And Less Than Kind

by Mercedes Lackey

  "So you did agree to go to Donnington!"

  "Oh no," Elizabeth replied, blinking as if surprised by the remark. "The queen had bid me live in Ashridge and without her word I would not leave it. But Sir James was so insistent. To make it easier to be rid of him, I told him I would consider it."

  "Why would you consider following the advice of a man who told you rebellion was being raised against the queen?"

  Elizabeth opened her eyes wide. "Why for that very reason. You must know, Bishop Gardiner, that I was terrified of being taken prisoner by the rebels and made into some kind of a figurehead for them. I was thinking of writing to Her Majesty and asking for her decision about what I should do, but I was afraid to trouble her when she must be so very busy. And then it was too late. Lord Denno told me that Wyatt was advancing on London."

  "But you did not write to the queen. You sent out summons to your dependents to gather arms and supplies and meet you at Donnington."

  "I never did!" Elizabeth protested indignantly.

  "Sir Edward has confessed that he sent warning to your principal vassals to arm themselves."

  Elizabeth caught her breath but then shook her head. "But not to meet me at Donnington nor to gather anywhere. Ask where you will and who you will. I am sure you have sent out men to those who owe me fealty. Has even one of them moved off his own land?"

  "They have all hired men and brought in supplies. We have proof of that."

  "I should hope so," Elizabeth said sharply. "After Sir James told me of the unrest in Kent and Sir Edward sent my people warning. I should hate to think that those who hold lands of me were idiots. I did not know until Sir James came that a rebellion was possible—" she pulled herself even more upright and her face showed indignation "—and I tell you now that I think it unkind and unsafe that the Council did not send to warn me of that."

  Gardiner's lips twisted. "We were all sure you already knew and needed no warning from us."

  "But you were wrong," Elizabeth riposted passionately. "I did not know. And I did need the Council's warning."

  Eventually Gardiner gave up. Elizabeth was immovable on two points: that she had nothing to do with the rebellion and that her captain's purchase of arms and supplies was solely defensive, designed to protect Ashridge from attack by the rebels. Gardiner managed to reduce her to tears by insisting that his questioning of Sir Edward might become physical if she did not confess. She begged him to spare her man, offering to plead for him on her knees, but she insisted that all the arms and supplies were still at Ashridge. They had not been used to arm rebels.

  "Because there was no rising in Hertfordshire," Gardiner roared. "Had there been you would have been with the rebels."

  "Never. Never." Elizabeth sobbed. "I love my sister. I am her most loyal and devoted subject. Why are you so cruel? Why will you not believe me? Should not a Catholic bishop be merciful?"

  On that note, several of the councilors who had accompanied him and earlier asked Elizabeth sharp questions, began to remonstrate with him. Gardiner recognized the shifting sympathies and, remarking his cruelty was meant as a kindness, to bring her to confession and then pardon, he took his leave.

  After another week of silence—not literal, of course, the women the queen had appointed to take the place of Elizabeth's ladies talked constantly and always of how merciful the queen was to those who confessed their guilt or other subjects to make Elizabeth uneasy—Gardiner tried again with no greater success. He sent others to question Elizabeth; Arundel ended up on his knees begging pardon for troubling her with unfounded accusations.

  Nonetheless, although she had confessed nothing and Gardiner could never bring her a signed confession from anyone implicating her in the rebellion, on the twenty-fourth of March the marquis of Winchester and the earl of Sussex came to tell Elizabeth that she was to go at once to the Tower. The utter panic that seized Elizabeth at the thought of being immured where her mother had waited for death, sent the air spirit Underhill on an immediate search for Denoriel.

  For one instant Elizabeth's spirit leapt with hope. Then it came crashing down into despair. Denno could not help her. He could save her life, but what life would she have left if she were confined Underhill? What would Mary do to poor England? Who would follow Mary on the throne to heal the wounds?

  Frantic, Elizabeth sought for any delay, any hope of escape in what she thought was an immediate summons to death. She begged to be allowed to see the queen, and when that was most emphatically refused, to be allowed to write to Her Majesty.

  The marquis and the earl disagreed about allowing it, but Sussex prevailed; he always had a soft spot for Elizabeth—and a sharp eye to the future in which this girl might rule. Elizabeth wrote her letter, taking so long over it that the tide had turned and the barge that would take her to the Tower could not shoot the Bridge. For one day more she would remain safe in Whitehall.

  The queen refused to look at the letter and blamed Sussex sharply for allowing Elizabeth to write it. Elizabeth was to be allowed no more excuses. She was to be delivered to the Tower the next day without fail, Mary said—and put a hand to her head as a terrible pain stabbed through her temple and a feeling as if she had swallowed a cup full of ice settled in her stomach. She had promised Renard that Elizabeth would be sent to the Tower and she had done it. Whether she could do more . . . The pain in her head intensified and the cold was spreading so that her entire body began to shake.

  Elizabeth, however, had benefited from writing the letter, although not in the way she hoped. She had time to think that Denno's token could not only bring him to her but also her Da. Da would know what to do. Her mindless panic abated somewhat as she forced herself to consider keeping a visit from Underhill secret.

  Denno and Da would have to come to her. She could not dare be missing for a moment in case Mary did relent and agree to speak to her. Mary would send a messenger, who would pass the queen's order to one of her attendants. The attendant would enter her room without any warning. Elizabeth swallowed a sob. They had all been doing that with lame excuses since she had arrived in Whitehall.

  No, she could not chance that. No doubt Da and Denno would become invisible if anyone intruded, but that would mean they might not be able to finish talking. She needed to know what they thought was best and safest. Tears ran down her face and she wiped them away. She needed to feel Denno's arms around her, to be assured by Da's strong good sense. She could not bear to miss a moment of the comfort they could give her. She needed to immobilize all her attendants but the guards outside the doors.

  Elizabeth worked out how to arrange that, but the thought of the Tower hung over all. Her little hope could not warm away the cold of terror and Elizabeth found herself panting with fear as she waited for an answer from the queen. No answer came.

  Slowly the light of the day dimmed. It was time for bed, but Elizabeth could not bear to consider lying in the dark through the passing hours. She would not allow her attendants to acknowledge, no matter what her new ladies insisted, that Queen Mary had long ago retired to her virtuous couch and was sweetly asleep.

  Sharply Elizabeth bade the women to hold their tongues. There was still time, she insisted, for her sister to summon her. She could not imagine that her dear sister would not be troubled by committing her, innocent as she was, to the Tower. The queen's sleep would be disturbed. A summons would come.

  One by one the attendants nodded off and slept on the sofa or the chairs Elizabeth had graciously offered since she was keeping them up so late. Elizabeth bit her lip and blinked back tears.

  "Bod cyfgadur," she whispered, pointing to each attendant (or possibly gaoler) in turn.

  Then she drew from her pocket, where she had been clutching it all day, the token that would permit Denoriel to build a Gate to her chamber. Within moments of her laying it down on the floor near a blank wall, the black point formed and began to spread. Denoriel had been waiting for the signal and the Gate was barely large enough to allow him to pass when he spra
ng through.

  "Elizabeth, what—" His voice checked as he saw the attendants asleep.

  "They are bespelled," Elizabeth whispered, flinging herself into his open arms. "I could think of no other way to keep them from intruding on me. Denno—" she sniffed and her tears ran over "—Mary has sent orders committing me to the Tower."

  But it was Harry FitzRoy's voice that answered. "I'm sorry, love, I know you are frightened, but it was to be expected."

  "But I am innocent!" Elizabeth wept. "I know Gardiner has no proof against me. I had no part in the accursed rebellion. I did not even want it to happen."

  Denno clutched her closer and Harry patted her shoulder. "I hoped it would not happen," he said. "Rhoslyn has been working on Mary so that she will be miserable all the time you are in the Tower—"

  "So she will order me to be executed more quickly!" Elizabeth's voice rose hysterically.

  "No," Harry said calmly. "She thinks that if you die she will die also. She tries to believe that you are not her sister, but within she knows it is not true. Too much of you is from our father—the hands, the hair, the manner. To order your execution would make her a kin-slayer. She remembers what happened to Somerset when he ordered his brother's execution."

  "But she wants me dead. I know she wants me dead. When I am in the Tower the temptation may become too great for her."

  "Mary will never sign an order for your execution," Harry said. "If she could get Parliament to vote an act of attainder for high treason and have you executed without a trial, she might have taken that path—although to speak the truth I doubt it. But Parliament will not vote against you, love. They will not even vote to disinherit you. Even Renard knows that. Gardiner tried it once and was shouted down."

  "Perhaps I am to die of an illness or . . . or an 'unforeseen' attack in the Tower. Such things happen there."

  "Not to you, Elizabeth," Denno said. "You will not die in any case, no matter what Mary orders. Wear your shields if you fear attack, and if you fall ill, send the air spirit and I will come and take you away."

  Elizabeth turned a little in Denno's arms so she could see Harry's face. "But then I will be trapped Underhill . . ."

  "No. Mary is only attempting to quiet Renard and Gardiner. You may be questioned further, but I doubt that too. Poor Mary," Harry sighed, "she is sick at heart over all the executions." He came a little closer and patted Elizabeth's cheek. "Last week she pardoned eight of the Kentish gentlemen that actually fought for Wyatt, and only yesterday pardoned Lord Cobham who was one of the chief conspirators. No, love, you will be bored and uncomfortable, but I do not think you need fear more than that."

  "But to go to the Tower," Elizabeth said, her voice shaking. "Likely you are right, Da, but . . . but my heart fails me. I am afraid." She began to sob again.

  "I will come with you," Denno said. I will wear the Don't-see-me spell and I will walk beside you and hold your hand. You will know you are safe."

  Elizabeth turned her head to welcome the offer and saw the lines around Denno's eyes and mouth. He looked gaunt and gray, exhausted by the effort of building the Gate. She remembered now that the Bright Court was starved of power because of the misery of the country. Denno would not be able to renew himself and the Don't-see-me spell would drain him further.

  "No," she said, "you mustn't. You are worn thin already, and . . . and you must be strong enough to build another Gate if . . . if that is all that will save me."

  "I am not so worried about your needing to build another Gate Denno," Harry said. "But I think Elizabeth must do this herself. She will be too closely watched for even the smallest expression or gesture not to be noted. Whatever she does, however she acts, must come from her own heart, without support." He leaned closer and put his hand on Elizabeth's head, pulling her toward him to kiss her forehead.

  "I am so sorry, my love," he went on. "I am so sorry that you will be frightened and miserable, and you know I would not advise it if there were any other way. But I truly think this is best."

  In the Dark Court, Vidal looked out over his subjects with solid satisfaction. The throne room glistened with dark splendor and vibrated with power. The benches were full. Some of the ogres and trolls were only half grown but their stony bodies looked fat and polished. The witches snapped and sniped at each other; they had energy to spare. The boggles and banshees muttered and wailed softly, watching their prince, eagerly waiting Vidal's command.

  In the forepart of the chamber, the Dark Sidhe sat in their chairs. Each one was sleek and satisfied looking. Vidal nodded.

  "Two hunts," he said, his lips drawing back from his sharp-pointed teeth. "One near St. Boniface, which has just changed to the Catholic rite. Let us see if we can kill near the church. The other, in the purlieu of the Holy Redeemer, which is stubbornly reformist. Enjoy yourselves. Rend well the victims, but leave enough to show what died there."

  All the Dark Sidhe laughed, their faces eager. "And can we take one or two for some entertainment here?"

  The Sidhe who spoke was neither dark, in imitation of Vidal, nor blond and green-eyed. His eyes, less bright than the normal green, were light brown with greenish flecks and his hair was also a medium brown. Vidal stared at him. He knew Cretchar, but why did he feel Cretchar reminded him of someone else? Someone important.

  "I think one extra should be allowed to each hunt," Aurilia said, breaking Vidal's uneasy thought.

  The interruption did not irritate him unduly. Vidal glanced sidelong at her. Aurilia was as sleek and polished as all the other courtiers. Her hair was brilliant, curling luxuriantly; her eyes glowed with health and energy; a delicate flush of rose gave life to her white complexion.

  Vidal smiled at her and nodded agreement. The interruption had been timely. Vidal was aware that something about a Sidhe with nondescript coloring had escaped his memory. He hated those lapses and accepted eagerly the reminder that everything was going exactly as he wished.

  The horrible deaths and abductions would add to the anger and discontent Mary had generated by her choice of a husband. That was the city. The country should be roused too; having several flocks ravaged, especially in those counties that had not rebelled, would do it. Vidal instructed several parties of witches and were creatures to take young ogres and trolls up to the mortal world.

  The older ogres and trolls took exception to their exclusion. Some of them turned on the chosen young ones. Vidal laughed and let them fight. The substantial inflow of energy from rage and misery had allowed him to replenish the numbers of monsters in his court. He noticed with satisfaction that the young were giving a good account of themselves. He had created well. The Dark Sidhe cheered and laughed, urging on their favorites.

  Screams and groans and the meaty sound of flesh striking flesh soon echoed around the chamber. The odor of blood and feces permeated the air. At first Aurilia sat forward eagerly, sipping at the pain. After a short while, she snorted in disgust and leaned back in her chair. The acrid energy that came off the fighting trolls was weak and flat. It had none of the delicious pungency that mortals emitted when they were hurt and terrified.

  "Stop them and send them away, my lord," Aurilia said to Vidal, gripping his arm with her hand so that her long, sharp nails pricked through his silken sleeve. "They are dull creatures and their conflict gives little pleasure. Let them all go to the mortal world. Let the people of England think a plague has descended on them with their new queen. They are too suspicious of each other and too disorganized to come after us. And in the chaos we can choose our own prey."

  Vidal laughed. "Perhaps you are right, Aurilia. Perhaps you are right."

  He waved a hand and the fighting stopped, although howls of frustration now echoed through the chamber from the creatures that were being magically restrained. Then he ordered silence and told them their battle had won his admiration so they could all go. However they must choose different places of egress so they would be spread out all over the country. Another wave started them all on their way
. A third cleaned away the blood and gobbets of flesh, although there were not many of those, the lesser creatures having snatched them up to eat.

  When the room was clear, he stood and held out his arm to Aurilia in a courtly gesture. A brief, almost effortless, exertion of his will brought them into his private parlor. This was so magnificently decorated that it was hardly ominous. Vidal looked around and sniffed discontentedly, thinking that he had not yet achieved the proper mixture of grandeur and darkness. He dismissed the dissatisfaction; he would find some horrors to add to the decor to increase the somberness of the chamber.

  "We must have a little celebration," he said to Aurilia as he waved her to her chair by his own. "At last Mary has taken the first step to ridding the realm of Elizabeth. Yesterday in the early morning, Elizabeth was taken to the Tower."