This Scepter'd Isle (21 page)

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.