"Two hearts!" Rhoslyn exclaimed, taking a step backward and crying, "Avaunt!" coupled with a gesture designed to break illusion.
However the being standing on her step remained Pasgen, a Pasgen with a very irritated expression, who snarled at her, "I have not got two hearts! I have a finding token, and if those idiot constructs of yours will not try to tear me apart, I will show it to you."
Knowing that her "girls" would protect her against any attempt to harm her no matter what she said, Rhoslyn barely hesitated before she ordered, "Watch only," as Pasgen reached into the front of his doublet and removed a small, square, tortoise-shell box.
"Tell one of your girls to take it and open it, but not touch what is inside."
"Elyn." Rhoslyn gestured and the girl with the yellow ribbon around her neck stepped forward and took the box.
"It is this that is beating like his heart," the construct said, turning her enormous eyes up to her mistress's face. "He does not have two hearts now. Should we let him in?"
Rhoslyn laughed weakly. "Yes. Let's all go in. Sorry, Pasgen."
He made an irritated growl and then said, "No, the girls were right, and the more alert they are now the better. Vidal is up and around again."
"Vidal!" Consternation and disappointment surged within her, and since this was Pasgen, after all, she did not mind that it showed on her face. "But I thought we were rid of him. And the court has been . . . almost a pleasure to attend since you have ruled it." Then, belatedly, she realized that the shock must have been even greater for her brother. "Oh, Pasgen, I am so sorry. You must be disappointed too."
"On the contrary, I would be delighted . . . except for what Elyn holds." He looked more angry than afraid, but he was her twin; how could she not be aware that with Pasgen, anger was often a mask for fear? "I know Vidal is in Caer Mordwyn because an imp summoned me to 'attend' Vidal—and it came to my own domain, to my own withdrawing chamber."
Rhoslyn just stared at him, eyes wide. "How?" she whispered. "How did he find your domain?"
"With what Elyn holds." He shook his head like an angry stallion. "The accursed creature had swallowed it and just followed the beat of my heart. No more than elvensteeds or air spirits do the imps need Gates."
Before she spoke again, Rhoslyn gestured and the girl with the violet ribbon went through the door and stood waiting. Elyn followed, still carefully holding the tortoise-shell box in her spider-leg fingers. Roslyn crossed the huge hall, larger inside than it would seem possible from the external appearance of the castle.
In the middle of the hall was a raised central hearth on which a bright fire leapt and crackled—smokeless, of course; this was no mortal hall to be plagued by smoking fires. On the right, a magnificent staircase rose to an upper story; the balustrade of carved battle maidens, outstretched spears and arms making a banister. On the left a pair of doors stood open. Three others, closed, broke the gray stone wall. Between the doors hung marvelous tapestries, showing scenes of the wild hunt and embattled knights. At each door were suits of armor which looked like nothing more than inanimate decorations.
Pasgen, however, had no doubt that a word or gesture from Rhoslyn or any sign of danger would animate them. And that the battle maidens would also come to life and give a good account of themselves. Rhoslyn made for the open doors and Pasgen followed her into another unexpectedly large chamber. Tall arched windows admitted the silvery twilight of Underhill and between them a large stone hearth held another leaping fire.
To each side of the fireplace were high, carved chairs, cushioned in embroidered velvet. Two on each side of the hearth angled toward each other with a small but equally elaborately carved table between them. Pasgen could feel his nose wrinkle. They were so ornate that he could not help himself, and the footstools in front of them were all carved too. There was hardly a straight line or simple, unadorned curve in the room, except the large polished wood table in the center. Given free rein to indulge her taste for frills and frippery, Rhoslyn had left no decorative opportunity go unexplored. Unfortunately.
He sighed softly, his eyes caught by more tapestries, these with more homely scenes—of men and women seated for a banquet, others engaged in an elaborate dance, and a group listening to a handsome mortal playing a lute and singing. He looked away, only to note still more tapestries on the far wall with a row of elaborately carved chairs in front of them. The chairs for the table, of course. Pasgen sighed again.
Rhoslyn broke into his attempt to find a restful place for his eyes, urging him toward the tall, cushioned chairs. The fire lit the area with a warm, golden glow. Each took a chair angled so that conversation would be easy. Crinlys, the girl with the violet ribbon, went to stand beside Pasgen's chair. Elyn stood by Rhoslyn's.
"What will you do now that Vidal knows where your domain is?" Rhoslyn asked, anxiously. "Will you destroy it and begin anew? I will help. I will make whatever you desire—"
Pasgen smiled slightly; he knew how proud Rhoslyn was of her own domain, and he would not hurt her feelings by telling her what he thought of her creations. "Thank you, sister, but it will not be necessary. Vidal knows no more now than he knew when he sent the imp abroad. I retrieved the token and destroyed the imp. There was no tracking spell—I made sure of that."
"No tracking spell," Rhoslyn repeated slowly. "That . . . that seems very careless." She hesitated, then said again, "Very careless. Even more careless than Vidal used to be."
"I think so too."
Rhoslyn's eyes lit and the set of her mouth hardened. "Then drive him out . . . destroy him. Rule the Unseleighe as you were plainly meant to do. I will stand by you. My girls . . . I can make more, and more of your guards also to fight for us." And, as Pasgen shook his head, she cried, half in disappointment, "Why not? Surely you are not afraid of him?"
"Not at all," Pasgen assured her, smiling. "I think I am stronger now than Vidal was at his best, and I suspect he is far from his best now. Very simply, my dear Rhoslyn, I do not wish to rule an Unseleighe Court." A delicate shudder passed through him and he was no longer smiling. "Horrible beasts! Even the dark Sidhe are little more than beasts. They cannot let an hour pass without conspiring to overthrow whoever has charge over them—and if they cannot overthrow him, they spend their time in making his rule as difficult as possible. I cannot think of anything I desire more than to be free of the burden of ruling them."
"I see." Roslyn shook her head. "I thought you took some pleasure in bringing the court to order, in directing the depredations of the ogres and bane-sidhe." She sighed, and looked at him with undisguised admiration. "It was so clever to use them to clean out Beelzebub's domain and give it as a feasting hall to the dark Sidhe."
The faint smile returned to Pasgen's lips. "I did enjoy that, but I was not exactly overjoyed that the High King held me responsible for controlling their excursions into the mortal world. It is like herding cats! No, worse, for at least cats do not take a malicious pleasure in doing whatever will cause the most chaos in order to disgrace the herder! Let Vidal have his throne back. Let him be the one Oberon calls to answer for a whole herd of sheep slaughtered, or goblins playing tricks on miners, or boggles waylaying too many travelers."
Rhoslyn's brow wrinkled. "But Vidal will be even worse at controlling them than you are, especially if he is so much weaker now. No one can bind them completely."
"Actually Vidal will not be worse at controlling them," he felt himself forced to admit. "All I did was destroy the ones who disobeyed me and the others cared very little for that. They have no imaginations, and do not connect the disappearance of those who transgressed with what they themselves might do in the future. Vidal makes them tear each other apart right in the court and issues orders in the lulls in the screaming. That generally makes an impression, at least on those with enough mind to remember for more than a few minutes."
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 laughed. "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."
Vidal did not answer, only stared back at him, mouth thin with rage. Ogres—or whatever was large enough and numerous enough to slaughter a whole herd of sheep—did not Gate to the mortal world. They used a few natural portals that were part and parcel of Nodes that conducted power between Underhill and the World Above . . . and those could be penetrated as easily by mortals as by those of the Unseleighe Court.
Most of the portals were hidden by barrows and mounds, but anyone who knew where the secret opening was would be able to move right into Underhill—and cold iron did not cause the disruption in these portals that it did in Gates. The Sidhe had magic and fearsome allies, but the mortals were as numerous as ants, and they had iron. Entered into the domains of the Sidhe, they could do damage.
Pasgen shrugged. "King Oberon gave me no choice. He said I must prevent further incursions into the mortal world or he would banish me to it stripped of all power. He said also that he would render Caer Mordwyn back into its component mists and disperse those who lived in it so far and wide within Underhill that no two members would ever meet again."
"He takes too much upon himself," Vidal growled.
Pasgen made no direct answer to that since it was obvious that neither he nor any other Sidhe could prevent King Oberon from doing whatever he wanted to do. Instead he said, "I told him the court was no responsibility of mine, but he said he had just made it so and that if there were further incidents that raised talk of powers beyond human ken, or movements to discover from where the plagues came, he would make me suffer for it personally."
A flash of satisfaction passed over Vidal's face; Pasgen saw it although it was masked by a black scowl in another instant. Vidal would do his best, Pasgen knew, to bring Oberon's wrath on him. It was not something Pasgen wanted to dwell on.
He had always respected Oberon, whose Thought had once or twice brushed his mind, but having come into personal contact with the High King, he had been awed. No, in his own mind let him be honest. He had been terrified of Oberon. Though the High King generally confined his attentions to the Seleighe Courts, he never forgot that he was High King over all the Sidhe, and still had power over Seleighe and Unseleighe alike.
"Power," Vidal said. "That is what is lacking. I need evil times in the mortal world. I need war and famine. I need grinding sorrow and pain and agonizing death. I need the Inquisition . . ." His eyes brightened with a clear idea and he asked, "Where is Elizabeth?"
"Who?"
"Elizabeth. Princess Elizabeth." Vidal looked at Pasgen with narrowed, suspicious eyes. "Elizabeth. The child we were taking into our keeping when I was struck down." His mouth worked for a moment and he snarled, "We will need to arrange a fitting punishment for Henry FitzRoy, but that can wait until I devise a suitably agonizing death."
Speechless, Pasgen stared blankly at Prince Vidal, absorbing the fact that the once dangerously powerful ruler of Caer Mordwyn had large holes in his memory. Clearly he did not remember what had happened in the then Princess Elizabeth's chamber; Pasgen wondered if Vidal even knew how much time had passed. How had that come about? Had Vidal's servants not enough free will to seek out news? Had those who did have free will, like the healers, been afraid to tell him the truth?
"I suppose your sister has her," Vidal continued. "Rhoslyn has a strong liking for mortal children. But this one is too valuable to leave in her hands. Elizabeth must be taught the beauties and joys of pain. She must be delivered to my care at once."
Carefully Pasgen raised his strongest shields. He was not happy about being the one to break the bad news to Vidal. The prince did have a tendency to execute the messenger.
"Rhoslyn does not have Elizabeth," Pasgen said, deciding that it would be better to be blunt and unambiguous. "The child was never taken. Your plan failed, and we were forced to flee in confusion."
"Not taken!" Vidal roared, taking a threatening step forward. "Liar! My plan worked perfectly. The guards I had bespelled or replaced let us through. We came into the child's chamber—"
"Where Denoriel and his servants were lying in wait for us!" Pasgen spat, bitterness sharpening his voice. "Your perfect plan was an utter disaster. The mortal and the changeling he carried died. The Sidhe who was wounded fighting the mortal guards is also dead. I was wounded both by iron and by elf-shot. You were so near death we all despaired of your survival. And Aurelia . . . I do not know what happened to her, but she was unconscious and could not be roused."
"I do not believe you," Vidal said, but he came no closer; his eyes were haunted, his face drawn.
"Then send someone you trust to the mortal world and have him ask about the Lady Elizabeth. You will learn soon enough that she is alive and well among her mortal kin." He fought to keep his lip from curling. "Or have your Seers scry into the past and show you the disaster so that you can see it with your own two eyes."
Vidal shook his head. "I cannot believe that after all that effort and loss no one had sense enough to snatch up the child. The dead changeling could have been left in its place. The maidservant would have been blamed . . ."
Pasgen shook his head sharply. "No one could touch Elizabeth. Denoriel had put a shield on her that Aurelia could not breach—she was trying to do that when the maid struck her from behind. And even if the shield on Elizabeth could have been broken, no one could touch her with that iron cross on her."
"Cowards! Cowards all." Vidal snarled, his face twisting. "The Gate was right there. I saw you open it. The pain the iron would give would not have lasted long. And we would have had her!"
Pasgen stared him down. "I was in no condition to be snatching a shielded child. I had been wounded twice and was barely conscious—I could scarcely drag myself through the Gate. In fact no one was unhurt except Rhoslyn and the other dark Sidhe, and FitzRoy was standing beside Elizabeth's bed with that device for throwing iron bolts. He was ready to kill us all. He said we had the choice of going through the Gate I had made or dying then. He meant it. And he could have done it, as easily as drawing breath."
"FitzRoy . . ." Vidal subsided, and licked his lips. "Surely there is a way to set a curse on him that—"
"FitzRoy is dead. Long dead." Pasgen seized on that fact with which to pacify Vidal and lead into the next piece of bad news. "FitzRoy died as slowly and as painfully as you could have desired. It was said that his body literally rotted away. They had to wrap him in a sheet of lead to bury him."
Vidal's eyes widened. "He was falling apart? Rotting away? Ahhh."
Vidal paced slowly away from Pasgen, licking his lips again as he contemplated FitzRoy's dissolution. He murmured to himself and nodded his head, walking away and then back and away again, pacing, deep in some pattern of thought.
Now Pasgen was grateful for the hours he had spent, somewhat unwillingly, listening to Rhoslyn talk about events in the mortal world. He himself had very little interest in what happened in the World Above, but to Rhoslyn the fecundity and activity of the mortal world was fascinating. Thus she had maintained her contact with Lady Mary—Princess Mary before Henry had declared her illegitimate—and brought Pasgen news. Pasgen listened because he was fond of Rhoslyn, but he remembered everything because that was how his mind worked.
In the past, the sour-bitter ooze of power that came from the misery of mortals had been as important to Pasgen as it was to all the Unseleighe. It was the power of pain and death that those of the Dark Court used, but in the weakness that Pasgen suffered after his wounding that power had become repugnant. Then, one day out of idleness and boredom he had accompanied Rhoslyn to one of the Unformed domains where she created constructs and had reached out to a curl of mist and breathed it in; it tasted almost too sweet, like overripe berries . . . but the warmth of power had blossomed in him.
He had pursued another wisp, but that had filled mouth and throat with pain. He had been unable to spew it out or take it in; it had been like trying to swallow a barbed chain. He would have choked to death if Rhoslyn had not rushed to him and said a special healing spell, one she had bought at considerable cost for just such a situation. Occasionally, deep in her work, she breathed in some mist and needed the protection.
Pasgen had asked how she told the difference between the sweet-tasting mist and that which could kill. But she knew nothing of the gentle mist and she warned him against experimentation. At first, head and chest still sore from his second experience, Pasgen had heeded her, but weakness and boredom had worked on him until he tried again, more cautiously but persistently.
In time he had discovered a fountain of power in the Unformed lands and he had discovered that spells were not necessarily fixed things. Sometimes they could be taken apart and rejoined in new ways. It was not the safest occupation; he had several times nearly been killed by a devouring mist or swallowed up in a spell gone wild, but he was never bored and never without a source of power. He did not need the diversion of mortal activities to ward off ennui, nor did he require the sour-bitter power that drained from their ills anymore.
For the third time Vidal approached Pasgen, but this time he stopped, still smiling. "So FitzRoy is dead, and painfully. Good. I am only sorry I was not well enough to attend his deathbed. And you said . . ." Doubt suddenly marred the pleasure. "You said, long dead. How long?"
Pasgen met the prince's dark eyes. "Over four mortal years."
"Four years!" Vidal staggered back and sank down into his elaborate chair.
"You were in great pain, Prince Vidal. I suppose your healers kept you in a trance. And it was a long healing. I was hurt less, but I was near two years abed."
"Four years," Vidal muttered, then sat up straighter. "Well, that is not all bad. It will be all the easier to seize Elizabeth."
Pasgen shook his head, slowly and deliberately. "Much has happened in the World Above. It is no longer worth while to seize Elizabeth. She is too old to be brought up in our way of thinking. If she is broken, she will be useless to us, just another mortal slave, and surely we can get plenty of those without bringing the High King's wrath down on us."
"No." Vidal leaned forward, and his eyes which had been unfocused were now sharp. "We must have her or she must die. If she becomes queen, we will starve for power in the Unseleighe Courts."
Pasgen shook his head again. "A mighty labor for no purpose. There is very little chance that Elizabeth will ever be queen. Anne Boleyn succumbed to our magics, and brought about her own disgrace and demise. After Elizabeth's mother was executed, Henry married again and Jane Seymour gave him a living, healthy son. Elizabeth has a legitimate brother now. Edward is the undoubted heir to the throne. And if Edward should fail, Mary is next in line. Once Mary is crowned, she will bring back the pope and the Inquisition. Elizabeth is of the reformed kind. She will doubtless be condemned by the Inquisition and removed without our ever being involved."
Vidal laughed at him. "Timid and lazy, little Pasgen. Again no. I have been to the FarSeers. Even without you and Rhoslyn—I was annoyed when I could not reach either of you for days on end . . ."
The prince paused suggestively, but Pasgen did not respond, only raising his brows inquiringly. Vidal shrugged and continued.
"The FarSeers make out three clear and distinct futures. One is with the boy king." Vidal twisted his mouth. "The future with him is endurable. Let him live or die as fate wills. To meddle with him would surely bring violent retribution from Oberon. And Mary's future is what we all desire. But Elizabeth's future is still in their Seeing. There is no sign that she will be taken by the Inquisition, even if Mary should come to the throne. I want her here in Caer Mordwyn . . . or dead."
"To bring her here would be a grave error, I believe," Pasgen said. "If, as you say, her future is still strong enough and probable enough to bring an image to the FarSeers, the Bright Court will be watching her." He paused, pursed his lips. "I have a feeling that Queen Titania has a special interest in Elizabeth, possibly through my half-brother."
What flashed in Vidal's eyes at the mention of the Queen made Pasgen swallow hard to kill a laugh. Should he encourage the flicker of lust in Vidal? Titania had a streak of wildness, and like many powerful females was attracted by males who were dangerous. If she had one of her temporary fallings-out with Oberon, she might take Vidal—but she would eat the prince whole. Pasgen had to clear his throat to disguise another laugh.
He dropped his eyes and continued hurriedly, "In any case, Prince Vidal, there is no hurry. Two lives stand between Elizabeth and the throne. Get your own news about the mortal world from those you trust. Then . . . we will see."
As soon as he said those last words, Pasgen realized he had made a mistake, but it was too late to recall them. He could only try to look as if he did not realize what he had said.
"I will decide. You will obey," Vidal snapped. "Remember you are no longer usurping my place as prince." Then he shrugged. "Well, I suppose after four years a few more weeks cannot matter, and it is true that I had better find a more reliable source than you for information. But I will hold court tomorrow. I expect you and Rhoslyn to be there . . ." He paused, frowned at Pasgen, and asked, "How did you know I wanted you?"
Pasgen raised his brows, seemingly in surprise at the question. "Your imp came and told me."
"Oh, did it? And where is my imp?"
"How should I know? It squeaked out your message and was gone. I thought you snatched it back."
Vidal stared at him but Pasgen just stared back and finally the prince waved dismissively at him. The door was now open again. Rebellion quivered under Pasgen's breastbone, but he stilled it. To teach Vidal his true place would mean that he himself would be trapped as ruler of the Dark Court, perhaps forever, and freedom from Vidal was not worth that particular price. Pasgen turned on his heel, and left.