This Scepter'd Isle (7 page)

That should have settled the confusion about who King Henry would name his heir . . . except that the king, with clear intent to obscure the issue, had ordered almost the same honors for Henry FitzRoy. At the time he had been elevated to the peerage and given precedence over all other nobles, except those of the king's blood, he had also been named Lieutenant General North of the Trent. Now the king publicly reconfirmed him in that position and named him in addition keeper of the city and castle of Carlisle. Finally the king decreed that FitzRoy would be sent, with a household every bit equal to that of the princess, to rule—through his council—the north.

Denoriel had no idea why that news made him immediately uneasy. It would be some weeks, possibly even months, before FitzRoy's household could be assembled and the move begun. However, when he parted from George and his friends and reached his London house—ostensibly to go to bed for the night—he had naturally Gated to his apartment in Llachar Lle. There he found a bright, nearly transparent little creature flitting about his living room. It flung itself at him as soon as he entered the house, twittering with delight. It was a nearly mindless, but very affectionate, spirit of the air and, in contrast to its own happiness, carried an uncomfortable message from Aleneil.

Aleneil had waited for him for some time, the bright little thing burbled, but had to leave for a session with her teachers. She, too, had had presentiments of danger—not a true Seeing, not even a hint of what kind of danger, only danger and soon. Possibly with the assistance of the more experienced FarSeers, she would learn more, but she had wanted to warn Denoriel.

Danger. But from where, for whom? Denoriel reviewed his recent movements and realized he had hardly interacted at all with the rest of the Sidhe of Elfhame Logres—other than Mwynwen. He had been with Mwynwen frequently, either in his own chambers or her house, resting and leaching out of his body the subliminal aches and slight sickness that extended exposure to iron caused . . . because most of his time was spent in the mortal world. So the danger must come from there, but the only change in the situation was the renewed emphasis on the elevation of FitzRoy.

Did he dare wait to hear again from Aleneil, Denoriel wondered? No, he did not! FarSeeing was more a nuisance than a help, he thought, sending a thought for Miralys. Soon. What did soon mean? Within minutes of when Aleneil had the presentiment? Within hours? Within days?

Anxious and exasperated, Denoriel Gated to Windsor, left Miralys to conceal himself in the copse, and let himself into the garden. Having slipped sidelong through the barely opened gate, he stood with his back to the wall, hidden in the shadows, and listened. Aside from the normal sounds of night, insects and some peeping of frogs from the pond, there was utter silence.

Carefully Denoriel worked his way through the gardens, slipping from hedge shadow to tree shadow, to where he could see the palace itself. The bulk of the huge building was dark and silent—no flickering of light from window to window as if someone were rushing around, no sounds of excitement. Torches flamed at the front door and guards stood to each side of it, but from their stance, there had been no trouble recently nor were they expecting trouble. There were other entrances to the palace, but those were all locked and barred every night. He did not believe any of them could be breached without considerable noise.

Denoriel allowed a soft sigh of relief to ease past his lips. Whatever Aleneil had felt had not happened yet. But despite that assurance, inside he was as taut as a bowstring. It would happen . . . soon. How soon? Denoriel stood in the shadows, staring out along the road that led to the outer gate.

It took a moment for his eyes to recover from that glance at the torches and he had to restrain an impulse to "tch" with irritation and shake his head. What in the world could those guards expect to see if their eyes were accustomed to the light of the torches? And mortals were near blind at night anyway. But that was irrelevant.

The road was empty and silent. Denoriel shrugged. No one would be admitted to the palace at this time of night, at least not without considerable fuss and bother. So either the danger was already within or it would arrive in the daylight tomorrow . . . or the next day, or the next.

He felt like howling with frustration. Within. He sighed. Yes, he could get within. He had witched a window—fortunately that had had only had a small metal catch—near FitzRoy's apartment during his "official" visit to Windsor, when he had asked the children to see their wing of the palace. But if he were caught, there was no explanation he would be able to give. Lord Denno would have to disappear, and it would be very much harder to find a new identity . . . and still harder to re-win Harry's confidence.

There was no way, he told himself, that anyone could get the child out of the palace, but to slip into his bedchamber and smother him . . . Denoriel's breath caught. No one would! Surely no one would harm such a small, sweet child!

Even as the thoughts passed through his mind, his clothing turned a dull, dusty black and he was slipping from shadow to shadow across the open ground. His footsteps made no noise and his movements, a short rush when a cloud passed the moon, and an utter stillness in which his dark form could easily be one more ornamental tree or bush, would deceive most watchers. He reached the wall of the building that held the children's quarters.

Here there was shadow enough between the towers that beetled out from the wall. Beneath the witched window, Denoriel stopped, put his back to the wall, and stood, hardly breathing, listening. Nothing. Silence. It was too far from the pond to hear the frogs and there was nothing to attract insects. The walls were rough, unfinished stone blocks. Denoriel pulled off his boots and attached them magically to his back where they would not get in the way; there were plenty of places for his long, thin fingers and toes to grip.

He went up and was inside quickly enough to be sure that no one could have come on the scene and noticed him. Inside the silence was even more profound. Several of the chambers were vacant, reserved for visiting children of friends and relatives. Denoriel passed silently along the corridor, his heartbeat increasing with his fear of what he would find—but all he found was peace.

In the outer chamber of FitzRoy's apartment, a fat night candle in a corner near the door lit the room as bright as day to Denoriel's night-sighted, dark-adjusted eyes. In the next room, a manservant or a guard was asleep on a settle. That made Denoriel tense and he hurried past to the next door. The innermost room was FitzRoy's bedchamber; that was also well lit with a night candle.

The boy's nurse slept on a truckle bed pulled out from beneath the high four-poster, but not with sodden flaccidity as she would had she been drugged. Her fingers twitched very slightly on the coverlet and she made a tiny whistling snore. Although the lightness of her sleep threatened discovery, Denoriel's pulse began to slow as he circled around and approached the bed on the side opposite the truckle bed. If Harry was safe, he could deal with the nurse if he must.

Silently, careful not to rattle the rings, Denoriel pulled the curtain back a bare inch. He heard FitzRoy's peaceful breathing, saw his face, the cheek resting on a familiar silk kerchief clutched in one hand; Denoriel remembered wrapping that kerchief around FitzRoy's wrist when he had hurt it in a game. He swallowed. The truckle bed creaked. Denoriel froze. When the sound was not repeated, he dropped the curtain and eased to the edge of the bed, then around the bottom until he could see; the nurse was quiet now, seeming more soundly asleep.

A few strides took Denoriel to the far wall where he skirted a heavy wardrobe and a chair. The door was open as it had been. Half in, half out of the room, he paused and listened. The guard/manservant was asleep as deeply as when he entered; still, it seemed to Denoriel that he did not breathe again until he was out in the corridor. There he paused. The boy was safe and well, but the feeling that something ill was brooding all around was even more intense.

What had he proved, Denoriel wondered. Harry was safe in his bed, but someone else could do just what he had done with a far less innocent purpose. He thought of searching the area for strangers and then realized how very silly such a plan was. For one thing, that was just asking to be caught. For another, how would he know who was a stranger and who belonged in the castle? He had no roster of all of the servants, nor of the noble guests who might be staying at Norfolk's invitation.

Across the corridor was a door. Denoriel went and listened. Silence. He tried the latch. The door was not locked. He opened it, listened again, then slipped inside, leaving the door barely ajar. He would watch. If anyone tried to enter FitzRoy's apartment he would . . . what? Denoriel sighed. What could he do without betraying his own presence?

Eventually the answer came to him and Denoriel sighed again. Magic was
very
hard to do in the mortal world and he was already depleted by having changed his clothing to black. Still, the spell he needed, the Don't-see-me spell, was very simple and required very little power. Telling himself to listen all the more carefully, he closed his physical eyes and began to look around with inner sight.

The ability was not common to the Sidhe; when as a child he described it to one of the Magus Majors, the magus wanted to take him as an apprentice. He had refused because he wanted to be a warrior, an armored knight, like the father who had died fighting the Unseleighe . . . Denoriel's lips twisted. Now he was a nursemaid. Or, perhaps not; the very air seemed heavy with threat.

To Denoriel's surprise he could "see" a very faint palely glowing haze. There
was
power in the mortal world, it seemed. He mentally shook his head at himself. Of course there was power in the mortal world; there were mortal mages and more humans than they themselves knew were born with Talent. With his inner sight, Denoriel stared at the haze of power, but it seemed so dispersed as to be useless. No, not entirely. There was a bright thread in the glow for which Denoriel "reached." It was thinner than a spider's web, but when he "caught" it, he gasped with shock.

It was as if the power that smoothly filled Underhill, as the spirits in good wine blended perfectly in the body of the liquid and could not be separately tasted, had been distilled into a thin but powerful stream of brandy, almost pure spirits. It burned along the power channels in his body, making him aware of them as he never was in Underhill, but his weariness dissipated and he was prepared to watch for the rest of the night without doubting his alertness.

He even hoped for a few moments that the replenishment would remove the sense of dread that hung about him, thinking that the feeling of sharp anxiety and heavy threat was a result of the iron in his surroundings. Far from relief, he felt even more anxious. Something was coming, something evil.

It did not come that night, however. No assassin slipped down the dark corridor. No peak of warning hinted at anyone with ill intent entering through a window as he had. When false dawn passed and the sky began to lighten again, Denoriel made ready to slip from the room and make his way out of the building. Although he was not familiar with the morning activities, he assumed no one would attack the boy for the next few hours. Too many servants would be in and out, bringing water for washing and breakfast and generally making ready for the day. Then FitzRoy would be in the schoolroom with the others.

His suppositions soon became fact. Doors began to open and shut on the floor above, steps sounded on the tower stairs, there were low voices giving greetings, issuing orders. Denoriel made sure the corridor was empty, invoked the Don't-see-me spell, which barely drew on the power he had taken in, walked calmly down the main staircase, and waited near the doors for the guards to open them. When they did, to allow a clerk or some upper servant to enter, Denoriel stepped out.

During the long dark hours, he had considered remaining with FitzRoy but he had finally decided the attempt would be useless and might well be dangerous. He could not be close enough to Harry to protect him from an attack by a long-trusted servant, and if he could leap on the attacker in time he would have betrayed himself. Besides such an attack seemed utterly impossible. Henry Howard and Mary Howard would be there as would their servants; guards would be at the door. And, although he did not trust the feeling, his sense of threat was somehow . . . outside, not within.

The place where Harry might be alone was after nuncheon when the children were free for some hours of play. On any fair day, they all made for the garden. Denoriel did not know whether he hoped the boy would stay with his friends, in which case Denoriel thought no attack would be made and the tension he felt would continue, or would go by himself to the pond to sail his boat. If he did that and the guards saved themselves the walk to the pond by remaining at the gate, as they usually did, FitzRoy would be alone and vulnerable.

And the threat might not even be directed against FitzRoy, Denoriel thought, walking toward the garden that held the little pond. He felt it and felt it urgently, but perhaps that urgency was a signal that he should be elsewhere watching and warding. He ground his teeth with helplessness and anxiety and then suddenly realized that Aleneil might well have an answer by now. She had not sent any message, but it would be hard to reach him in the mortal world. He had several hours before FitzRoy would not be surrounded by friends, guards, and teachers; he would Gate to Llachar Lle.

That was not quite as easy as usual this early in the morning. Cartloads of supplies, meat, vegetables, milk, and cheese, were coming in from the surrounding farms. Messengers were leaving the castle. Bailiffs and other clerks were traveling toward it to make their reports to Norfolk who, Denoriel realized, must be in residence. Perhaps the threat was directed at Norfolk; he was a proud, hot-tempered man and had enemies in plenty. Denoriel could not guess why a threat to Norfolk should make
him
uneasy . . . All the more reason for him to speak to Aleneil.