This Scepter'd Isle (25 page)

"It is not right for me to precede the duke of Richmond. You all know where the carriage house is. That is where I am going to show His Grace the surprise I have for him."

The boy looked brightly interested now. When he had first seen her nun's habit, his expression had held a mingling of anxiety and mild resentment. He had not been told why he was sent for, apparently, and expected a lecture of some kind. He was an adorable boy, his expression keener and more changeable than that of the changeling. Still, her heart ached a little at the thought of that innocent victim.

FitzRoy started to say something and the taller guard said, "Very well, Sister."

"Why can't we all walk together, Gerrit?" FitzRoy asked.

"It's safer this way, Your Grace," Gerrit said, smiling down at his charge. "No matter which way anyone runs at us, Nyle and me can be right around you. If the good Sister was between, she'd be in the way, and she might be in danger too. Before or behind, she'd be out of the way and safe."

Rhoslyn could have done without that explanation, but it was easy enough to think of a reason why the guard's logic was no longer valid. She let the three pass her and followed for a little while without any protest. When she knew the carriage house would soon be in sight, she stepped closer, touched each guard lightly on the back of the neck, and murmured, "
Fiat
."

A few steps later—the open doors of the carriage house were now quite near—she said, "Wait, please." Everyone stopped, but only FitzRoy turned to look at her. The two guards stared straight ahead. The child looked up, first at one and then at the other. His eyes widened a trifle and his lips parted.

Hastily Rhoslyn said, "Please let me and His Grace go ahead together now. You can see the carriage house so it is quite safe. There cannot be any attack from the palace carriage house."

That was utterly ridiculous. The carriage house with its stored carts and coaches and wide doors was an ideal place to lay an ambush—assuming the ambushers could have got into Windsor . . . and at least one set of attackers
had
got in before. Still, the guards said nothing. FitzRoy looked from one to another again, puzzled and beginning to show signs of suspicion, but Rhoslyn had already come around in front of them.

"Come," she said, holding out her hand. "Take my hand. You will be perfectly safe holding the hand of a Holy Sister. Your guards are overcautious. No one would attack a nun."

The last sentence seemed to reassure the boy and he stepped out from between his guards, holding out his hand. Rhoslyn bent forward a trifle and took it, the word "Fiat" ready on her tongue. Instead she screamed and snatched back her hand. Simultaneously the child shouted, "Lord Denno!" and leapt past her before she could muster the strength to resist the burning pain and seize him.

"Rhoslyn!" Denoriel exclaimed, shocked, although he did not know why he was surprised.

He had heard that Rhoslyn was a master fabricator, that it was she who had molded the not-horses out of the unformed stuff of the chaos lands. But it was Pasgen who was the greater spell caster. Somehow he had expected a Sidhe who could attack and defend with spells, even though he knew the black Sidhe could not have been Pasgen because it was dressed as a nun.

His half-sister's name was all he was able to say, however, because as Harry came close, the cross he wore was driving into Denoriel spikes that burned with cold.

"Is that a new sword?" Harry cried, his eyes round with excitement.

"No," Denoriel got out, swallowing pain. "It's the one I wore the day your ship got broken. And here is a new ship to replace the old one." He held it up for Rhoslyn to see, but to Harry he said urgently, "Get behind me! Don't cover your cross!"

The boy slipped behind him and grabbed at his doublet, his fingers brushing the back of Denoriel's thighs. Denoriel hissed with pain, but the heavy silken cloth of his hose saved him from the worst of the burning. Warily, he watched Rhoslyn, wondering if she would tell the guards to attack him.

The guards . . . if they attacked, he could shout for help from the stable boys. No, he couldn't. They would come out, but they were more likely to help the guards than to help him. Still, if the guards attacked him, they couldn't grab for Harry on Rhoslyn's command. Bespelled as they were, they could only follow one order at a time. He could give Harry the ship and tell him to take it to the palace to show Norfolk. But Rhoslyn seemed to have forgotten the guards completely. She stared at the ship Denoriel was holding.

"You've been inside the coach," she whispered. He could barely hear her. "You found . . . You found . . ."

Her eyes were enormous and shining with tears—and they were a deep, warm brown, as were the brows above them. Denoriel wondered if he would have recognized her if the wimple had not covered all but the central portion of her face. If he had seen her dark-eyed, dark-haired, round-eared and dressed as a court lady, would he have known her?

But the tears! Denoriel could not imagine Rhoslyn weeping over anything at all. Death and pain fed her power. Could she care for the changeling she had made? The simulacrum was as much her own creation as a child born of her body, and to pass as Harry it would have had to have the same sweet, sunny nature. Had she fallen victim to her own creation's charms?

For a moment Denoriel was strongly tempted to tell her that the changeling was safe. Then he realized that her show of emotion was likely a trap for him. There was little chance that she could fashion another simulacrum; the knowledge she had drawn from the attackers had been transferred bit by bit to the changeling that now lay under the straw in the stable. However, if Rhoslyn knew that it still lived, attempts would be made to seize it and complete the exchange another time. Harry would be in continued danger.

"It is beyond your reach now, Rhoslyn."

The tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. "Murderer!" she breathed. "Murderer!"

"Whatever I have done, it has made what
you
wished to do impossible. Tell Vidal Dhu that we guard our charge well."

"Oh, I will tell him, Denoriel Siencyn Macreth Silverhair, I will tell him! I will tell all of Underhill that you murdered a helpless child. I will have your heart's blood for it."

She whirled past him, Denoriel backing away and turning so that he was always between her and Harry. But she did not look at them. She ran into the stable, and Denoriel could hear her calling an order for the princess's coach to make ready to depart. Denoriel bent down to hand the boat to FitzRoy, gritting his teeth against the effect of the cold iron cross.

"Did you murder a child, Lord Denno?" Harry's eyes were enormous and his voice trembled.

"No, of course not! I just hid him from her." He thought about trying to explain to Harry what Rhoslyn had intended, and realized at once that there was no time. "She must not know, though! Now run back to the house, Harry, quickly, and show His Grace of Norfolk the lovely ship that Princess Mary sent to replace the one that was broken."

"Will you come with me?"

Fortunately the boy's hands were both busy holding the ship and he could not reach to take hold of Denoriel.

"No, I cannot. Not today." Nonetheless Denoriel began to walk back toward the palace with the boy, past the guards who were still staring into space. "I . . . I must watch to be sure the Sister truly leaves Windsor. I will not harm her, but she must not stay."

There was a moment of silence while FitzRoy first stared up at his motionless guards and then at Denoriel. He thrust the toy ship back at the elf.

"No, no. Keep it, Harry. It's nothing to do with the nun. It's a gift from your sister, Princess Mary. It will not harm you, I swear."

FitzRoy clutched the ship to his chest, began to smile, lost the smile as he glanced at the guards again. Then he asked softly, "Did my cross hurt her? Was that why she yelled? She was a bad fairy, wasn't she? What did she want to do to me?"

"Nothing," Denoriel hastened to assure the child. He didn't want Harry to have any more nightmares of being drowned or otherwise killed. "She wouldn't have hurt you, Harry."

Denoriel would not go so far as to say Rhoslyn would have been kind. The Unseleighe Sidhe enjoyed pain and fear, physical or mental, and drew power from a variety of violent emotions. He wouldn't say that either because he didn't want to frighten the child, but he had to tell FitzRoy something to keep him wary of those who could not abide cold iron.

"I think she intended to take you away. But if you had not been wearing your cross," he continued, "she would have done to you what she did to the guards and would have taken you away where I could never come to see you. Worse than that, she would have kept you from your father, the king. Now I know you don't much care for being a duke and being responsible for a lot of people, but it is your father the king's will, and truly, Harry, although you don't want the burden, it is for the good of England. The bad fairy doesn't understand that, and wanted to put someone else in your place as duke, someone who would not have understood that he must do his duty."

"I know," the boy said, sighing. "His Grace of Norfolk tells me my duty over and over." But then he smiled. "Anyway, I wouldn't want to go anywhere that we couldn't be together sometimes, even if I didn't have to be a duke any more." The smile disappeared. "Why did my sister Princess Mary send a bad fairy to me? Does she hate me?"

The last thing Denoriel wanted was for Harry to show fear or hatred toward Princess Mary. That would be dangerous politically.

"Of course not," he said, keeping his voice steady with an effort as the cold iron wore away at him, "I don't think Princess Mary knew anything at all about Rhoslyn being a bad fairy. I think Rhoslyn made someone the princess trusted ask to borrow a coach for a nun. You know how much the princess loves the Church. She would agree to that."

"And the ship? How did Mary know my ship was broken?"

"Oh, Harry," Denoriel sighed. "Sometimes I wish you weren't so clever. Likely the princess didn't know about the ship. But she might have been told that the nun wanted to visit you at Windsor. If so, she would have told the nun, or maybe the servant who asked for the loan of the coach, to bring you a present in her name. Princess Mary surely wished to give you a gift, for she cares for you. The ship, I'm sure, was Rhoslyn's idea, but the idea of a gift was Princess Mary's."

"You know her, don't you? You know her name." FitzRoy looked up at the guards. His lips trembled and tears came to his eyes. "What . . . what did she do to Gerrit and Nyle?"

Behind him Denoriel could hear the clop of hooves and the coachman talking to the stable boys or maybe to the horses. He had about a quarter of an hour while the coach was drawn out of the coach house and the horses were backed along the shaft so the traces could be fastened. Denoriel urged FitzRoy around the curve in the road and toward the trees and shrubs that bordered it. He had realized that he couldn't send Harry back to the palace without his guards.

"I'll take care of Gerrit and Nyle," he said, praying that he could. "Just you wait here—don't move because I'm going to make you a little invisible house of protection."

He cast the strongest shield he knew around FitzRoy. As the shield formed—a thin, shining mist to his inner sight, not much more dense than the thin ambience of Overhill power—he breathed a sigh of double relief. First that the shield had formed at all around the boy wearing cold iron, and second because the aching, burning cold caused in him by the cross had disappeared. That meant that the shield, no matter how diaphanous it looked, was whole and strong.

Now he put a finger to his lips to warn Harry to silence and then ran back toward the carriage house. The coach had been drawn out into the cobblestone-paved yard and with the help of two stable boys, the coachman was completing harnessing the glossy and well-fed horses to the vehicle. Rhoslyn stood waiting near the door. He walked wide around the horses and carriage, unnoticed by the busy men, and came close enough to speak too low to be heard by them.

"I think you had better break the spell on Richmond's guards," he said, smiling as sweetly as he could.

She looked at him and her lip lifted like that of a snarling bitch, but she made no reply.

He held steady under that glare of hate. "I will lay whatever odds you like that somewhere in speaking to Norfolk you mentioned Princess Mary. Richmond has already been attacked by men who came with the Spanish ambassador and are suspected of using magic. That could only have been done to remove a rival to the princess. Do you now want a nun from the Princess's household to be associated with ensorcelling Richmond's guards?"

If hate could have been launched from a person's eyes like a spear, Denoriel would have lain dead at his half-sister's feet.

"I will not meddle with the boy's memory," he said. "He will surely, sooner or later, mention how you cried out at his touch when he was wearing cold iron. Together with the mindless guards at whom the stable boys are already casting uneasy glances . . . Is that not coming close to exposing what you are?"

She raised her hand.

Denoriel's smile broadened. "I do not think this is the time to be casting levin bolts about—not with the coachman and the stable boys so close—"

Rhoslyn spat at him. Denoriel jerked back, barely avoiding the gob of saliva, but he would not have cared if it hit him, because Rhoslyn had walked past him to confront the staring and frozen guards. He could not see what she did or hear the spell words, although he enhanced his already keen hearing as much as he could, but both guards looked down between them and then looked at her with horror on their faces. Rhoslyn flounced away, as if she had been scolding them for dereliction of duty.

Denoriel hurried up to them while they were still staring wild-eyed at each other. "Richmond is quite safe," he said. "I was just coming out of the stable when you both stopped dead in your tracks and he walked on with the nun, so I stayed with him while the Holy Sister gave him his present from Princess Mary. It was a ship, like the one that got broken, and he wanted to run back to the palace to show his little friends and His Grace of Norfolk, but I told him to wait for you. He's just around the curve—"