to following you around. That will be all right, won't it? Norfolk won't be here tomorrow, so I'll come up to your room and talk to Nurse. I'm sure she'll keep the kitten."

"You're going to magic her, aren't you?"

The boy had a face full of mischief, and Denoriel suddenly had the feeling that he was going to request his nurse be enchanted into allowing him greater freedom. "That's enough of that, young man," he said, trying to look severe when he really wanted to hug the child tight for his quick mind and his courage. "What if someone heard you?"

"But what good will a kitten do?" Harry's eyes were bright with anticipation.

"Kittens can vanish—even quite ordinary kittens disappear whenever you want them for something—and my special kitten can not only vanish but it will be able to find me."

"Magic," the boy breathed, his eyes bright as stars. "But what if the bad fairy comes where I'm not allowed to take the kitten?"

Denoriel raised an eyebrow. "Kittens can get in anywhere. Just pretend not to see it—if you do see it. And tell Mary not to mention it either. Probably Lord Henry won't see it at all."

After a moment FitzRoy nodded and after another moment, he said softly, looking down at his fingers, "I know I'm a duke, and I'm supposed to be very clever and brave and protect my people, but will you give me another hug, Lord Denno?"

Denoriel swallowed and quickly shifted his position on the bed so that he could pull the child into his arms. He held the boy very tight for a moment and then loosened his grip but continued to hold the child against his shoulder, ignoring the ache the cold iron started in his bone and muscle. His throat was tight with tears. He knew FitzRoy was well cared for, but did anyone ever hold him, tell him he was loved? The nurse probably loved him dearly, but she probably also believed it would be presumptuous of her to tell her high-born charge that she loved him.

"I love you, Harry," Denoriel whispered.

His vision blurred. Holding the boy was almost like having a child of his own—a joy he would likely never know. His arms tightened and he kissed the child's silky hair.

It was as if the boy melted into his arms. FitzRoy rubbed his face against Denoriel's chest, sniffled a little, then sighed. Denoriel stroked his hair and, although the mage channels in his body burned and throbbed, he whispered a small spell of easy sleep and sweet dreams. But even when he knew Harry was asleep, he could not let go of the child. He himself almost fell into the resting state that served the Sidhe for sleep, holding the warm little body, but finally he stirred. He still had much to do if he was to finish the protections for FitzRoy.

He laid the boy down, broke the spell he had put on the nurse, restored the Don't-see-me spell on himself and stepped out into FitzRoy's sitting room. The guards still stood where he had left them, one guarding FitzRoy's bedroom door and the other just about to reach for the handle on the door to the corridor.

Although his mage channels were already raw and sore, Denoriel sought and found another ley line. Lightning coursed through him when he drew the power, and he bit a bloody gash in his lower lip to hold back a cry of pain. If only the Sidhe could endure the ravages of the magic of Overhill, they could be as strong in the mortal world as Underhill.

Strength had flowed through him with the pain, but he could not use it at first for it was almost as painful to use Overhill power as to drink it in. He thought it was worse this time than it had been the last. A sane elf would forget that power existed. Denoriel sighed. He could not chance that his strength would fail and his nighttime visit to Harry be exposed.

When he was steady, he opened the door to the corridor and stepped out, leaning back into the room to break the sleep spell on the guard near the bedroom door. As that guard blinked, he closed the door enough so that the hand of the guard reaching for the door just touched the handle. Quickly he touched both the outer door guards as he stepped between them to the other side of the corridor.

The door opened all the way. The inner room guard leaned out, saying, "Gerrit, did you open this door a couple of minutes ago?"

The man called Gerrit looked puzzled. "Of course not. Why would I . . ." He cocked his head. "Hmmm. I thought I heard a noise just before. Maybe I did open the door and look in."

"Good! That's a relief. I could swear I saw the door open, but no one came in. Right. Keep alert."

Denoriel sighed gently with relief and made his way to the room of the magicked window, then out the window and down the wall, across the garden, and out of the postern gate. Miralys, having sensed him coming, was waiting right there. And then they were in the copse at the crossroad and through the Gate where Denoriel chose the pattern that would take them to Elfhame Avalon.

The guards at Avalon Gate looked amazed at his finery, but the cold prickle of the identity spell acknowledged him. He asked if Aleneil had left and was told that she had not. In moments Miralys had him at his sister's door, and she was opening it as he dismounted, her eyes wide with worry. He realized then that it wasn't just his clothing that made the guards stare, it was the way he looked—exhausted at the least, and possibly in pain. One did not often see a Sidhe in pain Underhill.

"Are you hurt, Denoriel?" she cried the moment she saw him.

"No. Yes." He shook his head. "Oh, not seriously, I believe. I am just weary and aching from using Overhill power."

"Overhill power?" She stared at him, dumbfounded. "There is virtually no power in the mortal world."

Denoriel blinked. "Yes there is. You don't see it?"

She had backed away while he spoke to let him through the door and now she shut it behind him and gestured him through into her sitting room. Denoriel dropped into his favorite chair beside the settle; the luminous blue-green cushions reflected the delicate mother-of-pearl design and together seemed to cool and soothe his aching body.

"I never looked, and I am not so often in the mortal world as you."

"Most of the power is like a thin soup, but there are these bright lines within the soup and those . . ." He made a sound like someone who has taken a too-hot mouthful. Then he frowned. "I think they may be dangerous, and more dangerous the more you use them. I hurt more this time, and Underhill has not soothed me as well. I think I will have to go to Mwynwen. But that can wait. I must finish the protections for FitzRoy."

"Denoriel," she said very softly. "Do not . . . love him."

Denoriel looked down at his own long fingers, winding together. "It's too late," he murmured. "I held him in my arms, like my own child . . ."

She bit her lip. "That way lies only grief. An elf-child is forever, or nearly forever. A mortal is like the flower of a brief summer, he blossoms and is beautiful . . . and dies. Save only if he is brought here and kept here, with us, and that—you cannot do. He is the mortal king's son. To bring him here would be impossible."

There was a silence, after which Denoriel said, "I know, but right now my purpose is to keep him from being abducted and held prisoner in the Unseleighe Court."

She sighed. "I thought the cross would protect him from that."

"If FitzRoy is not befooled into covering it," he said doubtfully.

He told her quickly about visiting FitzRoy to explain about always wearing the cold iron cross unshielded, except when he was there, and his sudden realization of how easily Pasgen could be mistaken for him. He explained, too, the device they would use for recognition.

"But it is not enough," he said. "I think we need to know if an attempt is made to abduct the boy, and I cannot be there all the time. We need a messenger that can be disguised as a pet—I thought a kitten, a very elegant one who would wear a silver collar. Kittens are very clever about hiding, and it would be large enough and strong enough to follow the boy around without being carried."

Aleneil nodded slowly. "An air elemental would be best. They do not need Gates and they are merry-spirited."

"Also flitter-witted," Denoriel said dryly. "How long do you think an air spirit would stay with the boy?"

"Oh, I will put a spell in the collar that will keep it steady, and of course I will use one of the more sober ones and gain its interest and approval." She looked at Denoriel and shook her head. "Enough. You are starting to look transparent. Go to Mwynwen and let her heal you. I will let you know when the kitten is ready, and you can Gate to the proper time."

"No," Denoriel said, "I must go back and keep watch."

"For what?" Aleneil protested. "You say the attack on FitzRoy was not from the Unseleighe Court. We are not even sure they are aware of the boy."

"Yes, they are!" He explained about the Watch finding the attackers, one mindless and the other dead, on the front steps of the magician's house. "That can only mean someone stripped their minds to discover all they knew about Harry. They will build a simulacrum, abduct the boy, and leave the changeling in his place."

She was getting annoyed with him, something that rarely happened. "But what good can you do, exhausted and hurt as you are? I will find the proper air spirit and build the collar and the spell. Whatever they do in the time that takes will not matter because you will Gate back to before they acted."

"That doesn't help. You know it doesn't help. If I change the circumstances to prevent what they did, they will do something different, but the end result will be the same. I must go back at once!" he said, feeling tension building unbearably within him. "I cannot bear the thought of Harry held by Vidal Dhu."

"Denno," Aleneil cried.

In her distress she used the name of their childhood when she could not form all the syllables of Denoriel, but he only shook his head and levered himself out of the chair. The truth was that Denoriel did not know what he could do to prevent Pasgen from seizing Harry; in fact he could not imagine any way his half-brother could make the exchange of simulacrum for boy. However, he knew he could sense the presence of magic as Harry's guards could not and be prepared to protect the boy when they would not know he needed protection. He would do
something
.

Passage through the Gates seemed a bit more disorienting than usual, but Miralys carried him safely to Windsor. Denoriel was able to open the magicked postern gate, cast the Don't-see-me spell, and make sure that Harry was Harry by the simple expedient of being unable to approach the boy closer than about two feet. That meant he was wearing the iron cross. He was safe with Henry and Mary Howard and with his guards still close and alert, so Denoriel was free to make a round of the palace and the grounds where he could detect no Underhill influence.

At dusk, something did try to enter with a dark-clad messenger, but the crossed halberds of the gate guards—meant only to stop the messenger until he identified himself—drove it away. It was a harmless thing and nearly mindless, only meant to record what it saw and heard, so Denoriel did not pursue it. What it had seen and felt was just the information Denoriel wanted the Unseleighe Court to have—that Windsor was closely guarded. He followed the messenger into the palace, but the man only delivered his sealed packet to the steward and departed promptly.

Denoriel was now certain he did not dare leave Windsor, but he was growing more and more uncertain of his ability to protect Harry. The constant use of the Don't-see-me spell was draining him and the use of even that very small amount of magic was increasing the pain in his power channels. However, if what accompanied the dark-clad messenger had been an Unseleighe Sidhe and not a lesser thing, it would not have been driven away by the halberds. He shuddered, leaning against one of the trees that lined the long avenue, at the thought of confronting an Unseleighe Sidhe. But if he had to drink lightning again, he would, rather than risk Harry.

At full dark he abandoned the gate. When Norfolk was not in residence the gates were all locked at night and no one was permitted to enter. No matter how urgent the message, there was no one in Windsor with the power to act. Denoriel had realized he could not patrol all the walls. If something came over them, he could not stop it. The best place for him to be through the night was with Harry.

It was easy enough for Denoriel to get into the palace when the doors were opened for servants. He wandered through the many chambers and corridors, feeling for magic, but all he sensed was his own work on the window of the chamber near Harry's apartment.