This Scepter'd Isle (29 page)

Aleneil still looked concerned. "You will not be able to share his quarters at night."

"Yes I can, if I use the Don't-see-me spell." He sighed. "But it drains me, Aleneil, and Mwynwen warned me not to use mortal-world power . . . and I am tired."

She looked at him with concern. "I think you need to come back Underhill every night, once FitzRoy is settled in his bed. Surely his guards will be alert, and the air spirit will summon you."

"To where?" Denoriel asked, a touch bitterly. "There are no Gates between here and our destination, and I am not even certain which route they will take. Once Harry is established in Sheriff Hutton, I can ask Master Treowth to construct a Gate for me, but to build one each night . . ."

"No, that is too much to ask," she admitted. "And I cannot now see how you could return here every night. But instead of exhausting yourself, perhaps we should try another way. Surely a gold coin or two to whoever arranges quarters should make it possible for you to be lodged near the boy. If you are in the same building, you should be able to respond quickly enough to the air spirit to foil any attempt on him." She nibbled on her lips for a moment and then said, "Arrange for the guards to tell the servants of this Sir Christopher about how you rescued FitzRoy and have the boy ask for you to be near him."

He nodded; that was a much better idea than trying to lurk unnoticed in Harry's room. "I can do that. We will have to hope that Sir Christopher is less suspicious of a foreigner binding Harry's affection. Still, since I will have no baggage train—"

Aleneil looked aghast. "No baggage train? You cannot be serious, Denoriel. How can you travel from Windsor to Sheriff Hutton without a baggage train? Do you intend to wear the same clothing for a month or more?"

He waved dismissively. "Of course not. I have gold enough to pay for whatever needs I may have other than clothing, and I can make a new suit every day, or even two, if I must dress for dinner."

Aleneil sighed. "And precisely how do you intend to explain your wardrobe with no baggage train?"

Denoriel opened his mouth, then shut it, then said, "Oh."

Aleneil grinned and shook her head at him. "I will see to the making of five suits suitable for dress wear, three for daily riding and two for private comfortable wear after a day's riding, with suitable undergarments, hose, boots, and shoes. And each servant you bring with you will also need a change of livery. You will need a packhorse. No elvensteed is going to carry baggage."

They both giggled at the thought. Then Denoriel remembered that he had told Ladbroke and Shandy Dunstan to buy a packhorse for their clothing and a small tent in case there was no room in the cortege's lodging for servants. Perhaps his goods would fit on that horse. He shrugged. It was not important; he had gold, and packhorses were easy to come by.

There was again a stirring in the air and then a stirring around Denoriel. He assumed Aleneil's servants were taking his measure. He did not ask about the style. Aleneil herself dressed in the highest of courtly fashion copied from the mortal world. If she did not already know what a gentleman should wear, she would find out without trouble. And then Denoriel wondered again why she chose to wear such uncomfortable clothes—and promptly felt like a fool. Aleneil was a FarSeer. She must have some idea that there would be a need for her to have an identity in Henry VIII's court—or at least, among the ladies-in-waiting about the Queen—and was accustoming herself to the garments.

He was about to ask her about that when the servants were gone, but Aleneil forestalled his question by inviting him again to eat. Denoriel was surprised to find that he was feeling much better, and quite hungry, so he agreed.

But then, he began to wonder why she never spoke about what she was doing any more, and he realized at that moment that of late, Aleneil told him only what she thought he needed to know and nothing more. He took a sidelong glance at his sister, and it came to him with a feeling of shock that it was she, and not he, who had always been more involved in what he lumped under the general heading of "politics." As a FarSeer, of course, she would be—which meant that if anyone knew what all the repercussions of what he—and by extension, Pasgen and Rhoslyn—were doing, it would be Aleneil.

For a moment he was annoyed; and then it came to him that before he had begun to nursemaid Harry, he had not
wanted
to know about the sometimes delicate maneuverings between Under- and Overhill. He had been satisfied to go and fight wherever he was told or to hunt whoever was chosen as the quarry for the Wild Hunt. It was not fair to blame Aleneil for not telling him everything she knew, nor to think she was trying to conceal anything from him, yet now he wanted to know the very things he had wished to avoid before. Thus when they moved to Aleneil's dining room, he began diplomatically by asking why she had such a passion for uncomfortable Tudor clothes.

She demurred. "Well, they are very elegant, are they not?"

He snorted. "I think they're miserably uncomfortable. How can you bear that tight bodice? And that stupid corset flattens you. You could be a boy!"

"Not in this skirt," Aleneil said, laughing. "It takes long practice to learn how to move at all without tripping or catching one's heel in the hem or the train."

"For men it's that stupid gown! It's always in my way. Those huge padded shoulders and the sleeves that hang down behind . . . And the shirt and the doublet and the jacquette—"

He stopped speaking suddenly and a look of horror came over his face, just as a plate of food appeared in front of him. There was an indistinct sound, an agitated swirl, and the plate rose in the air and began rapidly to float away.

"Hi!" Denoriel called. "Where are you going with my dinner?"

Aleneil was laughing heartily. "It's the face you made. My poor servant thought you were horrified by the food."

"No, no. Put it back," Denoriel said, waving at the plate which was hanging uncertainly in the air. As it settled, he said to Aleneil. "When I was describing the clothes, I realized I would actually have to put them on and take them off during the trip instead of just calling them into existence on my body. I'll need to find out if Ladbroke or Dunstan can serve as a valet. If not, I'll have to see if Boleyn can recommend one."

"Boleyn?" Aleneil repeated, looking very interested.

"Yes, George Boleyn." Now was the time, Denoriel thought, to make clear to Aleneil that he wanted and needed to be alert to the politics and relationships in the mortal world. "George is the son of Sir Thomas Boleyn, who is one of King Henry's favorite diplomats. Sir Thomas gets sent all over Europe and was elevated to Viscount Rochford when Harry got all those titles."

Aleneil smiled at him. "So you
do
understand that just being a watchdog is not enough. My dear brother! I am extravagantly pleased with you!"

He laughed. "Oh, yes. A rich merchant would be interested in politics, so I must be. And of course, what happens between England, France, and Spain affects Harry."

"Good." Aleneil sighed. "I was worried about how to make you aware of problems around FitzRoy that don't seem to touch him now, but may in the future."

He sobered, seeing the worry in her eyes. "I could see that. I've managed to insinuate myself into George's group of friends—Francis Bryan, Thomas Wyatt, Francis Weston, Henry Norris . . . a couple of others. They are close to King Henry, play tennis with him, gamble with him, and could provide an introduction if I should ever need one." He knitted his brows when she showed some surprise at his comment. "I'm a Hungarian nobleman whose family were all killed by the Turks, but who's rich as Croesus because of a wide-flung trading empire the Turks couldn't touch. Didn't I tell you all this?"

She shook her head, and he could not imagine how he had failed to tell her of his plans. But then, he had been very angry at being sent to watch over a child. . . .

"I don't think you did," she admitted. "But your connection with George Boleyn is very, very convenient. I am also acquainted. Not with George himself but with his mother, who is Elizabeth Howard—"

He caught that name as one familiar to him. "Howard? Related to Norfolk?"

She nodded. He thought he saw approval in her glance. "His sister."

"Ahhh. What made you interested in the family?" So she was going into the mortal world on her own! Presumably she was in search of that elusive child who would bring the age of gold to the mortals.

"The women, of course," she said reprovingly. "The elder daughter, Mary, may still be the king's mistress, although he seems to be losing interest."

He raised an eyebrow. "And the likely mother of the red-haired babe?"

"I hope not!" she exclaimed. "The red-haired baby must be in the royal line with no doubt attached to its parentage. Mary is married to William Carey, and if she bears a red-haired child it will be acknowledged by Carey as his own. He has already acknowledged her first child—"

"The king's get?" he asked, a little crudely.

She shook her head. "I think not. The child was not fair, but dark. The boy was named Henry . . . but that might not mean anything; many children are named for the king, and Henry, who is starving for boy children, never acknowledged this one."

"I suppose because Mary does also lie with her husband, and he could not be sure." Denoriel speared what looked like a pink rosebud and conveyed it to his mouth. "Ah . . . this is excellent! I thought it would be sweet, but it is pungent and delicious."

"Smoked fish," Aleneil said, absently. "No, it is the second daughter in whom I am interested. She is very young now, just fifteen, and when it looked as if there might be war between England and France, she was called back from France where she had been one of Queen Claude's women."

Yet another woman grown. "Did
she
appear in a FarSeeing about the red-haired babe?"

Aleneil sighed in an exasperated way. "Nothing clear enough to make it worthwhile to warn you, and I am almost sure that the child is not yet born.
But
the red-haired babe
is
associated with a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman—a very clever woman . . . a woman who has the makings of a witch . . . which would make sense, given the power we sensed around the babe."

Perhaps the girl might be of interest after all. "And George Boleyn's youngest sister matches this description?"

"I think so, but I am not certain, although she does have the nail of a sixth finger on her left hand." He sensed Aleneil's discomfort; like many FarSeers, she was uneasy when she could not foresee the future clearly.

"Are you going to try to teach her magic?" he asked, with interest. Now that would be a fascinating prospect—especially if she chose to pit herself against Queen Catherine for the legitimate affections of the king.

"No!" On that point Aleneil was certain. "She would reject me utterly and probably report me to the nearest witch-hating priest she could find. She is terrified of her Talent and seeks only to deny it, but she uses it unconsciously . . . on men. She is already welcome at court and has attracted attention . . . of Wyatt for one."

"Wyatt is married," Denoriel pointed out.

Aleneil laughed. "It seems to matter as little to Henry's courtiers as it matters to us."

"Hmmm. If she is to be Henry's mistress and the mother of the red-haired babe, I had better see to it that Wyatt does not despoil her," he said, with just a touch of callousness. "We want no doubts about her to rise in the king's mind."

"That would be useful," Aleneil agreed—just as callously. She could, he reflected, be just as ruthless as anyone when it was mortals who were being discussed.

"Do you want me to try to meet her?" he asked, thinking it might be amusing to see the little fifteen-year-old coquette attempt to use her wiles on him.

"No, certainly not," his sister said firmly. "If she developed a taste for you, she might refuse King Henry's advances, and we don't want that to happen until we are sure who will be the mother of the red-haired child."

Denoriel was silent for a while, giving his attention to the many-flavored delicacies on his plate. When it was empty and had floated away, he looked at Aleneil, frowning.

"I don't like the fact that her Talent is so strong and untutored and that she is using it. That use could attract unwanted attention, and she would be defenseless against any attack on her, against any idea a dark Sidhe wished to implant in her."

"I am aware. I will try to protect her, but she is a very high-spirited girl and I doubt will accept a duenna, as a Spanish girl would." She made a moue of distaste, and added, "Her father and mother are too well aware of the advantages Mary brought them while she was the king's favorite. Now that Mary's allure seems to be fading, they do not wish to restrict Anne too much. If not King Henry, she is like to snare a powerful suitor."

He raised an eyebrow. "At least then we will not need to worry about an untutored witch being the mother of the red-haired babe."

Aleneil shrugged and shook her head. "Let us forget all this for now. The child's birth is some years in the future."

Denoriel smiled and the talk turned to small personal matters. After the meal, considerably refreshed, although with a new worry at the back of his mind, Denoriel Gated to his house in London. He arrived shortly after the white kitten had appeared on his shoulder and he had rushed off, but Ladbroke and Dunstan did not appear in the least surprised and neither mentioned the miraculous appearance of the white kitten. Having lived so long Underhill, they were well aware that the kitten was some spirit the Sidhe was using and that hours or even days might have passed for Denoriel between his previous departure and his seeming arrival only some quarter hour later.

To Denoriel's relief, Dunstan pronounced himself capable of attending to a gentleman's needs. Fortunately one of his masters Underhill had affected the highest mode of mortal dress. It was not quite as elaborate as that popular in the Tudor court, but Dunstan knew how to tie, hook, and button. Only, he pointed out that becoming Denoriel's valet would mean he must wear different clothing than he had bought for himself and that doing so would leave Ladbroke as the only groom.