Very often Denoriel was so exasperated with his charge that he would have been glad even of Pasgen's sympathy. However, on the ninth of February as he waited to be summoned to the presence of the Dowager Queen Catherine Parr, Denoriel was very pleased with himself. He was, for once, certain that what he was putting in motion would please Elizabeth.
In the confusion and jockeying for power in the wake of King Henry's death, his widowed queen had been thrust aside and nearly forgotten. Although she had been richly provided for in material possessions by the king's will, no political place, not even with respect to the children she had so lovingly overseen during Henry's life, had been designated for her. It was as if she had never been queen at all.
Denoriel had noticed that he was the only person outside of the queen's own household waiting in the hall for an interview with the Dowager Queen, and he saw that the hall was rather empty, as if the household had been reduced. Catherine, Denoriel thought, was an intelligent and gentle woman, and she had been left as regent by her husband when he was abroad. For all her quiet nature, she was not particularly retiring. She was no fool politically and she must resent being cast aside so brusquely.
The situation was just as well for his purpose, Denoriel thought, repressing a smile. He suspected that Catherine would be more willing to listen to him, perhaps even willing to press the Council hard to give her governance of Elizabeth. Now he permitted the slight smile that satisfactory thought gave him to show when the chamberlain approached and gestured for him to follow. After all, why not? Elizabeth was only third in line by the rule of the will. Her value to the Crown mostly lay in being a valuable pawn in the marriage game. At least, that would be so far as the Council was concerned. . . .
How little they knew his Elizabeth.
To Denoriel's considerable satisfaction, the chamberlain did not pass through the hall to the door of the great room beyond. He led the way to a side door that opened into a parlor. It was a pretty room with a handsome bed, at the foot of which stood a large, high-backed armchair in which the Dowager Queen was sitting. A small table was beside her and the chair faced the east wall which held a comfortable hearth.
The chamberlain announced his name. Denoriel bowed and when Catherine gestured to him, advanced toward her, stepping around the small table and standing to the side so that he would not block the heat of the fire from her. The chamberlain remained near the door.
"Your Grace," he said, bowing again. "Permit me to offer my condolences. You, and the entire nation, have lost a very great man. There will be no other like King Henry."
Tears misted Queen Catherine's dark eyes. "He was a being completely out of the ordinary, was he not?"
"Indeed, madam, he was. I only met him in person once, many years ago, when I was chosen by the earl of Ormonde to act as the Master of Misrule at the Yule festivities—because I could do some silly magic tricks—but even the few words he spoke to me were overwhelming." That was nothing less than the truth. He had never met anyone, short of Oberon and Titania, with such presence.
"Yes." She sighed, but blinked away tears and smiled, saying more briskly, "Magic tricks? My dear Lord Denno, I can hardly believe a sober and successful merchant like yourself could do magic tricks."
Denoriel smiled. "It was when Harry FitzRoy—ah, I beg pardon, the late earl of Richmond—was a boy. To amuse him—"
"The late earl of Richmond," Catherine interrupted, frowning, her voice a trifle colder, "that was ten years ago. And now you often visit the Lady Elizabeth, do you not? You have been tied to the heirs to the throne for a long time."
"Not because they were or are heirs to the throne, madam. Harry—pardon, but he is dead now and I always called him Harry; I find it hard to remember to say His Grace. We met by accident when I rode with a friend to Windsor to do some business with the duke of Norfolk. Harry was so like my own little brother, the one the Turks had killed, so sweet, so good." Denoriel shrugged, apologetically, and allowed a hint of sorrow to cloud his features. "To ease a long pain, I made it my business to see him again. There was no harm in it."
"No harm?" Catherine knew the ways of royalty and those that surrounded royalty. "I am surprised the friendship was permitted when he was the only son the king then had."
"Those who oversaw him soon came to realize that I was politically indifferent and desired no favor, except the pleasure the boy's company gave me." He sighed. And that was certainly true, completely true. Also true was the fact that though "Lord Denno" had a bloodline sufficiently high to make him appropriate company for the young royals, it was a foreign bloodline, and he had no real standing among the native nobles of England, which made him nothing like a threat to anyone else's ambitions. "Frankly, madam, it is the same with Lady Elizabeth. I have no political interest, no party I wish to favor. I am rich enough to care little to grow richer. But she . . . Harry loved her so much, so very much. It was, when he died, as if he left her to me as a legacy. I desire only her happiness, nothing more—and it is on her account that I have presented myself to you today."
"I can do nothing for you," Catherine said sharply. "My husband did not see fit to name me among the guardians of his children and the Council obviously has no intention of seeking my advice."
He narrowed his eyes, and took on a thoughtful expression. "The more fools they. No one knows the king as well as you do, Your Grace. Poor child, poor child. You could give him some comfort in this time of sorrow."
The Dowager Queen's lips tightened. "There is no chance of that. Hertford desires no influence save his own to come near Edward."
Denoriel actually thought that perfectly reasonable, although he believed Hertford was going about sealing his control over Edward the wrong way. The earl would have done far better to have enlisted Queen Catherine's help. She would have been glad enough to sing his praises to Edward, who loved her dearly and would have believed her, had she been consulted on the boy's management. But Denoriel was far too wise to show any interest in Edward. He shrugged his shoulders again.
"King Edward is far above my touch and beyond my ken. Truth to tell, I wish only to protect the Lady Elizabeth, and to see her happy and well-disposed. She feels—" At a sharp glance from Catherine, he nodded. "Indeed yes, Your Grace, I have seen her; her servants know me well, and Mistress Ashley, disturbed by her lady's despondency, thought I might give her some ease. Lady Elizabeth feels as if the whole world has shattered around her and the very ground is trembling beneath her feet. She was told of her father's death . . . and nothing more. She has neither been sent for, nor sent to anyone."
"She is well provided for," Catherine said.
"But no one has told her what is truly to become of her and, truthfully, she feels in strong need of the guidance she had when the late king was alive." That was the proper tactic to take, to remind Catherine, not that Elizabeth was old enough to be a pawn in the marriage game, but that she was still young enough to require guidance. "She feels adrift, lost. She is not yet fourteen years of age and does not know who will direct her life, where she will live."
Catherine looked troubled. "I do not know either—I mean who will direct Elizabeth. Possibly she will live with Mary . . ."
Denoriel was horrified by the idea. He did not think Mary could convert Elizabeth to her own narrow and fanatical faith, but that in itself would be very dangerous to Elizabeth. If the Visions in the FarSeers' lens were true Seeing, Mary would come to rule before Elizabeth. If Mary believed that Elizabeth would not follow her as a good Catholic, subject to the pope . . . Elizabeth would not survive Mary's reign. And he would lose Elizabeth!
Doubtless it was forbidden to bespell the Dowager Queen, but Denoriel did not care. He could not permit Elizabeth to be placed in Mary's charge. He raised an image of Elizabeth turned totally away from the reformed religion, to which Catherine was so strongly inclined, totally accepting Mary's rigid Catholic fervor. He pushed into Catherine's mind all the worst corruption of the Church, the sale of indulgences, the foul practices of the pardoners.
"No," Catherine murmured more to herself than as if she were aware of Denoriel. "Mary is a good woman, but she was warped by her mother's fate. It would be very wrong for Elizabeth to hear four Masses a day, to be taught that the pope is supreme, and that a few shillings rather than a pure life and God's mercy can buy absolution from sin."
"But madam," he said, softening his tone. "Surely, Mary has been apart from her sister too long to make a good guide and companion. After all, it is you that Elizabeth loves, you who gave to her some of the happiest years of her life, who made her feel safe and cared for. And she misses your company, your guidance and wisdom so much . . ."
Catherine's eyes were shadowed with remorse. "Poor child. She must feel that I, too, have forgotten her."
"No, not that, Your Grace. She fears worse than that. She fears that you have been forbidden to come to her or bid her to come to you." Denoriel also feared that.
Catherine shook her head. "No, not at all. Alas, to my shame, I have been so taken up with my own grief and fears that I have all but forgotten her. I have not even written to her to condole with her on her loss . . . and mine."
Better and better. "A letter would be a great help, madam. A letter would assure her that you think of her. But it is your company she desires . . . no, needs. She has said to me that if she could live with you, madam, she would feel cherished and secure."
To know that the Dowager Queen had not been ordered to avoid Henry's heirs was a considerable relief, but Catherine's ignorance of Elizabeth's fate was not proof it was undecided. Still, as long as no one knew the decision it might be changed. He might as well, Denoriel thought, be hung for stealing a sheep as for stealing a lamb and he set into the Dowager Queen's mind the notion that she ask Sir Anthony Denny to urge the Council to give her charge of Elizabeth.
Denny still had some power. He had been with King Henry when he died. He had agreed to keep secret the fact of Henry's death for the time needed to forward Edward Seymour's plans to seize Edward so he could be named Protector. Also Denoriel knew that Denny was fond of Elizabeth and always respected Catherine. Beyond that, Denny regarded Denoriel as a good friend and would not try to prevent him from visiting Elizabeth and the queen. The scheme could not have been better for Denoriel's purposes.
"You truly believe that Elizabeth desires to live with me?" Catherine asked, coloring very slightly.
There was a little catch in her voice as the feeling that she had been cast aside like a worn-out, useless thing was eased. Someone wanted her. Someone needed her. Until his death was imminent Henry had needed and wanted her. Before that, he had gladly given into her hands the care of his children, even his precious heir.
Mary was a woman grown, and though she and Mary had been friends, Catherine knew Mary had no need of her. She knew, too, she would never be allowed any close association with the little king. But Elizabeth . . . Memories of Elizabeth, of her bright looks, of her wit and her eagerness in learning, of her openly expressed affection and deep respect for her stepmother, filled the emptiness in Catherine's heart. And they shared one other thing—a passion for the reformed religion that even Henry himself had not possessed. For Henry, the change in religion had been a tool to gain him what he most wanted. For Catherine and Elizabeth, it was the one true path.
"I know that to live with you would give Elizabeth joy and comfort, madam," Denoriel said, again thrusting the image of Sir Anthony Denny into her mind.
"Well, why not?" Catherine said. "She is too young to live alone and I think the Protector would not want her to come too much under Lady Mary's influence. Hmmm. Why do I not write to her now, Lord Denno? You can carry the letter and if I have from her a reply saying how frightened and lonely she is and requesting my protection . . . Yes. I could take such a letter to Sir Anthony Denny."
"That would be very wise, madam. Sir Anthony is on the Council and I know he is fond of Elizabeth and would wish to give her comfort."
The queen smiled up at Denoriel. "I thank you for letting me know. If you will wait—"
She rose to her feet. Denoriel stepped back, away from the chair near which he had stood while he and Catherine had been talking, and bowed. The chamberlain began to come forward, either to show Denoriel out or tell him where he could wait while Catherine wrote her letter . . . and the door to the room burst open.
Denoriel stepped back yet again to be out of the way, which took him beside the bed into the shadow of the bed curtains. A tall, broad-shouldered man came impetuously through the doorway, just jogging enough aside not to knock down the chamberlain.
"Your Grace," he said in a loud penetrating voice, "I have come to beg your pardon for failing to escort you to church when the Dirge was sung."
"It is just as well you did not, Sir Thomas," the queen said. "It was better that I attended the lament for my husband alone."
Her voice was steady, but there was not the smallest hint of reproof in it for the gentleman's unceremonious entrance and she was smiling brightly. Moreover, Denoriel's keen vision picked up a renewal of the heightened color in Catherine's cheeks. He looked with considerable interest at the visitor. Sir Thomas was certainly a very handsome man—by mortal standards. He had a luxuriant red beard, curling auburn hair, and bright blue eyes. His clothing, Denoriel noted, showed no sign of mourning drabness.
"Surely you cannot think anyone would be offended if I lent you the support of my arm in church," Sir Thomas protested and then, lowering his voice slightly, "I want to be with you, Catherine. You know I never so much as looked at you all the years you were Henry's wife. I would not for any reason put you into such danger as my attentions might—"
Denoriel cleared his throat, took a step forward, and bowed. His face was carefully expressionless. "I beg pardon, Your Grace. I will wait in the hall for the letter you wish me to carry, so please you, or come again for it when you tell me if that will better suit you."
Sir Thomas' eyes stared with surprise, his upper lip lifted in what Denoriel suspected was a snarl, and one of his hands twitched. If he had been a servant, Denoriel thought, that hand might have launched a blow, but Sir Thomas' glance had taken in the rich elegance of Denoriel's clothing and the gold-hilted sword by his side.
"Who the devil are you?" Sir Thomas snapped.
"My name is Lord Denno, Sir Thomas. I am what I suppose is called a merchant adventurer, and during his lifetime I was honored to be called friend by the late duke of Richmond. I was also fortunate enough to be included on the list of allowed visitors to the children being schooled in Hampton Court before the late king's death. I had come to offer my condolences to Her Grace."
"Yes, and to remind me that poor Elizabeth feels very frightened and abandoned. It was cruel of me not to remember her and offer her some comfort. Sit down, Sir Thomas, for just a moment while I write a note to Elizabeth, which Lord Denno has kindly offered to carry to her for me."
"As you like, madam," Sir Thomas said.
Denoriel thought the formal address was a bit like locking the door of the stable after the horses had been stolen, but he only bowed again. Queen Catherine went to a writing desk placed against the wall, and Sir Thomas, without a by-your-leave, plumped himself down in Catherine's chair. That did not, at the moment, have much meaning for Denoriel, who was wondering about the odd expression on Sir Thomas' face when he heard Elizabeth's name.
"So you are a merchant adventurer," Sir Thomas said. "And what might that mean?"
"It means that I have a fleet of ships that travel far and wide for valuable cargoes. After His Grace of Richmond died, I traveled with my ships for several years, but then I grew homesick for England."
"You aren't English!"
Ignoring the contempt in Sir Thomas' voice, Denoriel smiled. "True enough, Sir Thomas. I was a prince in Hungary before the Turks overran my country. Fortunately for me, I was away on a long voyage so I survived and was able to hold together my family's trading business. But I have lived in England for so long, that it is home to me."
"How does a merchant come to know Lady Elizabeth?"
Denoriel smiled more broadly, partly to hide the uneasiness he felt. He did not catch a clear thought from Sir Thomas, but there was a feeling of avarice that exuded from him when he said Elizabeth's name.
"I am a very rich merchant," he said.
That woke a spark of interest in Sir Thomas. "I doubt Elizabeth will be of much use to you in decreasing tariffs or winning contracts."
"Oh, none at all," Denoriel agreed lightly. "Merely I came to know her when she was a babe because her half brother the late duke of Richmond was deeply attached to her, and when I returned to England, I wished to see into what kind of child the babe had grown. A distant cousin of mine is one of Lady Elizabeth's maids of honor and gained me an introduction. Lady Elizabeth found me amusing; I found her enchanting and so from time to time we still meet."
"More than from time to time, Lord Denno," Catherine said over her shoulder, smiling. "You were a regular and frequent suitor, and Elizabeth always looked forward to your visits, I know. She said you were one of the few people who was willing to quarrel with her."
She turned back to her letter writing and Denoriel found himself smiling at her back. She came of no very high family, and once she was sure he was not pressing for favors or urging any political policy on Elizabeth, she had never enquired too closely about his visits. The pleasant memory was abruptly terminated.
"Enchanting, is it?"
Although he spoke much more quietly, there was a nasty snarl in Sir Thomas' voice. Denoriel was annoyed with himself for using that word, but it was the first that came to his mind when he thought of Elizabeth. He could do nothing more than curse himself and try to amend the mistake, so he shrugged and laughed. "Enchanting" was not a word you should use in describing a girl whose mother was accused of witchcraft. Nor was it a word you should use in describing the third in line to the throne, who was, at this moment, most valuable as a marriage prize.
"Yes, absolutely enchanting. She conquered me when she was three years old, lisping her Latin in a baby voice with the seriousness of a scholar ten times her age, and I have been her courtier ever since." Then he scowled. "However, Sir Thomas, you need not fear that I have ideas above my station. I am not a young man and I am not a fool. Merely, Sir Thomas, I have always loved children, specially those who, like Lady Elizabeth, are very clever. And I have no child of my own."
"Why, Lord Denno? You are rich, handsome, and vigorous despite your age."
Denoriel started slightly. Catherine had come up behind him, the folded and sealed letter in her hand, but she was looking at him with interest and sympathy.
"I . . ." Denoriel hesitated and then said quickly, "Perhaps because I am a coward. When the Turks overran my country, my whole family was destroyed. I did not wish, I think, to open myself to such pain again. But then I found Harry—" he shook his head and sighed "—and then Harry died . . ." He blinked as if to force back tears. "No, I have no inclination for a wife and children of my own. Not at such a cost. Lady Elizabeth is a very interesting person. It has been a wonder and a privilege to watch her grow."
"Ah, well," Catherine said, "I, too, have had my losses, but I still think to be a wife and mother would be worth all else." She smiled at Denoriel and held out the letter. "Here, this is for Elizabeth. I hope it will please her and save you a skinning."
Denoriel grinned as he bowed and took the letter from her. "How did you know Lady Elizabeth skinned me?"
Catherine laughed lightly. "Because she grieved to me over having done so. Do not despair, Lord Denno. She is really very fond of you."
"How touching," Sir Thomas said, and put a hand possessively on Queen Catherine's shoulder.
She did not show any sign of indignation, shake his hand loose, or step away but put her own hand over it.
So that was the way the wind blew. Denoriel did not think the man worthy of her, but that was none of his affair. Having his letter in hand, he simply bowed, said a polite farewell, and left them together. He had forgotten them both as he left the palace, his mind leaping ahead to the joy he was bringing to Elizabeth.
Because no one at Enfield would know when he left London and no one in London would know when he arrived at Enfield, Denoriel asked the elvensteed Miralys to take him to Elizabeth quickly. Miralys did spend about two minutes going sedately from the stableyard of the palace to a nearby narrow alley, but then he covered the near eleven miles to Enfield in less than ten minutes. The effort—if it was an effort for Miralys; although Miralys had been Denoriel's mount since he was four years old, he still did not know everything the elvensteed could do—was wasted.
"Where have you been?" Elizabeth snapped at Denoriel when he was shown into the parlor in which she sat.
Kat Ashley drew a sharp breath and leaned forward to put a hand on Elizabeth's arm. Aleneil, who in her human guise of Lady Alana was noticeable most as a remarkably handsome suit of clothing, uttered a small protesting murmur. One of the three other ladies attendant on Elizabeth, who had remained with her mostly because their homes were even more crowded and less elegant, giggled. The sound made Elizabeth stiffen slightly. Her eyes flicked to Lord Denno's face, but he showed no consciousness of how improper her tone had been to someone who had done so much for her over so many years.
"As you can imagine, my lady," he said calmly, "there is considerable confusion in the Court and Sir Anthony Denny, who honors me with his friendship, is busy beyond belief. I am afraid I wasted two days in trying to get an appointment with him."
"That does not sound very friendly," Elizabeth said in a tone that showed she was not mollified. Her lips closed tight over the words; she had meant to sound as if this remark and the previous angry cry were jests. Everyone knew she often teased Lord Denno.
Denoriel stared hard at her. She was really shaken to bits to show her feelings so plainly, particularly when attended by women not in her inner circle, but there was nothing he could do to help.
He could only continue on as if she had been courteous rather than rude. "He knew I came merely to tender my condolences, that I had no business to transact. What he did was reasonable and just. I was at fault in imposing courtesies where serious matters were under consideration."
"I am not a serious matter?" The voice was somewhat tremulous this time.
"Elizabeth!" This time Kat Ashley spoke her protest and warning aloud.
Denoriel smiled. "Come, Lady Elizabeth. Even you must admit that ensuring your brother is safe and there are no threats to the smooth transition to his reign are matters that must first engage those appointed to the Council by your father's will."
"No threats?" Elizabeth's eyes widened, and she looked up anxiously into Denoriel's face. "Surely no one would wish to harm Edward or contest his right to the throne!"
He tried to tender a warning with his eyes. These were matters she knew, as any royal child would know. One or more of her women could be reporting back to—well, anyone on the Council. One did not speak openly of such things. "I do not think so, but the matter of who will be his principal advisor . . . who, in fact, will govern England because, after all, Edward is only ten, even if he is a brilliant boy . . . is a matter of preeminent importance."
"Yes, of course," Elizabeth said, her voice flat and her face composed. "I am sorry if I sounded angry and impatient. I find it uncomfortable to be so uncertain, not to know where and how I am to live."
The smile Denoriel was wearing broadened. "Ah," he said, "but I have not wasted all my time. I may have an answer to those questions."
Her eyes widened. "Oh, Lord Denno, have you?"
"Well, I do have here a letter from Queen Catherine." He took the folded sheet from an inner pocket and held it up under his chin. "And she said to me she was very sorry her distress had so overpowered her as to make her blind to the grief of others. I believe she asks an important question of you."
Elizabeth rose to her feet and held out her hand into which Denoriel put the letter. "If you will pardon me," she said glancing around at the ladies.
Aleneil immediately rose to her feet, gesturing to the other ladies. They also rose, although much more reluctantly and followed Aleneil out into the common hall. So few were now in Elizabeth's household, that Kat Ashley had given orders not to light the fires in the great room.
Only Kat, Blanche Parry, and Denoriel remained in the parlor. Elizabeth broke the seal and read the letter quickly.
"Live with her?" she breathed, and then louder to Kat and Denoriel, "Queen Catherine asks if I would like to live with her! Oh, is that possible? Is it? How can she ask? She must know that the happiest days of my life were when we all lived together at Hampton Court. Nothing would give me more joy than to live with the queen."
Denoriel laughed aloud. Elizabeth's eyes were all golden and a faint color had come into her cheeks. "I told her I was sure you would wish to live with her, and I do not think she doubts it. However, a letter from you, saying how sad and lonely you are and how much you miss her company and guidance and would like to be with her would certainly enhance the chances of approval of the plan when she proposes it."
"She will ask to have me live with her?" There was no trace of the young lady of dignity in Elizabeth now.
"Yes, and if you will write the letter, I will take it back to London—"
"At once," Elizabeth said, moving toward a writing desk set under a sconce fastened to the wall not far from the door. "Oh Kat, light the candles." She laid the letter on the desk and turned back toward Denoriel as Kat lit a spill in the fire and used it to set the candles in the sconce aflame. "And, dear Denno, will you ride back today—"
"Elizabeth!" Kat cried. "Lord Denno has just ridden over ten miles in this bitter weather. It will be cruel to send him out again before he even has a chance to eat a bite and warm himself."
"But it will be dark by then," Elizabeth whispered, tears standing in her eyes. "And the letter will have to wait until tomorrow."
"What a selfish, noxious brat you are," Denoriel said, laughing again. "It will be dark by the time I reach London anyway and, although I will certainly bring the letter to the queen, she might not even be awake by the time I arrive. Moreover, you cannot expect her to do anything with the letter in the middle of the night."
"Not do anything, no, but Catherine likes time to think over what she will do and say, so if she has the letter tonight, she can plan how best to use it tomorrow." All child now, she was impatient of waiting, and wanting it all settled now.
"Very well," Denoriel said, sighing, although he was more amused than put upon. "I will take your letter today."
"At least go and sit by the fire and warm yourself, Lord Denno," Kat said, and when Denoriel had bowed and walked over to a stool near the hearth, she turned to lean over Elizabeth who was already writing. "What is wrong with you?" she whispered. "How can you be so inconsiderate? Lord Denno is an old man. I know he seems still hale and hearty, but to demand that he ride again in this bitter weather . . . What if he took an inflamation of the lungs? Elizabeth, my dear, do not subject him to a chance of a dangerous chill."
Although he pretended to be staring into the fire and quite unaware, Denoriel would gladly have strangled the kind and well-intentioned Kat Ashley. He was utterly furious that she should speak of him as an old man, weak and frail. Of course Elizabeth knew what he was, but his hair was white and his face was lined, as few Sidhe's faces were, with pain and anxiety. For the deception he lived in the mortal world, the white hair and lined face were valuable, but he did not want Elizabeth to think of him as old.
Why not? The idea, new to him, was startling. He was more than happy to have Kat and all the rest of Elizabeth's household think him old. It was safer that way, less likely to waken suspicion that his devotion to Elizabeth was other than fatherly. Hurriedly, Denoriel checked that line of thought, yet he could not wrench his mind away completely. He had to acknowledge that when anyone said to Elizabeth that he was old, he was infuriated. That Elizabeth should think him old caused a pain in his throat and a tightness in his chest.
Denoriel blinked his slightly dazzled eyes and closed their lids to shield them from the brightness of the fire. It would not dazzle a mortal, but his vision was tuned to the much dimmer light of Underhill.
Elizabeth had turned to Kat and said, "Don't be ridiculous. Denno is—" What she wanted to say was Sidhe, hardly more than a babe in arms among his own people, but she could not form those words. What she did say was "—younger than he looks. It is the white hair that fools you. But he swears his hair went white when he heard that Richmond was dead. And I know he's very strong."
She bent again to her writing, by habit making sure that every letter of every word was elegantly formed, as Roger Ascham had taught her. No carelessness must show any disrespect for the queen.
First she wrote formal thanks for the queen's letter of condolence. Then she mentioned her gratitude to Queen Catherine for all her past kindnesses. And then, allowing a single drop of water to fall from the flask for thinning her ink and carefully blotting it—as if a tear had fallen—she considered how to describe her fear of being alone and lost with no one to teach her or advise her. Last she had planned to write openly of her great longing to be again safe under the protection of the queen's watchful eye.
Until those last sentences, much of the letter was formula. While she scribed those parts, the rest of her mind was considering what she had said and done that so much disturbed Kat. She had made a mistake. She knew Denno was young and strong despite his looks, but she surely did not want anyone else to know it. God forbid that anyone should suspect how she felt about Denno . . . even Denno did not know.
Elizabeth's pen hesitated and she stared blindly down at the beautiful script. It was impossible anyway, utterly impossible that Denno who laughed at her and called her a noxious brat would ever see that she was no longer a brat, that she was growing into a woman. Her lips twitched as she thought that she might still be pretty noxious. Then tears filled her eyes and another small wet spot had to be blotted from the paper.
Now what should she do? She knew but did not like it. She must apologize and bid Denno eat and rest so Kat would not be reminded she had said he was younger than he looked. Elizabeth stared for a moment more at the wall, willing the tears not to fall. A moment longer and she could give her mind to her letter again, working out how to phrase what she must ask for. When the words were straight in her head, she wrote them, ending with the large and elaborate "Elizabeth," a signature that was already well known.
Kat was back near the fire, talking to Denno. He looked uncomfortable, Elizabeth saw as she approached them, holding out the folded and sealed letter. Denno rose as she neared and Kat straightened up and smiled meaningfully at her.
Elizabeth sighed again. "I've been rude and unreasonable, haven't I?" she asked as he took the letter from her. "Don't pay any mind to me, Denno dear. Find a place to stay and get warm and have a good meal. I know it can't matter whether Queen Catherine has the letter tonight or tomorrow."
"No, it can't," Denoriel said, tucking the letter away and taking her hand to kiss, "but I assure you—" Kat had turned away, looking satisfied at Elizabeth's capitulation, and Denoriel gave Elizabeth a large and deliberate wink "—she will have it as soon as possible."