All that anxiety, all that terror, and nothing at all had happened! In its abbreviated manner, the kitten reported that there had been no manifestations of Unseleighe magic in the palace or the grounds and no Sidhe had paid any visit in any guise.
To Denoriel's horror, that news only intensified his fear. It was impossible that human questioning had rendered the men who attacked Harry mindless and dead without a single mark on their bodies. That was Sidhe work. Unless he was mad, Harry was somehow the target of that work.
He was relieved when he found that only a bit over two weeks had passed in mortal days. And he calmed down when it finally occurred to him that a really good simulacrum was just not that easy to make. Possibly the changeling was not yet ready, and that was why the kitten had nothing to report.
Fortunately, he was still persona gratia with the guards, officials, and servants of Windsor, and he had no trouble being admitted to visit. Harry was delighted to see him, but not resentful or forlorn at Lord Denno's extended absence, because the child had been distracted by the preparations for going north, which were now in full swing. The boy was perfectly willing to accept Denoriel's excuse that he, too, had been making preparations so that he could accompany the cortege. Harry jumped up and down with joy.
Since Norfolk continued to be absent on some other duty, Denoriel took the liberty of coming to visit FitzRoy every day. He had been nervously sure that the child was being watched by someone from the Unseleighe Court, although he could not get the faintest hint of any dark creature—nor could the white kitten. Still, the time for completing the most elaborate simulacrum was surely over and Denoriel hourly expected some new move on the part of the minions of Vidal Dhu.
After a few more days, Denoriel began to suspect that Pasgen—or whoever was assigned to try to seize FitzRoy—was prepared to wait for him to give up his watchfulness. In an attempt to trigger an attempt on the child while he was alert for it, Denoriel explained to FitzRoy that a ship (not The Nereid) had come in and he had to be away for a few days. He rode off to London, Gated back, shielded his magic and himself, and waited. And still nothing happened.
Did the Unseleighe believe that it would be easier to make the exchange of children during the confusion of the journey north? That really raised a problem and made it essential that Denoriel accompany the cortege and be in close attendance on the child. For that, he would need to obtain Norfolk's permission.
The duke was still absent, but Denoriel had heard that he would return to Windsor after the twenty-second of July, when FitzRoy would receive a commission as Warden General of Scotland. Norfolk would then examine the preparations for travel, probably the Privy Council that would actually govern in FitzRoy's name would gather, and within a week FitzRoy would go north to Sheriff Hutton. Until they left, it would be impossible for Denoriel to spend much time with FitzRoy. The duke disliked any suggestion of FitzRoy's steadily increasing attachment to a foreigner; if he knew the truth of things, Denoriel would never be allowed near FitzRoy again.
Denoriel set about laying a fog of misinformation around himself. He made his visits briefer and openly arrived in the late afternoon so he could seem to go somewhere else in the early evening. Actually he came soon about the time FitzRoy ate his nuncheon and remained concealed about the palace for most of the day. He hinted to guards and nurse that he was in the throes of a love affair, trying to fix his interest with his lady before he had to travel north on business. The nurse and the guards believed FitzRoy was serving as Lord Denno's excuse for being in the area, in order to see his imaginary light-o'-love. They smiled and covertly promised not to mention his frequent visits to the duke of Norfolk unless specifically asked.
Meanwhile Denoriel had stolen some morning time, when he was sure Harry was safe—making doubly sure by the device of Gating back to Windsor shortly after he had left it—to visit Aleneil. He needed to enlist her help in obtaining servants who would be able to live in his London house while he was gone. Low Court elves, if he could establish a Node in his garden, and if they could bear the amount of iron in the house, would be ideal.
Aleneil was very relieved to see him well again and satisfied by his report about the air spirit attending to its duty. She suggested he send the little creature back while he was with FitzRoy to have its spell reinforced, and said she thought she would be able to shield the Low Court elven servants so that they would be comfortable.
"Will I need to teach them English or French?" she asked as an afterthought.
Denoriel thought a moment and then smiled. "No. Let them use Elven, and we'll let it be thought that they are from Lord Denno's native country. If I ever come across anyone who can speak Hungarian, I'll say they speak an obscure mountain dialect. That will ensure that the servants can't tell my visitors, who I'll stake high odds are curious as monkeys, anything at all."
Aleneil sighed. "Alas, I fear that is the only way to keep them from chattering. They are curious as cats, addicted to gossip, and I dare swear, only a little less flitter-minded than children."
"Ha," he replied. "They aren't the only creatures as curious as cats and as gossipy as any old woman. Boleyn and the others have been asking how I was managing in a house with no servants and offering to find staff for me so I could give entertainments and live in comfort. I told him I was waiting for my own people to come from Hungary." He laughed. "I'll teach them just enough English to say 'Wait here,' 'Master will see you now,' 'Master gone away. Leave message?' and they'll have to understand when the guests order wine or ale."
"Only women?" Aleneil asked. "Won't that rouse some nasty suspicions? I think you ought to have at least as many menservants. I know I can find enough who have magic sufficient to keep mortal guises on themselves."
"Oh, can you? Good." That was a relief; the Low Court elves had varying abilities with magic, but none of them could ken and replicate objects without a great deal of effort, and not all could hold a glamorie upon themselves for any length of time. "If you can find enough who wish to help, I'll be glad to have . . . ah, four men and four girls. A couple will have to be in the house all the time, but the others can Gate back and forth to Logres through the Gate in the tack room." It wouldn't matter that the faces would change; the elves playing servant would never leave the house, and he knew from experience that nobles and the wealthy never noticed the faces of those who served them.
"That makes things easy, but didn't you say you were going to ride north with FitzRoy's cortege?" his sister asked, with a frown. "Won't it look funny if you ride alone?"
"It will, but I can't take Low Court elves so far from their home trees. I suppose I'll have to take Boleyn's or Bryan's offer of a couple of menservants. I hate to do it. Their loyalty will be to Boleyn or Bryan, and if they see odd things . . ."
"Don't do that yet," Aleneil said. "Let me ask around the High Court. It seems to me that I heard there were some children grown who wanted to go back to the mortal world, or at least, to try. You would be the ideal intermediary between life Underhill and that much harsher life. And they could come back Underhill with you if they felt they could not bear the filth and crudity."
She would bring the servants, she assured him, and explain their duties to them. And she would teach them the phrases he had suggested as well as how to say "Don't speak English. Pardon, please."
He in turn taught her the pattern in the small Gate in Logres that would take her direct to the tack room in the stable of his London house and he gave her a spell to open the magic-locked doors that would let her into the house. Then he Gated back to Windsor, his heart in his mouth . . . but nothing had happened in his absence.
Norfolk returned. Denoriel made sure not to be visibly in Windsor that day although he skulked around after FitzRoy under the Don't-see-me spell. Once the boy was in bed, while the kitten (spell renewed) kept carefully watchful guard in the boy's room, he went Underhill to restore himself, anxious but realizing how foolish he had been to render himself helpless.
The next morning, when Harry was still at his lessons, he arrived at Windsor with a baggage mule carrying five exquisite Turkey carpets, The Nereid having arrived safely on the fifth of July. Of course, if the ship had not come in, Denoriel would have asked Jenci Moricz to obtain carpets and Gate them through from Elfhame Csetate-Boli, but he was glad the ship was there and the whole cargo in a rented warehouse.
It was Norfolk he asked to see, telling the steward that he had with him the Turkey carpets in which the duke had expressed an interest. He was admitted to Norfolk's presence promptly and he was unsurprised but gratified by the duke's pleased astonishment over the quality of the carpets.
Denoriel then explained his notion of having rugs of similar patterns made of English wool, which would considerably reduce the cost. Norfolk received that information with enthusiasm, since it meant another market for English wool. But, Denoriel said, he had not been able to explain to his factors exactly what he needed in the fleece. He would have to travel north and see the flocks himself, and when he found what he wanted, he would like to set a price in advance and pay part of the price to bind the deal. That meant, he added, that he would be carrying a substantial amount of gold and silver. He had no private army of retainers. Could he travel north with His Grace of Richmond's cortege?
With his eyes on the carpets, Norfolk agreed without the slightest hesitation. Then Denoriel thanked him, but not nearly with the relief he actually felt, and offered the five carpets as a gift of thanks. Norfolk demurred, protesting over the value of such a gift . . . which might be taken as a bribe.
"For what?" Denoriel asked, gesturing negation. "What have you to offer me, other than the safety of your guards on my way north? I have no political aims, no desire for any royal appointment, certainly no wish to evade importation fees or duties, nothing to ask of you as an official of the realm. But I do have many more rugs to sell, and giving these to you will be of great profit to my man of business—I hope. I hope you will be willing to display them where guests and those who come to you on business will see them. And when they ask where you came by such beautiful carpets . . . I hope you will speak the truth and send them to my man of Siencyn Adorjan—that is the name of my business enterprise—to buy carpets of their own."
"Well," said Norfolk, after a moment of thought. "They are a gentlemanly, a princely gift. And I can see no conflict in accepting them—"
"Even my man of business is one of your own English," Denoriel assured him. "For I have him upon my good friend Boleyn's direction."
"George Boleyn?" Norfolk's brow cleared. "A good choice. And you have my thanks, Lord Denno."
Now Denoriel had yet another reason to be grateful for his acquaintance with the young Boleyn—that card in a pocket in his elegant doublet, carefully inscribed with the name and direction: on Watling Street, west of St. Thomas's church. Ah, he thought, that, at least, was a servant I could accept from Boleyn. A superior man of business, who would not think of mixing with the common servants, but will show and sell my rugs and other goods. Taking the man on freed him from the tainted appearance of being a merchant himself, yet permitted him to have a visible means of support. Now he could play the lordling without having to account for the torrent of money he spent—or, at least, appeared to spend. The thought flitted through his mind as he rose and bowed, signing away Norfolk's renewed thanks as he left.
He did not appear to linger, riding away from Windsor in the direction his "friend" was supposed to live, but he slipped off Miralys at the postern gate and reentered the palace to watch over Harry through another eventless day.
Denoriel's anxiety was almost gone. There were only four days before they began their journey north and he was almost convinced that the attempt would be made while they were traveling. He could not imagine how an exchange could be made, but he intended to ride right beside Harry all the way and watch by his bed all night. Just because nothing had happened yet did not mean that the danger was over. But the longer an attempt was put off, the more difficult it would be for it to succeed.
The next morning he was able to examine and make sure the servants Aleneil had brought would be able to care for his house and carry on while he was gone. He liked the Low Court fay that she had chosen, for they seemed steadier than most of their kind, though they did look upon all of this sojourning Overhill as some sort of grand adventure. Still, they were willing and intelligent, and Aleneil promised to return periodically while he was away to continue their training.
He gave more time to the three mortals that Aleneil brought to accompany him on his journey. One, Edward Trace, did not remain a candidate for a retainer very long. He had been taken by the elves after his cruel and drunken father became a toy—and then a dead and broken toy—of the Wild Hunt. Perhaps "taken" was not the right term, for poor Edward had practically been given to the Seleighe Elves of Logres.
When his mother had come looking for the husband she assumed had fallen down drunk again and had found the dead man, she had stared down at the mutilated corpse for a while and then begun to laugh. Finally she went back to the half-collapsed hut which had sheltered them and brought the infant Edward to lay beside the dead body. What had been going through her mind at that moment, no Sidhe could fathom. Perhaps she had been driven mad by her husband's abusive behavior; perhaps she had simply decided that she could not bear to look on the child of a man who had been so cruel to her. Maybe she assumed someone would find the dead man and living child before the latter died of exposure; perhaps she had not thought at all, except that she could not support herself and a child, and had laid the latter aside as an encumbrance. She had then shrugged once and walked away.
Edward had been snatched up by one of the lingering Sidhe and raised Underhill. No matter what he was told, he clung to the conviction that the mortal world was more real, more perfect . . . more something than the world of the Sidhe, and that he would be more than a mere servant in the real world. He had insisted that he wished to return Overhill.
Because she felt Edward needed to understand why most Sidhe avoided the mortal world and that he might settle better into his life Underhill when he had tasted Overhill, Aleneil took him to her brother's establishment. It did not take him long to realize his mistake.
He had been taught English as well as Elven and as his first lesson Aleneil gave him a few coins and sent him to the market. The rutted, muddy street (and that was a main road through London) awash with all kinds of debris—from offal to excrement in its gutters—that led to the East Chepe was a shock. The crude market, the yelling, pushing peddlers, the loud, cheating merchants, who groaned of being beggared when he protested their inflated prices, and the goods themselves, rough fabrics, crude furniture, blemished, half-ripe or overripe fruits and vegetables, sickened him. No heaven here.
Beyond that, there was no magical breeze to waft his purchases back to the house. He had to carry them himself through the noise and the filth. Muddy water fouled with Dannae alone knew what spattered his hose, and he knew there would be no near-mindless, faceless servitor to wash them. He would need to do by hand menial tasks done Underhill by spells or those mindless servitors, for he had no magic to perform them as the Low Court Sidhe did. The mortal world no longer seemed like a place of endless glorious possibilities from which the Sidhe had been keeping him. He elected to go back Underhill with Aleneil.
The other two men, Kip Ladbroke and Shandy Dunstan, were different cases. Both had also been snatched up after a Wild Hunt—Denoriel even remembered Kip—but they had been much older, Dunstan nearly fifteen and Ladbroke twelve. In each case, but at separate times and places, they had been traveling, not willingly, in the company of an older male. Dunstan had been bound and bruised, beaten so severely that he could barely stagger along; Ladbroke, tethered by the neck like a dog, had been bloody and weeping. Both had been caught up by the Sidhe, separated from the target of the Hunt, judged innocent but as having seen too much, and delivered to Elfhame Avalon.
Both Dunstan and Ladbroke knew the mortal world well and the bottom of it to boot. Both knew what they would be losing by leaving Underhill. Even for servants of the Seleighe Court life was easy, safe, beautiful. Both knew they would still be servants in the mortal world and that in many ways life would be much harder.
On the other hand, both were mortal and clever and bored to death by the sameness of life in Elfhame Avalon. Both wanted to go places and do things, to find wives and marry and have children; both hoped for adventure and excitement, and the chance, maybe, to help some other young lad in dire straits, if only by calling on their own elven rescuers. Neither was foolish enough to wish to "escape" Avalon, to try, penniless and without friends or relatives, to build a life in a hard world. So they had remained Underhill; however, when offered a place in the retinue of a Sidhe lord who was masquerading as human, both seized the offer with joy. This would be the ideal chance to insinuate themselves back into the world of men—if Denoriel's task came to an end, he could and would easily find them employment in the retinue of one or another of his noble friends. And if it did not—they were assured of a continuing place in his employ.
Denoriel accepted both and left them to make themselves comfortable in the house, to find quarters for themselves, to buy horses and tack for the journey, and, most important of all, to construct stories of who they were, where they came from, how they had come into Denoriel's service. When they—and Denoriel—were satisfied by the tales, the Sidhe would arrange to have some papers prepared that would support their claims. It would not need to be much—parish birth-records, and a forged letter or two of recommendation.
Having Gated back to Windsor, Denoriel spent another totally unproductive day guarding Harry. The white kitten was just as bored as he, so it was fortunate that the newly reinforced spell in the collar kept it fixed to its duty.
Now only two days remained until the party left Windsor. Denoriel, again refreshed by a night Underhill, came directly to the London house in the morning. He checked on what Dunstan and Ladbroke had done and was well satisfied. As Aleneil had assured him, these were clever, resourceful men.
Despite having been away from the mortal world for respectively ten and twelve years, they had chosen excellent horses, sturdy cobs without much beauty or speed but with considerable endurance; respectable tack, worn but in good order and repair; and they had each concocted a solid tale.
Each kept his native birthplace, fearing to be caught speaking in the wrong accent. Ladbroke claimed he had been an orphan and was picked up in the street and sold to a shipmaster. Dunstan said his father had sold him, having too many children and not enough to feed them.
Eventually they had come to the same ship and become friends, risen to be marines, and when they came to port in Southampton had decided they had had enough of ship life. Their shipmaster, sensibly not wanting disaffected fighting men aboard, not only released them but told them of having heard, through a fellow shipmaster, of a foreign gentleman who needed servants who could also wield a blade. A dispatched message had received a favorable reply, and here they were.
Denoriel pronounced himself well satisfied and promised to arrange identification for them. Then he handed over another purse and bade them go out and buy clothing sufficient for a journey of at least a month and a pack mule that could carry their baggage and a tent. They would leave for Windsor the following morning to be sure to be ready whenever Norfolk gave the order for FitzRoy's cortege . . .
And just as he was giving them the last of their instructions, a white kitten landed on Denoriel's shoulder.
:Black Sidhe!: It shrilled at him. :Come now! Black Sidhe! Great power!:
Denoriel did not even finish his sentence. He fled to the stable, leapt on Miralys, who formed a saddle beneath him as he struck his back. They burst through the wall between the worlds as only an elvensteed could, setting off alarms as they passed into Elfhame Logres. But Denoriel and Miralys were known; the guard set no magic barrier and without waiting to explain, he Gated to Windsor.
He arrived at the main gate of the palace looking enough disordered to make the guards smile. "Busy night? Slept late did you?" he asked.
For once Denoriel did not echo the smile. His mouth was thin and grim, but he forced himself to look pleasant, though cool—as indeed, he should, for the guard's comment was presumptuous. "I—needed to say good-bye; it took some time. May I enter? I need to ask some questions about the journey."
The guard nodded. "A'course, milord."
The guard looked and sounded chagrined, as if he knew he had overstepped even the foreigner's affability. The gate was opened wide and Denoriel and Miralys passed through. He was tempted to ride the elvensteed right up to the palace door so he could ask questions, but Miralys went toward the stable and the white kitten suddenly appeared again in his lap.
"Where is Harry?" he asked it in a frantic whisper.
:Tutor:
Denoriel breathed again and ceased pulling at the reins, a useless enterprise since they were not connected to a bit. Miralys continued toward the stable. "Where is the black Sidhe?"
The kitten promptly disappeared. Still anxious but less so, Denoriel looked around and saw that the doors of the carriage house as well as those of the stable were open. Just within them was a very handsome coach, a more elegant design even than that of Francis Bryan, and on the seat Denoriel caught a glimpse of something very strange. He hurriedly stabled Miralys and told the stable boys to leave his horse saddled.
"I don't expect to be here long. I just came to confirm the date of departure. Oh, whose is that most elegant coach in the carriage house?"
"Princess Mary's. She is departing for Wales very soon and sent a nun with a gift for His Grace of Richmond."
A nun! Black Sidhe! Denoriel had been too alarmed to wonder at what the air spirit had said, but now he remembered the creature could not tell liosalfar from dark elf. So what the air spirit meant was a Sidhe clothed in black.
Controlling his urge to run from the stable, Denoriel nodded his thanks at the boy who had answered his question, and tossed him a coin. The other boys promptly converged on the recipient to claim a promise of sharing, which was what Denoriel had hoped they would do, and he stepped out and slipped into the carriage house.
He hesitated near the doors for a moment, extending his senses, but the coach itself was of ordinary mortal stuff and there was no coachman. Likely the man was in the stable with the horses. Denoriel walked closer, came right up to the window, and finally opened the door to look inside.
A large toy ship that reeked of magic! A ship exactly like the one that had been damaged when FitzRoy hit his attacker with the mast. Cold coursed up and down Denoriel's back. Someone had wrenched the description of that ship from deep within one of the attacker's mind. Neither man would have consciously remembered all the details. Could the ship be bespelled?
He had no intention of allowing Harry to touch that thing until he had examined it more closely. He raised a foot to step into the carriage so he could take hold of the large ship and his toe hit something soft. He looked down and barely prevented himself from screaming "Harry!"
The naked child lay on the floor of the coach, wrapped only in a heavy black cloak. He was so exact an image of Henry FitzRoy that Denoriel blinked and bit his lip. But it was not Harry. The child stank of magic and more magic; it was the child, not the ship, that was bespelled, which was why the boy had not wakened when prodded by Denoriel's foot.
Sent to seek for the black Sidhe, the white kitten had first appeared in Master Croke's apartment, one room of which had been set aside and fitted out as a schoolroom. It was a moderately large room with two small tables and chairs for Mary and FitzRoy and two normal sized tables—one much larger than the other—and covered with books and pamphlets. One served for Master Croke and the other for Henry Howard. A large and handsome globe stood in one corner; in the other was an unusually large and smooth slate fitted upright into a wooden frame. Against the wall behind Master Croke's table was a short bookcase holding more books and loose papers.
Unfortunately Mary had seen the kitten and cried out, "Oh, you cute little naughty. How did you get in here?"
Whereupon Master Croke went to open the door and let it out and Mary protested and jumped up to catch it and set it on her lap. The kitten ran away to avoid her. Master Croke ordered her to her seat but then started to look for the little cat himself to be sure he had evicted it. He knew it would cause more disruption if he had not.
The kitten did not dare actually vanish, so there were another few minutes of delay while it appeared, disappeared, and finally scuttled from behind the globe stand to whisk through the door and out.
To go from chamber to chamber, even as an air spirit could travel, would take too long. The kitten listened and felt, sending out diaphanous probes, but it did not dare open itself fully for fear the Sidhe would sense it and seize it. Thus its search was slower than it could have been, but eventually it perceived the Sidhe aura, followed it, found it . . . felt a flicker of recognition.
Rhoslyn, wide-wimpled and garbed in lustrous black—a nun of wealth and family—stood with her head modestly bowed while the duke of Norfolk waved away his servants and clerks and gestured for his guards to go out too. She read his expression easily enough and had a little struggle with herself to keep from smiling. She had asked to speak to him alone and a moment later saw him dismiss her as a threat. After all, what harm could one small nun do him?
But Rhoslyn only wanted privacy because she could not bespell a room full of people, and Norfolk's clerks, guards, and servants would see what she was doing to bind him. Bind him she must; she couldn't take the chance that he would refuse to allow her to take FitzRoy to the stable. It was an odd request; she should, of course, have brought the present to the house.
Actually she intended Norfolk no harm at all—at least no physical harm. After the changeling he believed to be his charge sickened and died, he would lose the profitable sinecure of being FitzRoy's guardian and he would certainly consider that harm, but it was nothing his clerks and servants and guards could have protected him from, so—
A twinge of magic, the briefest scent of Underhill, made Rhoslyn wince and glance around. If her information had been wrong and Denoriel was near . . . But the sense of intrusion, the flicker of white, was gone.
Startled by her sudden movement, Norfolk said, "Yes?"
She looked up and simpered. "Beg pardon, Your Grace. It was a little prick. A flea bite perhaps."
Her eyes held his. He moved a hand uncertainly and began to frown. "You are from the Princess Mary's household and need private speech with me?"
"It is no great matter, Your Grace. Because she is leaving very soon for Wales, the princess wished to send to her half-brother a little gift."
Rhoslyn's fingers made a gesture and Norfolk looked down to where they were now drawing invisible symbols on the table that stood between them. Norfolk's eyes were beginning to glaze but he was a strong-willed man and he had been disturbed by the idea that someone in Mary's household felt that secrecy was necessary to deliver a small gift.
"Why . . . Why . . ."
He meant to ask why news of a gift from the princess to Richmond need be kept secret, why he needed to dismiss even his guards, but the words clotted on his tongue and he did not remember what he had intended to ask.
"I would like to talk a while in private to His Grace of Richmond. I wish to show him the princess's gift and remind him of her prior claims, remind him that the will of God is more binding than the will of kings. We could sit for a few moments in my coach. His guards may, of course, accompany us. You will have to give an order that he be taken from the schoolroom to speak to me. I will wait for him in the entranceway, and I will bring him back to the entranceway."
Now Rhoslyn flicked her fingers up and Norfolk's eyes rose following them, their gazes locking together once more. Norfolk's expression became less wooden. He licked his lips and shook his head. She snapped her fingers softly and he blinked and rang the bell that stood on the table.
The door swung open. His guards stepped quickly into the room, hands on their sword hilts, but seeing their master and the nun in the same positions and perfectly calm, the guards merely took their places by the door and stood waiting. The duke's clerk followed them in. Norfolk crooked a finger at him and the clerk hurried forward.
"Go up to Master's Croke's apartment and tell him to send Richmond down to the entryway. His Grace of Richmond is permitted to go to the carriage house with this nun. She has a present for him in her coach."
The sharp anxiety for Richmond's safety that had made everyone in Windsor overcautious about him right after the attack had waned in the weeks that followed without any alarms, but enough remained to make the clerk ask doubtfully, "His Grace of Richmond is to go alone?"
"No, with his guards, of course," Norfolk said.
There had been a look of stress under the duke's bespelled calm that had made Rhoslyn tense, but the mention of the guards seemed to relieve that. Rhoslyn was grateful that she had remembered to permit the guards to accompany them. A single touch could make them walking sleepers, able to follow their young master but incapable of really seeing or doing anything.
Rhoslyn thanked the duke for his courtesy, curtsied, and followed the clerk out of the room. He turned left in the corridor and went toward the back of the building; Rhoslyn turned right and walked the short distance to the wide staircase that led down to the entrance hall. There she stopped, signaling the servant who waited to open the front doors that she was waiting for someone. The man stepped back, Rhoslyn turned to watch the stairway, holding her breath.
Vidal Dhu had commanded that they bring Henry FitzRoy to him, but he had no real interest in the child. It was she who had made the changeling, hair by hair, to be perfect, not only in face and form but close enough in mind so he could take up FitzRoy's place in the schoolroom, in his games with the other children, in his relationship with his nurse.
She had almost come to love that simulacrum. It had wrung her heart that the poor little thing must wither and die in the mortal world as the magic which fed and sustained him slowly faded and ebbed. Certainly she would not deliver his mortal model to the untender mercies of Vidal Dhu. It was enough that she was sacrificing her creation, that in the mortal world, Henry FitzRoy would die and be no rival to Princess Mary for the throne of England. Underhill, for her labor and her pain, Rhoslyn intended to keep the real Henry FitzRoy for herself.
Her eager waiting was not disappointed. Within a quarter hour, two tall guardsmen came down the stairs, one before and one behind a child whose features she knew better than her own. Her breath quickened with eagerness. For once, she would have a real reward, something she valued, in return for her labor in the service of Vidal Dhu. She would have a child, a child of her own!