The house that Pasgen and Rhoslyn had once called the empty house—and still did because they could not think of another name for it—was now actually very full. Both of them visited regularly to make sure that all was well with their mother, Llanelli, who now lived in a new wing of the house with a full complement of guards and servants.
The visits were not the penances they would once have been. Llanelli had finally accepted that her twin children had grown into fully functioning adults, that they no longer needed a mother's care.
She had not forgotten or given up her first purpose, which was to preserve Pasgen and Rhoslyn from sinking into the foulness of Unseleighe malice and cruelty. However she had learned that the way to keep them longing for Seleighe lightness and laughter and love of beauty was to be as Seleighe as possible herself. When Rhoslyn or Pasgen or both came to visit, she was bright and beautiful, she sang or played music, she spoke of art and the most interesting of the healings she had done.
Those healings were even more important than art and music and laughter. Llanelli had found a genuine purpose in life and her children could feel the change in her. She had discovered in herself the ability to heal and had developed the talent into a full art.
Pasgen had arranged for booths to be set up in the three great markets, the Goblin Market, the Elves' Faire, and the Bazaar of the Bizarre. Roslyn had provided a construct for each booth that was able to describe what healings were available and where to find the Gate that would take a sufferer to the healer's place of business.
Both Pasgen and Rhoslyn were aware that allowing Llanelli to see patients was dangerous, but neither could condemn their mother to fading into nothing. Still, both knew the Unseleighe Sidhe were not trustworthy. Any of them might think it deeply amusing to seize a gentle healer and torture her or play other nasty tricks. Also the possibility existed that Prince Vidal would realize that the healer was Llanelli and try to seize her, although he had shown no interest in her for years. Still, the one way to ensure the twins' obedience would be to hold their mother, and as Prince Vidal's mind and powers returned to their former state, he might well remember that. Both had done their best to protect her.
The terminus of each Gate was staffed by one of Pasgen's constructs, a huge hulking creature that was almost impervious to magic and was incredibly strong, with a skin like stone. There really was not a great deal that anyone could do to hurt it. The construct was very stupid, but it could fight and could sense an overt intention to do evil, which would call forth a challenge. That usually sent most of those planning to wreak havoc back from where they came.
The paths from the Gate to the house were walled off by force fields so that no one could either damage the garden or hide in it. And at the entrance to the healer's wing of the house, the patient was greeted by two of Rhoslyn's "girls."
The girls were obviously constructs because they were perfectly identical, except for the colored ribbon tied in a little bow each wore around her neck. It was an innocent touch. Likely those who persisted either because of their need for healing or their cleverer concealment of the will to do evil felt a sense of relief and safety with the girls after the seemingly overt threat of the Gate guard and the imprisoning walls of force.
For those able to conceal their evil intentions from the Gate guard, the relief was a grave mistake. Although the girls looked like starveling children with huge eyes, small pursed lips, and sticklike arms and legs, they were as strong as the brute at the Gate and far cleverer. Their little pursed mouths could open almost to their ears and held teeth to rival a wolf's and their spider-leg fingers could slice flesh and grind through bone. There was one who came truly needing healing and shivered whenever he saw them. He had seen one of the girls slice up an ogre into finger-food lumps, and he never could be easy in their presence again. The girls, too, were almost impervious to magic and understood their purpose, their only purpose, was to protect Llanelli.
A final set of protections were the two seemingly mortal servant/nurses, who assisted Llanelli in her healings. Also constructs, they looked like smiling, plump country girls, one brown-haired and the other blonde, both blue-eyed and rosy cheeked. They were not particularly clever, but were very strong, very devoted to Llanelli, and were able to perceive her emotions. They knew at once if she were frightened. Without any sense of self at all, either or both were ready to interpose their own bodies between her and any threat and fight for her to the death.
So far the elaborate scheme of protection seemed more than was necessary. There had been two Dark Sidhe who had felt that the extended torment of a healer would be very amusing. One, whose mind was not befogged with drugs, had recognized from the presence of the Gate guard that Llanelli would be protected and abandoned his purpose. The second had not survived his meeting with Lliwglas, she of the blue ribbon.
The Sidhe who had fled had mentioned the healer's protections to another, who had commented on the foolishness of a healer setting up a practice in an Unseleighe domain, but then, later, seemed to have reconsidered the "foolishness" in light of the extraordinary precautions. And no less than the Seleighe, the Unseleighe were inveterate gossips. The word of the healer's protections spread from him to still others. Pasgen was pleased by that development. It served two purposes: it discouraged those who wished to prey on a helpless healer, and now only those desperate for healing and surcease from pain came to the empty house.
In the dead of night of what was the fifth of February, 1547 in the mortal world, Pasgen waited in the parlor of the empty house for Rhoslyn to arrive. The parlor was a compromise between Pasgen's desire for absolute plainness and order and Rhoslyn's need for warmth and decorative surroundings.
The walls were a soft cream color with rich, but unadorned, wood moldings. There were pictures on the walls, which provided splashes of color, but they were not scenes of beautiful landscapes like those that adorned the walls of Iach Hafn, Roslyn's home. The pictures were portraits: one of Llanelli, nearly as disorderly as an untamed landscape with her flowing hair and diaphanous robes; one of Rhoslyn, dark and severe in her Wild Hunt costume with Talog, the claw-footed, wolf-toothed, flame-eyed not-horse behind her; one of Pasgen, sitting quietly at his stark black and white desk with a single open book before him and to his right a wisp of coiling mist.
The door opened to admit Rhoslyn in full Tudor court dress. Her black hair was parted in the center and partially covered by a French hood of black satin and velvet trimmed with jet, her throat was almost covered by the upstanding ruffle of the white chemise gathered at the neck. Below this a dull silver kirtle, with the most minimal embroidery all in black, was visible above the low, square neckline of her black velvet gown and where the gown parted in the center. The silver sleeves of the kirtle were also visible where the sleeve of the gown, which widened below the elbow, was folded back displaying silver-gray squirrel fur in a wide cuff. Her only ornament was a necklace of jet beads supporting a jet-trimmed pendant holding a miniature portrait of Henry VIII.
A single glance was all Pasgen needed to satisfy himself that Rhoslyn had suffered no serious anxieties since he had last seen her. "Well, well," he said with a broad grin, "did you dress specially to please me, all white and gray and black?"
Rhoslyn was examining him with great care, feeling—because she knew Pasgen would hide anything wrong from her if he could—for pain or strain. She did detect a little tension, but the kind that came with excitement rather than with anger or fear. His looks were totally normal: gold hair combed back smoothly from a high forehead, ear points well up toward the crown of his head, large green eyes wide open now and displaying his pleasure in her company. That was rather new.
She smiled warmly at him, shaking her head as she seated herself with care for her wide skirts. "No, I did not even think once of you. The black and gray colors are to please Lady Mary, who is in deep mourning for her father. You did know that Henry VIII died in the early morning of January twenty-seventh?"
"I knew he was dead although not when," Pasgen said, "because I heard Elizabeth say so, but only by the strangest accident. And by the same accident I learned a great deal about what is going on in the Seleighe Court."
"That sounds like a dangerous accident."
"Oh, it was. I could have been dead or mind-wiped in one moment—"
"Pasgen!" Rhoslyn protested.
He laughed. "I said it was an accident. I assure you I did not intrude on King Oberon's business apurpose."
"Oberon," Rhoslyn whispered.
"He must have known I was not there to interfere in any way. He must have read my surprise when Vidal arrived and began what amounted to a war against our dear half brother Denoriel and his friends. I felt his Thought pass over me and sweep up everything in my mind."
Rhoslyn shivered. "I cannot help it. I am afraid of him. Vidal at his best—or worst—is a helpless child compared to King Oberon."
"You need not apologize to me," Pasgen replied dryly. "I feel just as you do and I would have fled incontinent"—his lips twisted wryly—"and I mean that in all ways, if I had not been too afraid to move."
"Then how—"
"You know I have been living mostly in the Unformed or Chaos Lands and that I have discovered that they are by no means all the same. Many are simply raw material but there are a few others—well, you know I have found sports in the mist, that red stuff and the bit you found that seems almost intelligent."
"Have you not got rid of that red devourer yet?"
Pasgen raised his brows. "Tell me how."
Roslyn sighed, lifted a hand, and when one of the servants appeared, ordered wine and cakes. "Not too much of anything," she said, and then to Pasgen, "I hope you will stay and dine with us when mother is free?"
"Yes. I like to hear who she is healing of what. Sometimes I can tell from that where Vidal is and what he is doing. But to get back to what I was saying, I came across what seemed like a whole domain of intelligent mist."
"What? Oh, Pasgen, are you sure you did not do something to the place? A whole domain of intelligent mist?" She shuddered. "Think what it could do if it became inimical?"
"I am not an idiot. That was the first thing I did think of and I have been very, very careful. Thus, you can imagine that I was not too thrilled when Denoriel and Aleneil with that damned clever Elizabeth and two Sidhe who should long have been dead or Dreaming popped out of a gate."
"Whenever something happens that disturbs her Denoriel brings Elizabeth Underhill. They take her all kinds of places and teach her magic—"
"You mean she can now apurpose use the force that flung me into the void?" Pasgen interrupted, wide-eyed.
"No. She can only do little things, like stickfast. The great power is somehow tied inside of her so that she cannot usually reach it, but if she gets very frightened or very angry . . . She flung one of Vidal's mages into the void with his whole body caved in because he was threatening to cast a spell at Denoriel. She melded another's feet into the earth."
"How did you know that?" Pasgen asked. "I saw it happen. That was the next part of my tale."
"Aleneil told me," Rhoslyn said softly. "I will explain in a moment, but first I wish to beg of you Pasgen, down on my knees if you desire it, that you do not trouble Elizabeth, that you think kindly of her even though she hurt you."
For a long moment Pasgen was silent, staring at his sister, whose eyes were full of tears. "Since I was trying to kill her when she hurt me, I cannot really blame her for defending herself. But . . . but why, Rhoslyn?"
"Because she told me, and I have confirmed her tale with the healer Mwynwen in Elfhame Logres, that Denoriel did not kill my poor little changeling. He carried the child to Mwynwen and she . . . she made a spell to feed it power so that it lived for ten years longer. She loved it, as much . . . no, more, I think, than I did. She named it Richey . . ."
"You put too much into that changeling," Pasgen said, his voice tight and hard.
"Yes," Rhoslyn whispered. "I will never make another like that. There was a great bleeding hole in my heart over that . . . construct. And one reason I wish you to spare Elizabeth is that it was her idea to tell me that Richey had lived many happy years. She almost forced Aleneil to tell me of Richey's life and death—"
"He . . . it is dead now?"
"Yes." Tears streaked Rhoslyn's cheeks and she wiped them away impatiently. "Even the full power of several Seleighe healers could not hold poor Richey together forever, but I saw . . . I saw the man who would have been destroyed had I made the exchange and I thank whatever Powers That Be that I failed. Harry FitzRoy is . . ." She hesitated and then went on in a rush but in a voice so low that only Pasgen's Sidhe hearing made out the words. "The other reason . . . Pasgen, I long for what Elizabeth will bring to the mortal world. Is there no way we can free ourselves from Vidal and make new lives among the Seleighe?"
Again Pasgen was silent for a long moment; then he said, "There might be, but for what purpose, Rhoslyn? Do you imagine that we would be received with open arms, greeted as prodigal children? If you seek companionship, you will not find it in the Bright Court."
"I think I asked you once before how that would be different from what I have here?"
"The difference would be that you would desire friendship, recognition, from the Seleighe Sidhe. Here, you refuse welcomes offered." There was another silence during which Pasgen looked down at his own, long-fingered hands wound tightly together. "To be ignored, even actively rejected, by those you admire . . . that hurts, Rhoslyn."
She glanced at him quickly and then away. Beneath a fold of cloth above the breast in her elaborate gown the small construct, like a little furry snake, quivered in response to a distress that did not show in Pasgen's face or manner. So Pasgen had tried to make contact with some of the Seleighe Sidhe and had been thrust aside or ignored. Rhoslyn touched a finger to the lindys to show she had felt its message and it could now be still.
"So what is this story about Elizabeth that you started to tell me?" she asked.
Pasgen's jaw tightened, but his voice was smooth. "I told you that Denoriel brought her, Harry FitzRoy, Aleneil and two of the elders I thought were already slipped over into Dreaming—only now they are as bright-eyed and lively as new-made—to this Unformed land that I was studying and Vidal appeared at the Gate and challenged Denoriel. More of Vidal's creatures arrived and those with Denoriel engaged them, but one mage was aiming a spell at Denoriel who was barely defending himself against Vidal."
"That he could defend himself at all . . . He must have been studying magic."
"I think so, but he was hard pressed and could not have defended himself against the mage too. His shields were eroded. But Elizabeth used a baby spell"—he smiled—"cilgwythio, in fact, to push the mage away." The smile grew rigid. "Only she pushed so hard, she crushed him like a grape and flung him into the void."
"Oh dear," Rhoslyn said, feeling a pang. "I had better mention to Aleneil that Elizabeth should be told to add 'from whence you came' to her spells. If she keeps flinging people into the void she will draw unwanted attention. Of course, the mage was dead already, but still . . ."
"I do not think it was sending the mage to the void. It was the power of the spell itself that attracted Oberon."
"Ah."
"There is no 'ah' in it yet. He stopped the battle and saw me, although no one else had noticed." Pasgen frowned. "That mist is very strange. I wanted to stay hidden, and it thickened around me. It was . . ."
"Did you thank it?"
"What?"
"Aleneil said the reason they went to that Unformed land was that Elizabeth had asked the mist to make a lion . . . and it did . . . and she thanked it, as if it were a living being."
Pasgen stared at her. "Asked the mist to . . ." He shook his head. "I was pleased I was concealed. Perhaps it felt that." He hesitated, shook his head again. "No, let me finish this tale or it will never be done and I think you need to know. Elizabeth called Denoriel 'my Denno.' Oberon objected and she . . . she confronted him, threatened him. She said 'My Denno or no Sidhe will come into the mortal world' or some such words."
"She threatened Oberon?" Rhoslyn said faintly, paling, swallowed, and went on, "But I know she is alive and well. He did not blast her, then. What happened?"
Pasgen grinned. "Titania. She arrived in a pillar of white lightning, told Oberon that Elizabeth was hers, must not be bent or broken, and then vanished them all away."
"And then?" This was more and more interesting by the moment. Elizabeth, that pale mortal girl, challenging the ruler of all the Sidhe? Did she somehow think herself immune? Or was she only courageous to the point of recklessness?
"I have no idea. I felt at that point that discretion was far better than valor and fled."
"My darling Pasgen, I never thought I would hear such sensible words from you," a light and lilting voice said from the doorway.
"Mother." Pasgen got to his feet courteously, then repeated somewhat dubiously, "Mother?"
The last time he had seen Llanelli she had hair like silver cobwebs, the green of her eyes was soft and faded, and she was thin nearly to transparency. The Sidhe who faced him now was full-bodied, her eyes were a bright hazel, and her hair a thick and vibrant red. She was not pretending not to be Sidhe; the pupils of her eyes were oval and her ears long and pointed, but she was certainly not Sidhe of Logres, either Bright or Dark Court.
Rhoslyn turned her head and smiled. A chair that had been near the wall, moved to settle between hers and Pasgen's. "You look tired, Mother."
"Well, I am," Llanelli admitted as she settled into the offered chair. "I had a very interesting case, in fact, a return because the spells I used had not held. A Dark Sidhe who had obviously seized something of iron, although he did not at first tell me the truth and I did not know it."
"Not very surprising," Rhoslyn remarked. "Likely he was in the mortal world without Vidal's permission."
Llanelli smiled. "But stupid when dealing with a healer. His hand was badly burnt and swollen. I had spells to shrink the swelling and to soothe the burn, so he went away satisfied. But, of course, those spells did nothing to remove the poison of the iron so when he should have been healed and the spells dissipated, the poison had moved up his arm and the hand just swelled up again."
"It would," Pasgen remarked dryly, then shook his head at her. "But, Mother, I almost did not recognize you, except that I know your voice so well."
"I thought it best to change my looks." Llanelli frowned. "I did not want the healer, who can be reached so easily, to be too closely connected to you and Rhoslyn."
"Very wise," Pasgen said approvingly, "and stupid of me not to think of a disguise."
Llanelli flushed slightly at Pasgen's praise, which was not lightly given or often forthcoming.
"But the client," Rhoslyn put in anxiously, "was he unpleasant? Did the girls protect you quickly enough?"
"Poor creature," Llanelli said sympathetically. "No, he offered no threats. He was in too much pain and too frightened. The flesh of his arm was beginning to blacken. To speak the truth, I was frightened too. I did not know what to do at first, so I . . . I made a guess and had him thrust his arm into that—you remember, Pasgen, that you gave me a decorative piece, a bit of mist from one of the Unformed lands that you had somehow confined. It was very pretty to watch, coiling and flowing."
Pasgen sat up alertly. "I remember. You used the mist?"
"Yes. I had him thrust his arm through the field that contained the mist and I . . . I willed it to drink up what was not Sidhe substance. And . . . and I hope it did. At least the flesh lost that black look. But the mist . . . died? Can mist die? It just disappeared and there was this fine dust—"
"Do you still have the container with the dust?" Pasgen interrupted eagerly.
"Oh, yes. I am so glad you are here. Would it be possible for you to give me some more mist?" She looked at him with eager eyes. "I can think of several ways that I might try to use it."
"Let me see what remains," Pasgen said, getting up.
Llanelli rose also and Rhoslyn followed them, saying as they crossed the entrance hall that she would meet them in the dining room and tell the servants what to provide for dinner. The wait was longer than Rhoslyn expected and she was considering going after them, just a little afraid that Pasgen had seen something that displeased him and was trying to alter it or was scolding Llanelli. But then they came in together and although Pasgen was looking very thoughtful, Llanelli was smiling happily.
"I have been thinking," she said, as she took small portions of each dish, "that I had better decide what to call the new bit of mist Pasgen promised to get for me. It would be better if my clients did not know what cured them. I think it is known among Vidal's people that you and Pasgen are particularly interested in the Chaos Lands and anything from there might easily be connected with you."
"Are you not locking the door after the house has been robbed?" Rhoslyn asked.
"I hope not," Llanelli responded. With a faint frown of worry. "I think the Sidhe I treated was too upset to notice more than a sort of cloudy box in which I told him to put his hand and arm. It is certainly not usual to be able to take the mists out of the Unformed lands. I have never known anyone except Pasgen who could do it."
"Yes," Rhoslyn agreed, "which is why it worries me."
"Oh, Pasgen," Llanelli said anxiously, "I hope I have not put you into any danger."
He looked up from the thick, bloody slices of meat on his plate and smiled. "Not to worry, Mother. I suspect rather than getting me into trouble, you may have solved a dangerous problem that I had created all by myself."
Llanelli smiled, although she had to bite her tongue not to ask "What problem?" She still looked worried, but took a small portion of poached fish onto her fork and lifted it to her mouth. When Pasgen saw her eating, he smiled again and turned toward Rhoslyn, at the same time giving some attention to his dinner. He cut a portion of meat and popped it into his mouth.
Around it, he said, "So, if King Henry is dead, who will be ruling England?"
"Edward Seymour, earl of Hertford—although I expect that he will be duke of something or other as soon as the Council gets around to business. Lady Mary was pleased, except that she worries that he is too fond of the reformed religion. She says he has the best right, being Edward's uncle and I know Mary is quite attached to Hertford's wife."
"So you think she will not try to overset young Edward? She is, after all, an adult and was the first born." Among the Sidhe, rule was a matter of power and right, not male and female. In fact, many of the most powerful rulers had been and were women.
Rhoslyn shook her head. "She is a woman and knows she would have little support . . . well, except perhaps from the ardent Catholics." She hesitated and then continued. "No, not even from them. If there were no other heir, Mary would come forward to claim her right. She will, if any ill befalls Edward, but so long as he lives, she fully accepts the terms of King Henry's will. Edward and his heirs first, she and her heirs to follow, and then Elizabeth."
Pasgen laughed. "That Elizabeth! The way she stood there as upright as a sword blade and confronted Oberon." He shook his head, then laughed again, somewhat louder. "I do not envy Denoriel his task in dealing with her."