Once Denoriel had made sure that the nurse would not wake, he approached the bed. Halfway there, he had to grit his teeth to force himself close enough to lift the bedcurtain. On the boy, the cross seemed to have even more power. He dared not touch Harry, but called softly to him until the boy turned and then sat up in the bed.
"Put the cross into the pouch," he whispered. "The cold iron hurts me."
Rubbing his eyes, but unquestioning, the boy did as he was told. For some reason that made Denoriel's guts lurch, but he didn't try to examine his anxiety at the moment. His mind was fixed on the unpleasant explanations he had to make. He dreaded telling the child about the need to wear the cross all the time and only put it into its pouch when he himself was near. But as soon as he said that, Harry looked at him with eyes that seemed much older than six and nodded. It was amazingly easy to explain about the use of the Iron Cross to FitzRoy.
"Evil fairies," he said. "I know about evil fairies. They're in all the stories too. As soon as Norfolk gave me the cross and said you had sent it, I knew. Do you think . . . is it because my father wants to make me his heir that the evil fairies are interested in me? Princes always have trouble with evil fairies and magicians."
"Likely," Denoriel said. He wouldn't lie to the boy.
Harry sighed. "I hope I never get to be a prince. But even if I do, you'll take care of me, won't you Lord Denno?"
"I'll do my best," Denoriel promised. "But you've got to watch out for yourself too. You have to wear the cross—you can wear it under your clothes so no one will ask why you're wearing an old iron cross every day. The only time you put it in the pouch is when I'm with you . . ."
As he said the words, Denoriel suddenly realized why his bowels had knotted when without a doubt Harry had put his cross away at his request. With a feeling of sick helplessness he saw that Harry's knowing him might be a fatal trap. His half-brother Pasgen looked enough like him to be a twin. That semblance could get Pasgen past the guards at the palace gate, and Harry's own guards would be relaxed and careless.
Unfortunately Pasgen was a tool of Vidal Dhu. Denoriel did not believe that his half-brother would harm a child, but at Vidal's order, he would certainly replace that child with a simulacrum and carry the child off to Vidal's domain. If Harry saw Pasgen, he would assume it was Denoriel, put his cross away, and become completely vulnerable.
"There's one problem," Denoriel said, and then his voice faltered. He could not say his own brother was an evil fairy. "Evil fairies can put on a seeming. You mustn't put your cross away just because someone looks like me."
Harry's eyes widened and filled with moisture. "If I can't trust you . . ." he quavered.
"That part is easy," Denoriel said, sitting on the bed beside him and giving him a hug. "We'll have a secret signal. Before you put the cross into its pouch, you will say 'Where were you on Tuesday?' and I will say 'At the docks, looking for my ship, The Nereid.' "
"But what if it is Tuesday?" The boy's eyes had brightened at the idea of playing this game.
"Ah, then we need two more passwords. It's a very good idea to have two or three things to say so people won't hear you ask me the same question each time I come to see you."
"I know. I can say 'Is that a new sword?' and you can say 'No, it's the one I had the day your ship got broken.' "
"That's good, Harry!" Denoriel grinned as he offered the heartfelt praise. "If you ask if the sword is new, someone who doesn't know the game would probably say yes. And saying it was the day the ship got broken . . . Hey-a-day, that's wonderful. Everyone knows about the fight, but the ship getting broken was only important to you."
"One more," the boy said.
"Will you be able to remember them all?"
FitzRoy sighed and screwed up his face. "After all the lessons Master Croke sets me to learn by heart. Yes, I'll remember."
Denoriel laughed. "Ah, yes. I'd forgotten that joy of childhood, learning lessons by rote. So, a third secret exchange . . . hmmm. Ask 'Which horse did you ride today, Lord Denno?' And I'll answer 'I rode Miralys.' I don't think anyone else knows the name of my horse"—Pasgen certainly did not know it—"so that will be safe."
FitzRoy grinned happily and repeated the three exchanges a couple of times. The last time, however, the smile disappeared from his face and his eyes rounded with worry again.
"But what do I do if the answer is wrong?" he asked.
"Leave the cross bare, be sure you stay far enough away so he can't grab you, but don't panic if he does because he'll let go right away—the cross will hurt him and he'll be surprised—and then you can run away."
"But if I run away from you . . . from someone who looks like you . . . I can't tell the guards it was an evil fairy, can I?"
Denoriel laughed. "No, you can't. Even if they didn't laugh, it would make them suspicious of me the next time I came. You can call back that your belly is grinding and you must go to the jakes . . . or any other excuse for leaving quickly. Then send down a message that you don't feel well and don't go out again."
FitzRoy thought that over, his face sober but no longer frightened. Denoriel was saddened. It wasn't right that a child should be so accepting of danger, so prepared to endure it. Mentally he cursed King Henry for endangering his son, and then laughed at himself. If Harry hadn't been involved in the succession, he would never have met the child. Had it been so short a time that he had railed at being a nursemaid?
"How will I let you know if the evil fairy comes?" the boy asked.
"By Our Lady, what would I do without you, Harry? You've got the wisdom for both of us. A poor fairy guardian I seem to be!"
FitzRoy giggled. "You're a very good fairy guardian—at least I'm sure Master Croke would say so. He is forever telling me I must apply what I learn. You don't do everything for me. You let me think up things for myself." He shook his head. "But I can't think of an answer to that question."
He smiled, glad that he was finally able to think of something else to add to FitzRoy's protections. "Aha! That's where fairy guardians have an advantage. We do have some helpful magic. Do you think your nurse would let you have a mouse as a pet?"
The child blinked at him. "A mouse?"
"Don't you like mice? Most boys do."
"I like mice, but nurse . . ." He shook his head. "No. Not a mouse. One got into the room and she screamed and screamed, even after it was caught."
Denoriel laid his hand on FitzRoy's shoulder, about to say he could manage the nurse but a dull ache started in his hand. Even shielded, the cold iron troubled him on close contact. He realized the boy had saved him from a serious mistake again—although this time without intending it. If Denoriel had brought a spirit of the air enchanted to look like a mouse and FitzRoy had touched it while wearing the unshielded cross, he might have killed the poor thing.
"All right," he said, "no mice. Do you think I could talk her into a kitten?"
FitzRoy wrinkled his nose again. "Her, sure. She'd like a kitten, but kittens are for girls!"
"That doesn't matter," Denoriel urged. "You won't be able to touch it while you're wearing the cross anyway, so you can pretend it's Nurse's kitten and just has taken to following you around. That will be all right, won't it? Norfolk won't be here tomorrow, so I'll come up to your room and talk to Nurse. I'm sure she'll keep the kitten."
"You're going to magic her, aren't you?"
The boy had a face full of mischief, and Denoriel suddenly had the feeling that he was going to request his nurse be enchanted into allowing him greater freedom. "That's enough of that, young man," he said, trying to look severe when he really wanted to hug the child tight for his quick mind and his courage. "What if someone heard you?"
"But what good will a kitten do?" Harry's eyes were bright with anticipation.
"Kittens can vanish—even quite ordinary kittens disappear whenever you want them for something—and my special kitten can not only vanish but it will be able to find me."
"Magic," the boy breathed, his eyes bright as stars. "But what if the bad fairy comes where I'm not allowed to take the kitten?"
Denoriel raised an eyebrow. "Kittens can get in anywhere. Just pretend not to see it—if you do see it. And tell Mary not to mention it either. Probably Lord Henry won't see it at all."
After a moment FitzRoy nodded and after another moment, he said softly, looking down at his fingers, "I know I'm a duke, and I'm supposed to be very clever and brave and protect my people, but will you give me another hug, Lord Denno?"
Denoriel swallowed and quickly shifted his position on the bed so that he could pull the child into his arms. He held the boy very tight for a moment and then loosened his grip but continued to hold the child against his shoulder, ignoring the ache the cold iron started in his bone and muscle. His throat was tight with tears. He knew FitzRoy was well cared for, but did anyone ever hold him, tell him he was loved? The nurse probably loved him dearly, but she probably also believed it would be presumptuous of her to tell her high-born charge that she loved him.
"I love you, Harry," Denoriel whispered.
His vision blurred. Holding the boy was almost like having a child of his own—a joy he would likely never know. His arms tightened and he kissed the child's silky hair.
It was as if the boy melted into his arms. FitzRoy rubbed his face against Denoriel's chest, sniffled a little, then sighed. Denoriel stroked his hair and, although the mage channels in his body burned and throbbed, he whispered a small spell of easy sleep and sweet dreams. But even when he knew Harry was asleep, he could not let go of the child. He himself almost fell into the resting state that served the Sidhe for sleep, holding the warm little body, but finally he stirred. He still had much to do if he was to finish the protections for FitzRoy.
He laid the boy down, broke the spell he had put on the nurse, restored the Don't-see-me spell on himself and stepped out into FitzRoy's sitting room. The guards still stood where he had left them, one guarding FitzRoy's bedroom door and the other just about to reach for the handle on the door to the corridor.
Although his mage channels were already raw and sore, Denoriel sought and found another ley line. Lightning coursed through him when he drew the power, and he bit a bloody gash in his lower lip to hold back a cry of pain. If only the Sidhe could endure the ravages of the magic of Overhill, they could be as strong in the mortal world as Underhill.
Strength had flowed through him with the pain, but he could not use it at first for it was almost as painful to use Overhill power as to drink it in. He thought it was worse this time than it had been the last. A sane elf would forget that power existed. Denoriel sighed. He could not chance that his strength would fail and his nighttime visit to Harry be exposed.
When he was steady, he opened the door to the corridor and stepped out, leaning back into the room to break the sleep spell on the guard near the bedroom door. As that guard blinked, he closed the door enough so that the hand of the guard reaching for the door just touched the handle. Quickly he touched both the outer door guards as he stepped between them to the other side of the corridor.
The door opened all the way. The inner room guard leaned out, saying, "Gerrit, did you open this door a couple of minutes ago?"
The man called Gerrit looked puzzled. "Of course not. Why would I . . ." He cocked his head. "Hmmm. I thought I heard a noise just before. Maybe I did open the door and look in."
"Good! That's a relief. I could swear I saw the door open, but no one came in. Right. Keep alert."
Denoriel sighed gently with relief and made his way to the room of the magicked window, then out the window and down the wall, across the garden, and out of the postern gate. Miralys, having sensed him coming, was waiting right there. And then they were in the copse at the crossroad and through the Gate where Denoriel chose the pattern that would take them to Elfhame Avalon.
The guards at Avalon Gate looked amazed at his finery, but the cold prickle of the identity spell acknowledged him. He asked if Aleneil had left and was told that she had not. In moments Miralys had him at his sister's door, and she was opening it as he dismounted, her eyes wide with worry. He realized then that it wasn't just his clothing that made the guards stare, it was the way he looked—exhausted at the least, and possibly in pain. One did not often see a Sidhe in pain Underhill.
"Are you hurt, Denoriel?" she cried the moment she saw him.
"No. Yes." He shook his head. "Oh, not seriously, I believe. I am just weary and aching from using Overhill power."
"Overhill power?" She stared at him, dumbfounded. "There is virtually no power in the mortal world."
Denoriel blinked. "Yes there is. You don't see it?"
She had backed away while he spoke to let him through the door and now she shut it behind him and gestured him through into her sitting room. Denoriel dropped into his favorite chair beside the settle; the luminous blue-green cushions reflected the delicate mother-of-pearl design and together seemed to cool and soothe his aching body.
"I never looked, and I am not so often in the mortal world as you."
"Most of the power is like a thin soup, but there are these bright lines within the soup and those . . ." He made a sound like someone who has taken a too-hot mouthful. Then he frowned. "I think they may be dangerous, and more dangerous the more you use them. I hurt more this time, and Underhill has not soothed me as well. I think I will have to go to Mwynwen. But that can wait. I must finish the protections for FitzRoy."
"Denoriel," she said very softly. "Do not . . . love him."
Denoriel looked down at his own long fingers, winding together. "It's too late," he murmured. "I held him in my arms, like my own child . . ."
She bit her lip. "That way lies only grief. An elf-child is forever, or nearly forever. A mortal is like the flower of a brief summer, he blossoms and is beautiful . . . and dies. Save only if he is brought here and kept here, with us, and that—you cannot do. He is the mortal king's son. To bring him here would be impossible."
There was a silence, after which Denoriel said, "I know, but right now my purpose is to keep him from being abducted and held prisoner in the Unseleighe Court."
She sighed. "I thought the cross would protect him from that."
"If FitzRoy is not befooled into covering it," he said doubtfully.
He told her quickly about visiting FitzRoy to explain about always wearing the cold iron cross unshielded, except when he was there, and his sudden realization of how easily Pasgen could be mistaken for him. He explained, too, the device they would use for recognition.
"But it is not enough," he said. "I think we need to know if an attempt is made to abduct the boy, and I cannot be there all the time. We need a messenger that can be disguised as a pet—I thought a kitten, a very elegant one who would wear a silver collar. Kittens are very clever about hiding, and it would be large enough and strong enough to follow the boy around without being carried."
Aleneil nodded slowly. "An air elemental would be best. They do not need Gates and they are merry-spirited."
"Also flitter-witted," Denoriel said dryly. "How long do you think an air spirit would stay with the boy?"
"Oh, I will put a spell in the collar that will keep it steady, and of course I will use one of the more sober ones and gain its interest and approval." She looked at Denoriel and shook her head. "Enough. You are starting to look transparent. Go to Mwynwen and let her heal you. I will let you know when the kitten is ready, and you can Gate to the proper time."
"No," Denoriel said, "I must go back and keep watch."
"For what?" Aleneil protested. "You say the attack on FitzRoy was not from the Unseleighe Court. We are not even sure they are aware of the boy."
"Yes, they are!" He explained about the Watch finding the attackers, one mindless and the other dead, on the front steps of the magician's house. "That can only mean someone stripped their minds to discover all they knew about Harry. They will build a simulacrum, abduct the boy, and leave the changeling in his place."
She was getting annoyed with him, something that rarely happened. "But what good can you do, exhausted and hurt as you are? I will find the proper air spirit and build the collar and the spell. Whatever they do in the time that takes will not matter because you will Gate back to before they acted."
"That doesn't help. You know it doesn't help. If I change the circumstances to prevent what they did, they will do something different, but the end result will be the same. I must go back at once!" he said, feeling tension building unbearably within him. "I cannot bear the thought of Harry held by Vidal Dhu."
"Denno," Aleneil cried.
In her distress she used the name of their childhood when she could not form all the syllables of Denoriel, but he only shook his head and levered himself out of the chair. The truth was that Denoriel did not know what he could do to prevent Pasgen from seizing Harry; in fact he could not imagine any way his half-brother could make the exchange of simulacrum for boy. However, he knew he could sense the presence of magic as Harry's guards could not and be prepared to protect the boy when they would not know he needed protection. He would do something.
Passage through the Gates seemed a bit more disorienting than usual, but Miralys carried him safely to Windsor. Denoriel was able to open the magicked postern gate, cast the Don't-see-me spell, and make sure that Harry was Harry by the simple expedient of being unable to approach the boy closer than about two feet. That meant he was wearing the iron cross. He was safe with Henry and Mary Howard and with his guards still close and alert, so Denoriel was free to make a round of the palace and the grounds where he could detect no Underhill influence.
At dusk, something did try to enter with a dark-clad messenger, but the crossed halberds of the gate guards—meant only to stop the messenger until he identified himself—drove it away. It was a harmless thing and nearly mindless, only meant to record what it saw and heard, so Denoriel did not pursue it. What it had seen and felt was just the information Denoriel wanted the Unseleighe Court to have—that Windsor was closely guarded. He followed the messenger into the palace, but the man only delivered his sealed packet to the steward and departed promptly.
Denoriel was now certain he did not dare leave Windsor, but he was growing more and more uncertain of his ability to protect Harry. The constant use of the Don't-see-me spell was draining him and the use of even that very small amount of magic was increasing the pain in his power channels. However, if what accompanied the dark-clad messenger had been an Unseleighe Sidhe and not a lesser thing, it would not have been driven away by the halberds. He shuddered, leaning against one of the trees that lined the long avenue, at the thought of confronting an Unseleighe Sidhe. But if he had to drink lightning again, he would, rather than risk Harry.
At full dark he abandoned the gate. When Norfolk was not in residence the gates were all locked at night and no one was permitted to enter. No matter how urgent the message, there was no one in Windsor with the power to act. Denoriel had realized he could not patrol all the walls. If something came over them, he could not stop it. The best place for him to be through the night was with Harry.
It was easy enough for Denoriel to get into the palace when the doors were opened for servants. He wandered through the many chambers and corridors, feeling for magic, but all he sensed was his own work on the window of the chamber near Harry's apartment.
His timing was good. Denoriel flattened himself against the corridor wall. Harry was just coming along with Henry and Mary and his guards to have his bread and milk and go to bed. He watched the children say their good-nights, and then followed the guard called Nyle into the outer room. The nurse was there, just pouring warmed milk into a bowl and crumbling in some soft, white bread. She smiled when the boy came in and asked some question about his day's activity, but she did not give him a welcoming kiss or smooth back his hair as a mother might have done . . . as Denoriel would have done, if he could have touched the boy.
He slipped into the bedchamber when the guard opened the door and watched, standing in a safe corner where no one would run into him, until the child was settled in his bed. When the nurse had finished her nightly chores, pulled out her trundle bed, and settled herself to sleep, Denoriel sank into a chair to watch and wait. He tried to rest but could not, partly because of the need to sense for magic and partly because, even this far from Harry, the ache of cold iron froze his bones. After a few hours, he moved the chair further from the bed.
The sun was just rising when a fluffy white kitten suddenly appeared in his lap. "Ah, you found me," he whispered.
:Found. Always find. Boy?:
Denoriel carried the kitten closer to the bed, but paused when it began to squirm in his arms and merely reached out to pull the bedcurtain aside so the spirit could see FitzRoy.
:Why hurt?:
"He must wear a cold iron cross to prevent any Unseleighe creature from touching him." Denoriel smiled. "The cross doesn't hurt him. He's mortal." He dropped the bedcurtain and moved away. "You don't have to go near him, only follow him and watch for any Unseleighe being—or any Sidhe. If you sense any Sidhe, come for me." After all, he had been assigned at Oberon's orders to guard this boy. There was no reason for any other Sidhe to come near Harry.
Most of the time it was not easy for the lesser creatures of Underhill to determine whether an elf was dark or light. The magic of the guardians of the Gates in Elfhame Avalon could identify the Unseleighe, but Denoriel doubted that the spirit of the air could do so. It did not matter. No other Sidhe of the Seleighe Court was involved with FitzRoy and if someone who was merely curious came, he wanted to be here to make sure no harm was done by carelessness.
Relief followed by more anxiety swept over Denoriel. The more sensible part of him told him all that was left for him to do was to deliver the kitten. Deep within cold fear lingered. Those men's minds had not been racked apart without purpose—and that purpose was to build a changeling to replace Harry FitzRoy. Denoriel found himself trembling so violently he had to sit down and fight to control the pain that tore at him. Fool, he said to himself, what protection could you give the child weak and nearly blind with pain as you are.
So he waited impatiently for the sun to rise, for the nurse and the guards to take up their morning duties and move around so he could get out. He told himself over and over that it was impossible for anyone to abduct Harry any time during the morning. His schedule was too fixed and he was continuously in the company of many besides his guards. Henry and Mary would be with him as well as Master Croke, his tutor, who knew of the attack and was no fool. Denoriel slipped away when the night and day guards exchanged duties. Miralys was waiting and he had only to Gate to Logres.
A good meal and a few hours of rest Underhill restored him enough to look like his usual self when he arrived openly at the main gate of the palace in late morning, carrying a large wicker basket. Although the gate guards were about to let him pass, he opened one of the wooden flaps that closed the basket to show the fluffy white kitten.
"For the nurse," he said. "She is still sadly shaken and reluctant to allow poor Richmond to go out at all. That is bad for the boy and reminds him of the attack on him. I hope the little animal will divert her attention. But do pass the word so if anyone sees the kitten they won't put it out of palace grounds."
Not that being put out would have kept the air spirit out, but Denoriel did not want any attention fixed on the seeming animal. If it were known to be a resident of the palace and free of the grounds, no one would notice it and remember its doings or talk about them. The last thing Denoriel wanted was for his half-brother to learn from gossip that an animal with strange abilities was following Harry around.
He was still hero enough in the guard's eyes to gain instant agreement and he rode on to the stable where he put Miralys in a stall. The stable boys were aware of the horse's supposed foul temper and would leave the elvensteed alone. The house guards also welcomed him, but told him he was too early and that Richmond was still with his tutor.
Denoriel nodded, and said he knew it, that he had come with a present for the boy's nurse. He showed the kitten, which now opened its blue eyes and stared at the guards, and he asked them not to lock it out if it got outside. Both laughed and agreed that it did not seem to be much of a threat and promised not to bar its entrance.
"And I hope it catches any mice that get into His Grace's rooms," one said. "Last time that nurse nearly screamed the whole building down. She'll like to have a kitten as long as His Grace of Norfolk don't object."
Denoriel smiled. "I think I have credit enough still to gain permission for her to keep a kitten. And it will not be here very long. Do you not move to Yorkshire soon?"
"Don't know if we're goin', milord. His Grace keeps his own council."
He nodded sympathetically and moved across the entrance toward the stair. The men returned their attention to the outer paths to the door. His interview with the nurse about the kitten was very short indeed. She welcomed the advent of the little animal and accepted without any question his assertion that he had brought it because FitzRoy had told him of her fear of mice.
Having to brace his body against a shudder of pain when he reinforced the small spell that would keep her from ever questioning FitzRoy's wearing of the cold iron cross, was a reminder of his vulnerability. He settled deeper into his chair, ostensibly to wait for FitzRoy but really because he was not sure he could stand. However he soon realized he could make use of his weakness, and began to extract from the nurse all the information she had about when they would leave for Yorkshire and how they would travel.
She did not yet have a definite date for their departure or certain information about who would be in charge of the move, but he did learn enough to be able to plan arrangements to meet with his northern factor at a time when it would be most safe and convenient for him to travel with FitzRoy's party. He had a whole variety of excuses. It was cooler in the north in July. He wished to examine the flocks himself so he could fix a price in advance. He would be carrying gold to seal his bargains and would need the protection of the boy's guards.
To his delight, when FitzRoy returned to his room for a nuncheon after his lessons, the boy said accusingly to Denoriel, "Where were you on Tuesday, Lord Denno? I thought you were coming to see me then."
"I was down at the docks, looking for my ship, The Nereid," Denoriel replied. "Did I forget to tell you that His Grace of Norfolk is interested in my carpets? I thought if the ship was in, I could bring some for him to look at, but it hasn't arrived."
"Business," FitzRoy said with a sniff, turning away so he could slip the cross into its pouch. When he turned back he added, "Power is in the land, Master Croke says."
"Yes, Your Grace," Denoriel agreed, laughing, "but money can buy land . . . and power."
"Look, Your Grace," the nurse put in, pointing to the basket in a safe corner, "Lord Denno brought me a kitten to keep away the mice."
The little white cat obligingly popped its head over the edge of the basket, but came no nearer. FitzRoy looked at it and then up at Denoriel; there was a darkness behind his eyes. Denoriel understood. The boy thought that having his guard in place, Denoriel would leave him in its care.
"Kittens are for girls," Harry said.
The nurse laughed. "I'm a girl," she said. "And since he was so kind as to bring me a present, would you like to invite Lord Denno to have a nuncheon with you?"
"Yes!" FitzRoy exclaimed, his eyes lightening a little. "Can you stay, Lord Denno?"
It was an effort for Denoriel not to groan aloud. His nearness to the cold iron, even for only a few minutes, was still an icy pain in his bones, in his gut, everywhere under his skin—except where his power channels burned and throbbed. He needed to get to Mwynwen, but he could not let Harry think he would be abandoned.
Denoriel nodded, trying to reassure the boy that there would be more hugs, more assurances of affection, when they were alone. But all he could say in the nurse's presence was, "Until dusk, at least. I have promised to visit a friend in this area tonight, but I am free until then. Shall we go out into the garden?"
"No," Harry said, "let's stay here. We can play some games—and, and it looks like rain."
Denoriel did not think it looked like rain. He thought Harry just did not want to share his company with the other children. He suspected that Harry had had some sad experiences as assigned guardians of whom he had become fond were transferred to other duties. He could not tell the poor child that fairy guardians could not be reassigned—because, well, he was there to protect Harry because there really was danger, and Denoriel might be hurt and another sent in his place. If he were forced into a confrontation with Pasgen or some other denizen of the Unseleighe Court, he might be long in healing.
The nurse had this and that to do in the bedchamber so there were times when he and Harry were alone except for the guards. Sotto voce, Denoriel promised that the kitten was only an extra safety factor, that Lord Denno would visit as often as Norfolk would permit. And once, when Harry made a very clever move in the game of backgammon they were playing while the nurse was in the bedchamber, he was able to lean across and say, "I do love you, as if you were my own little brother, Harry. I'll not desert you, and I shall come whenever I can."
The child lit up like a stage at performance time, and the assurances seemed to have taken hold. When Denoriel finally rose to go as the light started to fail, FitzRoy saw him off with a cheerful wave, to the evident satisfaction of the nurse.
However, the extra hours in close proximity to the cold iron, even shielded, had done him no good. Denoriel needed all the power of his will to move with his usual grace instead of creeping about bent and trembling like an old man. Fortunately once he was astride Miralys he needed to make no further effort. The elvensteed took him directly to Mwynwen where he fell off his mount into the healer's arms, barely conscious.
Later—he did not know how much later—Denoriel became fully aware. "The spirit!" he cried. "Did the spirit come for me, the little white kitten?"
"No one came for you," Mwynwen snapped. "And I would like to know what you think you could have done in the state you were?"
Denoriel sat up in bed and breathed . . . without pain! Of course, that was not all Mwynwen had to say.
No, indeed, she had quite a bit to say on the subject of how he had abused his body. At length, and in detail, truly leaving him with his metaphorical tail between his legs and his ears pinned back. Still, he considered the cost of a sound scolding a cheap enough price for Mwynwen to draw the ache of cold iron from his body.
The searing of his power channels, however, was to prove more difficult to remedy than his exhaustion.
And it took longer than he liked.
For one thing, Mwynwen had never seen—or rather, felt—the condition before, and withdrew from him in haste when she touched the burning pain. For another, Denoriel was unable to describe exactly what he had done to absorb the power or what it was like, beyond telling her it was like being struck by lightning. She persuaded him to remain with her for another day or so only with the greatest of difficulty.
Finally she consulted one of the oldest healers, one who had helped in the founding of Elfhame Logres, and loved her work so much she was not tempted to drift away into Dreaming. Ceindrych remembered when the Magus Majors who had built the domain out of the chaos of the unformed drew too hard and fast on their power and that of Underhill and burnt themselves. From her Mwynwen learned the techniques and spells for restoring burnt power channels.
But even so, the healing took time and Denoriel did not feel that he could afford that time. He fought her spells—injuring himself further—so he could visit FitzRoy to be sure the boy was safe, to be sure the kitten had not lost interest and flitted away.
Exasperated, Mwynwen bespelled his anxiety to subside. It was stupid, she thought, for him to delay his recovery by constant fear. If the air spirit brought word that Denoriel was needed, she would break the spell. Until then, she would keep him with her.
They enjoyed each other's company . . . yet it was not the same as it had been between them before Denoriel had taken on his mission to the mortal world. He found that the light gossip about dress and changing relationships within the Elfhame, the news of minor outrages committed by the Unseleighe and the plans to punish and prevent further mischief, no longer had the power to bind his attention. Despite Mwynwen's spell, although with lesser intensity, he worried about Harry and longed to hold the child again.
Although Mwynwen warned him even more straitly than Aleneil of the danger of caring for a mortal, she could not resist listening hungrily to his descriptions of the boy. She even shared his anxiety about keeping FitzRoy safe and suggested warding spells he could use. However, it was only the child that interested her, and nothing else in the world of mortals. Beyond asking Denoriel to be sure to record any healing spell he came across, Mwynwen found the doings of humans coarse and dull.
But even Denoriel's delight in Mwynwen could not now diminish his interest in life in the mortal world. At first what he had done had only been to give verisimilitude to his cover story about a great trading empire. Thus, he had purchased a ship and trade goods through his connection with Elfhame Csetate-Boli. Through Elfhame Melusine, he had hired factors in France. In England, he had personally hired factors, sold a cargo, considered what new cargo to purchase for trade through connections he was making with Elfhames near Persia and India where rugs and tapestries such as he had discussed with Norfolk were made. He was immersing himself more and more in the affairs of mortal men.
And so, inevitably it seemed, distance began to come between Denoriel and Mwynwen—not a coolness; they were still fond, the union of their bodies still brought joy to each, but neither was so absorbed in the other as he and she had been in the past. And one day, Mwynwen did not protest when Denoriel said he must go and visit Harry. Partly that was because she had done all she could and Denoriel was almost totally recovered, but partly it was because she felt just the faintest shade of relief to hear no more about Overhill and be alone in her house again.
Before he left, Mwynwen warned Denoriel that his fear about the use of Overhill magic had been correct. He could use it, but he would suffer for it, and the more he used it, the longer and more uncertain his healing would be. At best he would be in considerable pain for a long time—at worst he would burn out his power channels and be dead to magic, even Underhill—perhaps he would even be reduced to a mortal.
Even so, just before he turned to go out the door to mount Miralys, who was waiting, she put a hand on his arm and bade him bring her news of FitzRoy—so sweet a child, she said, longing in her eyes, for with all her lovers and all her healing powers she had never conceived. Then she broke the spell that had dulled Denoriel's fear.
Terror seized him again and anger too as he realized what she had done. Denoriel hardly thanked her for her care. He was free of physical pain and able to use magic again without agony, but his anxiety for FitzRoy tightened his throat and knotted his gut. He remembered that he had checked on the spirit of the air, but had he checked often enough? Had some Unseleighe Sidhe deflected or even destroyed the white kitten? There was no time Underhill. Had the boy felt he was forgotten? How long had he been under Mwynwen's care?