Blood of Avalon

by ellennar

AU for DMC, AWE, & ST Cannon for CotBP - A tale in which Will's search for the father he never knew brings Jack face to face with his own past.

25. For the Sake of a Rose

My profound apologies for being so late and I must confess this chapter is going to run into a 3rd section. The good news is I already have 9 pages of it written so hopefully I'll be able to post the conclusion of this chapter soon….

Virtual cookies to anyone who can spot the Methos quote….

Blood of Avalon: Chapter 15 (part 2): For the Sake of a Rose

I blinked "Have I given you any cause to doubt me, my Lord? Have I not served you well and faithfully both in the court and the suppression of the monasteries? Tell me which of your retainers has done as much for you in ten years as I have done in less than three? I must confess I am wounded that you doubt my allegiance, how have I failed thee, Master?"

Skeffington didn't like the reminder that I had become the most prized jewel in Cromwell's crown. Sullen jealousy crept through his enaid. He would like nothing better than the chance to have me in his 'care' again. How was I to keep the Poles alive and my own hide intact?

"You have not yet delivered the Countess of Salisbury and her get into my hand."

I glanced at him "I thought you said we had time. You need at least a pretext lest the other lords become too nervous. I very much doubt the King wants yet another rebellion on his hands." I didn't say 'you wouldn't survive it', I didn't need to.

"I expected that you would present me with my pretext long ere now. I have been quite disappointed that your forays into Lord Montague's home have failed in their promise. A wise man would do as he has been bid."

"I merely have my Master's best interests at heart. Do you really think that the peers will except his testimony as valid?" Every family has its less than stellar members and Geoffrey was the Poles. Reginald was brilliant, naïve, but brilliant, Lord Montague was the ideal of what lords SHOULD be but so rarely are, and Geoffrey was the 'bad boy' of the family, except he was too good to do it well and was generally considered extremely incompetent. If Geoffrey Pole claimed that rain was wet it would be double checked and Cromwell knew it. My Lord Privy Seal was nothing if not cautious, he crafted his plans carefully and this snatch of Sir Geoffrey stank of a desperation for which I could find no explanation.

"And I find it insulting that you think me so poor a torturer as to give me such tender meat" and I WAS insulted. Any sap who started whimpering when the worst that had been done to him was a touch of manhandling and a bag over his head was a waste of my valuable time. Time I could be using to inspire rest of the Poles to flee except that none of them would budge without Geoffrey. Bugger all.

"I think the young 'gentleman' doth protest too much, let me reminded the maggot of his place" Skeffington growled.

"I am always ready to serve and to learn, since the meat is so tender might I try something….different on him?" Most importantly something that would leave him ready to run should I manage to engineer an opportunity.

"So long as you have better results than you have at Lord Montague's" Cromwell said before leaving. Skeffington eyed me speculatively.

"What are you up to, maggot?"

"Patience is a virtue" I retorted as I began to plan.

"And under NO circumstances is he to be allowed to sleep" I told the guard in front of me. I'd picked ones that I'd cowed long ago and whose terror of me I could count on to keep them properly obedient. Skeffington followed me like an oversized shadow his own ire growing. He hadn't really realized until today that at some point I had stopped being his 'wild child' and Cromwell's 'little pet' but had become something of a power in my own right, not on their par, not yet, but it wouldn't be long. I had a wonderful career in front of me and bringing down the Poles would be an excellent feather in my proverbial cap except I didn't WANT this particular feather. I was about to risk my career and my life for these people and I had no idea why. Cromwell had taught me that friendship was a myth, fear and respect were the best anyone could hope for, that it was far better to be feared than loved, and family was to be exploited. So why? Because I didn't want him to be right. Having met Milady Latimer and the Poles I wanted to believe that there was genuine kindness in the world and loyalty and friendship. This was the test and if the Poles should fail…

"No sleep, ohh I'm so terrified" Skeffington's mocking tones interrupted my ruminations.

"It's a prelude" I retorted, unruffled and smooth, oh, but he didn't like that, he was used to everyone but Cromwell and the King cringing in his presence. "What is the first rule of great drama? Start small and build." I bowed, slightly mockingly, "Now, if you will pardon me I am for my bed, so that I might be well rested when I am ready to begin."

"Not so fast, maggot. My Lord Privy Seal commands that you sleep in the Salt Tower chamber tonight."

I already knew I was under suspicion but this was a harsh blow. I kept all of my unease from my face though and said lightly "If our lord commands it who am I to argue?"

Skeffington shadowed me all the way to the windowless stone chamber that had been my prison when I was first brought to Cromwell by the elf whose arm I had savaged. I hadn't set foot in it in the two years since I'd been declared 'tame' enough for public appearances. I had sworn I'd never willingly enter it again but fighting now would do neither the Poles nor I any good. As Cromwell was fond of saying, there is an opportune moment for everything. Better to yield now so as to lull suspicions.

From the flicker of candlelight before Skeffington had locked the door behind me with a grin had revealed a chamber essentially unchanged from my earlier stay. Just enough light seeped in around the frame of the door for me to barely see though no human could have. I turned and glared at the door. It had no lock for me to pick since the entire mechanism was seated in the front of the 6 inch thick oak as were the hinges. I suppose I should have been flattered. I had the most secure cell in the entire Tower. I briefly considered laying down on the musty straw pallet but I was agitated, worried, and angry and now that neither Skeffington nor Cromwell's eyes were on me I gave in to pacing. I tried to stop recalling Cromwell's warnings that if I could not master myself in private how could I ever expect to in public but I was far too restless to settle and there was nothing for me to focus on. It wasn't until my forty-third lap of the room that I noticed that there WAS something different about the chamber. The stones were for lack of a better term, whispering. In the torture chambers below the White Tower the walls literally howled but I had thought that was a just all of the blood raising its voice but this very clearly wasn't born of blood, at least not directly. I paused and focused, 'listening' very, very hard. The stones THEMSELVES were speaking. They hadn't done that last time I had been in here…or I hadn't been able to hear them then? Cromwell had said I might develop other abilities as I grew and I was to inform him of them immediately.

I had wanted to keep my sparrow a secret so I hadn't mentioned healing it. I had proven that healing him was no fluke though. There was a horse in the stable that no longer had a broken leg and I had rescued the smallest of Mitsy's kittens after she had been mauled by one of the hunting hounds. I felt my lips curl as I remembered…

I whirled ears pricked to the screeching yowl of a panicked cat and the baying of a pleased dog. I was off before Henry even heard much less reacted. I grabbed the mangy monstrosity by the top of his throat, right where the jaw meets the neck. I don't 'speak' to dogs any more than I 'speak' to birds but I can certainly make myself understood and the dog went from overjoyed at his prowess to pissing himself in a heartbeat. I threw it, knowing from long experience with the Tower's dogs that I would have no more trouble. Then I got a good look at the kitten and swallowed. The sparrow's wounds had been a few simple punctures that had pierced no vital organs, the mare's leg had been broken but the bones were still largely in place, this, this was a mess. You couldn't be a good assassin or torturer without knowing anatomy. How can you kill if you don't know where to strike? How can you inflict maximum pain without killing the prisoner too soon without knowing what a body can take? Cats hadn't really featured in any of the lessons given by Skeffington or Sadler but anyone could tell the fur ball was not long for this world. Henry was swiftly approaching but wasn't close enough yet to see how bad it really was. Using my knowledge of anatomy and the healing skills I still wasn't completely certain I really possessed I did as much as I could as quickly as I could making certain to leave a Shadow of a few minor wounds to explain the blood.

She shivered, not really awake and still a bit shocky and curled up tight against me just as Henry followed closely by his father, Lord Montague arrived.

"Are you hurt, child?"

Normally I would have bristled at that but Lord Montague seemed so genuinely worried that a completely different emotion for which I had no word welled up. I shook my head.

"I'm fine."

He nodded, his normal, stiff-as-a-board posture reasserting itself "It was very brave of you, my young lord, but the hound might have torn you asunder"

This time I did bristle. Something must have flickered in my eyes because he glanced at the still cowed wolfhound and back at me with a touch of fear in his own eyes "Or perhaps not. To defend those within your care is the first and most important duty of any lord. We are called to serve and protect." His glance shifted to the blood on the ground in front of me "Though, sadly, we do not always succeed."

I flicked my ears back, failure was not an option. "She'll be alright" I said shifting just a little to reveal the sleeping kitten.

For being such a big man he took the kitten very gently, eyes sad "It might be better for her if we"

"She's FINE, too" I interrupted and right on cue she stirred a little, licked his hand, yawned, and snuggled against him. He probed her gingerly and then flashed me a surprised smile. Lord Montague didn't smile often. It was one of the things the King had against him. The King liked his courtiers to at least pretend they were merry even when they weren't. Lord Montague was far too serious, restrained, and formal for his taste.

"I hate to encourage you, lest you bite off more than you can chew, but that was well done, lad, very well done."

Henry had said right and wrong were written on the heart and this was the first time that I had ever believed it. I had liked killing Culpeper but saving the kitten felt even better because not only had I liked it but it was right. Henry grinned at me like he was a proud papa.

"Since you saved her you're responsible for her now."

"I can't, cats make My Lord Privy Seal sneeze."

"Do they?" Henry looked intrigued by that bit of intelligence.

"Henry" there was a warning note in Lord Montague's voice "Do nothing rash, young sir." His gaze grew stern "Either of you. The kitten remains here."

Henry took the kitten; she made a half-hearted sleepy protest.

"So what are you going to name her?"

I considered what she looked like when she wasn't covered in blood and dog spit. The longer top coat was mostly dark grey with a few tan patches while the shorter, woolly undercoat was a paler grey, "Cinders"

I shook off the pleasant of the afternoon at the Poles. If I didn't think of something brilliant soon there would be no more Poles. So, the stones. Could the stones help me somehow?

I started at the sound of the six heavy bolts that held the great oak door being turned, had the night passed so swiftly?

"No sleep for you either, maggot?" Skeffington looked pleased with the thought. I was being hunted, not as obviously as with Her but hunted all the same. One slip and Skeffington would be on me like a hound on a kitten. "You wouldn't be trying to escape, would you?"

I gave him my most guileless look, "Our lord ordered me to spend the night here, why would I attempt to escape? I was merely working on a task for him and lost track of the time."

He wasn't sure if he should believe me or not.

"Unfortunately I did not finish but now I must deal with Sir Geoffrey Pole."

Narrowed eyes "Then let us see how well you've learned the lessons that count, maggot."

Sir Geoffrey Pole looked far worse for his sleepless night than I did. He trembled in both body and enaid, fear doing more damage than the rack might do to a stauncher soul.

You know Will, for a man who never saw an enaid you have a rare gift for seeing souls. You said 'Cowards die many times before their deaths but the valiant never taste of death but once'. When it comes to the torture chamber truer words have never been spoken. This not to say that the brave do not break under torture, far from it, but cowards break themselves before the torturer even begins his work. To give Geoffrey his due he did better than many I saw latter. Even as the 'bad boy' of the family he still had a bone deep loyalty to his mother and brothers and he fought not to betray them despite his own fear. And to be fair no one ever held out long against what I did to Geoffrey. I didn't mean to shatter him, Will, I was just trying to play for time and in a way, I got it.

"A feather bed? You want a feather bed, silk, and sheep's skin. You're a bit young to pleasure the truth out of him, maggot, and the wrong sex even if you were of age, even as pretty as you are."

It isn't easy to look down one's nose at someone nearly twice one's own height but I managed. "That is NOT my intent" I let a hint of a challenge thread through my voice "I would have thought someone as innovative as you would be intrigued by the idea of something new. Who knows you might even add something to your 'toys'."

He snorted "Feather beds and silk? Not likely, maggot. And you would do well to remember that our Lord expects results, soon. Are you certain that you want to try something…creative?"

I turned to the men who where manhandling Sir Geoffrey "Lay him on the feather bed and spread him as if for peine forte et dure but do not stretch him enough to hurt. Cushion the manacles with the sheep skin and cover him with silk. I want him as comfortable as possible." I had ordered Wind to wrap him in silence so he would be ignorant of what was being done to him. He tossed his head desperately trying to rid himself of the dark, burlap bag that had kept him more than half blind since Cromwell's goons had brought him here. I dismissed the men leaving Skeffington and I the only ones in the room. Now that there were no other eyes to see I called the thickest, darkest of Shadows, ripped the mask off and left him in absolute silence and darkness. I had chosen one of the less 'fragrant' cells and bound as he was his sense of touch would be nearly useless as well. It occurred to me that floating him in water might do a better job than the feather bed. I stepped away brushing up against the wall as I did so. In the silence of the room the whisper of stone was quite loud, utterly unintelligible, but loud now that I didn't have Wind constantly whispering in my ears. I could see Sir Geoffrey's lips moving but there was no sound in the room's unnatural silence. He tried to thrash against his bonds but they were too snug for him to move. It didn't take long for him to begin panting and screaming in earnest though again there was no sound which only added to his terror. Skeffington watched in rapt fascination while I went back to trying to comprehend the language of stone. It wasn't long though before Sir Geoffrey's rapidly deteriorating condition pulled me away from my frustration.

Bloody sodding hell, I thought as I looked at him. His enaid was crumbling in on itself and you could see his heart leaping in his chest fit to burst. I dispelled the Shadow and broke the silence. I shushed Wind as I knelt beside Sir Geoffrey.

"Geoffrey" I barked at him but he kept screaming into space, locked in some private horror, driven there by the combination of his own fear and my magic. I slapped him, hard. He blinked and then began keening.

"Interesting, maggot" I could tell Skeffington had meant to sneer but there was too much new found respect in his voice for him to quite pull it off "The concept is obviously sound but your technique needs refining. And a word to the wise, you should never try something new on an important prisoner."

He knelt on the edge of the feather bed to get a better look at Sir Geoffrey whose keening had at least become less strident. There was a flicker of something human in his eyes now and I kept mummering soothing nonsense to him, trying to draw it back to the surface.

"Hmm" Skeffington prodded Sir Geoffrey a bit. He tried to curl up reflexively. I quickly undid his bonds and he immediately rolled into a ball.

"Congratulations, milord, in your habitual precociousness you broke your first prisoner in record time. Went a bit too far," he glanced at me, "don't fret. We've other ways of trapping the Poles if this one is too far gone and Cromwell will be pleased to know we've another way of loosing men's tongues that leaves no mark on the flesh. You just need to be a bit more restrained. You have the knack, milord you just lack the practice."

I was stunned. Skeffington had never treated me with anything but contempt and the back of his hand. Three months ago and I would have been elated. Now, I merely had the consolation that, for now at least, Sir Geoffrey Pole wouldn't be betraying his family. I didn't think he was going to stay like this for long though, already I could see things settling and stabilizing. I couldn't be certain but I was willing to wager that he would be talking again in a day or two and that he would say anything to avoid a repeat of this.

Skeffington snapped some orders to the men waiting outside and then actually smiled at me. I hadn't known he knew how to do that, sneer, leer, and grimace, certainly, but smile? Of course it still wasn't a smile like Milady Latimer, Henry, or Lord Montague's, there was something dark and twisted in it and he was clearly eager to discuss his trade with me.

We wandered down into the dark chambers under the White Tower and I listened to the twisted stones. These I could understand as they whispered about pain and despair. Why could I comprehend what these were saying and not the others? He caressed his rack lovingly before sitting on it and motioning for me to join him.

"I have been looking for suitable apprentice, milord. And you have just proven you have the knack even if you lack the love for it I was hoping for given your breeding."

"You flatter me above my worth."

Again the twisted smile "We will do great things together. If you acquire a bit more of taste for the work you might even surpass me one day."

I trailed behind him as he waxed eloquent on the joys of reducing men's spirits to wreckage. I really wanted to ask what he meant about 'my breeding' but I knew better to interrupt. Wind kept me updated on Sir Gregory (drooling) while I got a much more in depth lesson in the theories of torture as opposed to just observing like I usually did. Long before he was ready to finish I had to go for my lessons with Aschem.

A mild dose of on of Sadler's herbs ensured that Master Aschem would have no desire to chide me over my handwriting. Having cleverly carved out some 'free' time I slipped swiftly through the London streets intent on reaching Lord Montague's where the Poles would go down to the docks and depart for the Continent if I had to tie them up and drag them there.

I came around a corner and found myself face to face with My Lord Privy Seal just as Wind blew me word that Skeffington was behind me.

'Lovely timing' I whispered sarcastically. I was well and truly trapped between My Lord Privy Seal and his men in front and Skeffington and company behind. If I had had only myself to worry about I might have bolted but there were the Poles to consider. Perhaps I could still salvage the situation with wit if neither magic nor flight would serve.

"Young Lord Tallyrand what are you doing here?"

"Master Aschem isn't feeling well. Since I…damaged Sir Geoffrey I thought I might try to redeem my error by searching Lord Montague's again."

He applauded lightly "You have talent, boy, there's no denying that but you aren't half as good yet as you think you are. Don't add insult to injury. It wasn't my eyes you were endeavoring to redeem yourself in." He looked past me. "He's your meat. Be very certain you teach him that it doesn't pay to be a traitor." Those bull dog eyes went back to me "You can't escape me, boy. Elves older and more knowledgeable than you have granted me your leash."

I didn't even let myself think it until Skeffington, his men, and I were nearly to the Tower – Cromwell was a dead man walking.

Skeffington tsked as he sorted through his toys. I was a great deal smaller than what he was used to dealing with and that was presenting a touch of a challenge in terms of proper hardware. Given that I was personally in no rush to begin my first hand lesson in the proper breaking of a traitor this suited me quite well. I was on the other hand determined not to be a whimpering little git like Sir Geoffrey.

"What were you thinking?" he asked as he tested a set of shackles. "Did you really think that good, decent, God-fearing nobles like the Poles would look on you with anything but contempt if they knew what kind of monster you really are? And I don't mean the pointy ears and dragon's eyes. You're like me boy." He'd finally located a set of restraints he thought could be modified to fit. "Not quite as twisted yet, but you were born bad, it's in your blood, no help for it. And I've seen you after a kill." He tightened the bonds and leaned over me so that we were eye to eye "Kindred spirits" he brushed a deceptively gentle hand across my face "I'm going to enjoy breaking you. Then to make certain that you've been purged of these foolish notions you've picked up I'm going to teach you the fate that awaits all good, decent, God-fearing nobles. Because good and decent is WEAK" he spat a little as he said it "And in this world the weak get devoured by the strong. But you won't have to worry about that because when I'm done with you you'll be ready to embrace your true nature and you are going to be magnificent" He picked up the device known as his 'daughter' "This is just hardware, you are going to be my greatest creation." His hot breath caressed my cheek as the realization struck like a lightening bolt. I had failed and the Poles were going to die because Skeffington was right, the good, the kind, and the decent didn't stand a chance against people like Cromwell. I had failed because I'd been trying to play by the wrong rules, the Poles' rules. The only way people like the Poles had a chance was if someone like me was willing to defend them on a level playing field with people like Cromwell.

It's a very slippery slope, Will the Mallory-in-the-carchar wrote. It isn't an easy thing to embrace the dark while fighting for the light. A few times I tried to walk away from it and be good and kind but there was always someone who needed saving. And far too often, as to my shame you will see, I slid down that slope and became a worse monster than those I fought. I am not a 'good man' Will though I do hope that I learned enough in my youth to be a good king when I get out of here. Henri would fight me tooth and nail about this but the truth is the only thread of hope the good of this world has is if the dark ultimately destroys itself. And I bind myself and my darkness to this by the Blood in my veins, when I get out of here I will find a way to destroy these monsters of my sire's that prey on that which is good and decent in Avalon and a curse on me if I fail or ally with them!

Of course at not-yet-six I had no idea the difficulties and the heartache I was flinging myself into. My entire focus was on not letting Skeffington really break me while making him believe that he had. I've never been terribly good at that. To proud I suppose in the end though it was there in the Tower with Skeffington that I truly came to understand the mind game that torture really is and made the first stumbling steps at learning how to beat it. We also made the mutual discovery that I'm fireproof which fascinated Cromwell and left Skeffington scrambling for alternative methods, but Skeffington was always good at improvising. While I was experimenting with speaking to Earth (without much success) and manipulating fire (with TOO much success) between bouts on the rake Geoffrey Pole was slowly putting enough of himself back together to be coherent.

I pretended to be engrossed with the little flame I'd been playing with as Skeffington practically swaggered into the cell.

"The hunt for your friends is almost up, maggot. You stopped too soon in your little game with Sir Geoffrey. He's talking again and he's telling us everything we'd ever wanted to know."

I glanced up at him defiantly. A fortnight of pain had taught me NOT to fear Skeffington, personally. He wasn't going to kill me, he wasn't going to do permanent harm; I was simply too valuable, anything less than those I could endure. I was beginning to wonder why I had ever feared him.

"He's lying" I shrugged "You know it, I know it, Cromwell knows it, the Poles are innocent. The White Rose Conspiracy is an excuse to commit judicial murder, nothing more."

Skeffington leaned against the wall, appraising me. I would have thought my continued defiance would anger him, instead it intrigued him, I had become a puzzle to be solved more than a challenge to be smashed. He still intended to break me he was just considering his next move and I was enjoying the lull between sessions on the rack.

"Cromwell wants me to get you ready for a reunion with your friends" he flicked his wrist and whatever it was in his hands jingled. It was his 'daughter'. We hadn't been formally 'introduced' yet since she was far more lethal than the rack.

"How many turns?" I asked with what I personally thought was a fair degree of nonchalance.

"That depends on you."

I had to admit as blood oozed up from my nail beds, Skeffington's lass was a handy little device. I tried to concentrate on what Wind was saying to ignore the pain, but this little gadget of Skeffington's was BRUTAL. Worse than a flogging, worse than being beaten with bull pricks, worse than the rack. I felt a scream welling up and I used my healing talents to fuse my jaw shut. Skeffington was NOT going to get a sound out of me.

"Oh, lad" Lord Montague's voice sounded as sad as the lament of a crucifix angel "I told you not to do anything rash."

"RHYS!"

That would be Henry. Impressive bellow, had his voice started changing?

"LET HIM GO! You good for nothing blacksmith's bastard" I looked up as Henry's hands fumbled with the latches before the guards pulled him off.

He fought with them but he hadn't been trained the way I had. He'd been trained for jousting and formal dueling not the dirty moves that would get you loose when four men twice your size held your arms.

"Do you enjoy torturing children?" Lord Montague snapped, frostily, voice dripping contempt while still maintaining that stiff dignity of his.

"I enjoy teaching traitors the error of their ways, regardless of their age. The boy was caught trying to warn you and since you are an attained traitor on his way to the block" Skeffington shrugged. "It will stop when he breaks and repents his error. Not a moment before" Skeffington sauntered over and lifted Henry's chin "Will you be as wise as your uncle, Sir Geoffrey, or will you have a stiff neck like your friend?"

Henry just stared at me "Let him go, you're killing him." He turned his gaze to Skeffington "What does it matter if you break him if you kill him in the process?"

"Don't worry about your friend, boy, worry about yourself. Take him, the boys stay here but make certain they have a good view. Normally this would be on Tower Hill for the crowds but we made an exception for your viewing pleasure."

"Father? FATHER!" Henry struggled ineffectively as Lord Montague was removed from the cell. Henry was shoved to the window before they came and picked me up. The shift in position ripped a cry from me before I could stop it but with my jaw fused it didn't matter anyway. I blacked out when they dumped me against the stones by the window.

I come to to Henry's chant of no, please no and with my hair dripping.

"Watch" Ralph snarled the bucket he'd dumped to rouse me still in his hands.

I glanced down. They were leading Lord Montague to the block. He mounted the stairs with his head high, shoulders square. No hesitation, no fear, not even in his enaid, impressive or futily foolish, I wasn't certain which.

His voice rang crisp and clear "I swore an oath to serve my King, in whatever capacity he chose and while I might have whished he would have charted a different course for me loyalty and obedience to my sworn liege lord demand that I acquiesce. If my King names me traitor than traitor I must be even if I do not know my error. May God in his mercy forgive you all even as I forgive you."

He meant it, all of it. Mad man, he had to be. Henry sounded like a wounded animal (or a scalded cat) beside me. One of the guards drew fist to strike him and I unfused my jaw and snarled "Leave him alone." To my surprise, they did. At least until Skeffington returned. They carried him limp and unresisting to a cell, tears still rolling down his cheeks.

When they were gone Skeffington to tighten his 'daughter's' embrace, this was the opportune moment, do or die.

"Please don't" it flayed my pride to the bone to let that much pain seep into my voice, to sound that desperate.

Skeffington started, looked deeply into my eyes, and started to tighten it anyway.

"Hold" My Lord Privy Seal commanded.

"He isn't broken, faltering, perhaps, but not broken." Not faltering either I said very quietly even to myself.

"You were given an order."

"You don't wound this kind and not finish the job any more than you bait an uncaged tiger" Skeffington argued.

"Wait outside."

Skeffington left but he wasn't happy about it. I took my time getting to my feet when Cromwell set me loose. If I hadn't been a healer I would be a lot worse off than I was and I didn't want to tip my hand.

"Why yield now?" he asked while we both looked out the window at the bloody block.

"Why not?" I nodded stiffly to where they were dumping Lord Montague's body in a cart while the head was being taken for display. I watched his ghost mount the scaffold and die several times. "If that is the reward for doing what is 'right' then let me do that which is wrong. Who better than you to teach me?"

"Who better, indeed? Did you know once upon a time I was just like that fool down there?"

I glanced up questioningly; I could not image Cromwell being like the recently deceased Lord Montague. Henry had left a puddle of tears on the sill. I should have found a way to stop this. I should have. I should have made a way if one couldn't be found.

"I was" he insisted, "I believed that if you followed the Commandments, served faithfully, and loved your neighbor as yourself God would reward and protect you. Damn fool" he cursed himself. "I had a wife I loved more than life itself. She was a good, gentle, kind woman, too kind, when the plague swept through London I wanted to take her and our young son into the safer country but she insisted on staying and nursing the sick until she took sick herself." He closed his eyes. In nearly three years this was the most emotion I had ever seen in him. Cromwell was normally a very cold man. He had a goal, he had a scheme, he accomplished it, it was all just 'business'. "She wanted prayers not doctors and I spent every cent I had to buy the prayers of the papist" he spat the word "church's priests only to watch her die by inches. And when she was dead the priests took everything I had and wouldn't even let me bury her in consecrated ground because I could no longer afford it. An Old Blood healer could have saved her but those healers bold enough to practice their Arts have been slaughtered by the Church and the rest are too terrified to help themselves much less anyone else. That has to stop. The Roman Church will never willingly suffer the Old Blood to live much less practice our Arts freely. So the Roman Church must be ripped down. Men with the Blood in their veins must rise to power once more. Make no mistake, boy, we are at war for our very survival, as we have been since Rome conquered Britain. It is time long past time for us to throw off Rome's shackles and walk freely under the sun, both your kind and mine." He knelt so that we were eye to eye "I don't hate those without the Blood. I married one. But I will not shirk from killing anyone who gets in my way. I take no pleasure in what happened here today, not in the death of Lord Montague or in the imprisonment of his young son and elderly mother. Rome deceived them but they would not turn from her and they might have undone all I have done. They HAVE to die. I had hoped that you would see this on your own and that I would not need to…chastise you. Given your Blood and your training I would not have thought you would find the Poles' philosophy very enticing, clearly I misjudged you. You may be young but you are no fool surely you can understand that allying with me is to your own advantage but if you can not then" he shrugged. We both knew that he would give me back to Skeffington and this time death and maiming would be real possibilities.

I paused as if mulling it over "I would be a fool not to. What do I have to gain by allying with Rome? Or in having mercy on my enemies? Take what you can."

"And give nothing back" he nodded "then go and join the men packing up the Poles goods for the King."

I blinked at him in confusion. I had just been in Skeffington's daughter for hours most humans wouldn't even survive.

"I told you, boy, you're good but not as good as you think. I missed it for a while because I didn't expect a healer from your Blood either. Heal yourself and go."

Walking through the gates of what had once been the Poles home was nearly as much of a blow as watching them sever Lord Montague's head. Maybe more because I'd been a bit distracted from the execution by Skeffington's daughter. As I joined one of the parties inventorying the King's new wealth I sent Wind looking for Cinders and when a playful zephyr reported her location to me I made certain I was in charge of that chamber.

As soon as she realized I was the only one in the room she uncoiled from her hiding place.

'Fleet-feet, where is my two-leg?"

Cats are fascinating creatures, Will. They 'speak' with a clarity that surpasses that of any other animal, and it isn't just me anyone with even a trace of llwdn llafar, the animal speech, can speak to a cat. I think that is why they are so equated with witch craft. The only other animals that even come close are whales and dolphins. I suspect, though I have never tested this – that cats, whales, and dolphins, hunt more by ear than anything else. Of course if my theory is correct owls and bats should also speak very well but I have never tried to speak to either. I will have to rectify that when I get out of here.

Henry may have declared the kitten mine but she had declared him hers. I personally thought she was more likely to win the argument.

'Men with a strange smell came and took him away. I could smell his fear.'

'They have locked him in a cage. Will you come with me?'

Eyes nearly as green as my own considered me before she started grooming. I turned to inventorying the room while the now gangly kitten carefully cleaned every paw making certain I could see her claws.

'What is happening here?' she finally asked.

'The biggest of the two-legs has sent his men to take everything belonging to your two-leg's father and make it his.'

She hissed, arching her back and growling 'No two-leg owns me!'

One of the first things I'd learned in 'speaking' to cats is they had people (though they emphatically didn't OWN them. Cats don't believe in ownership. They might have something for a little while but having a thing and owning a thing are not necessarily the same. I had never really considered the difference before Cinders' mother had rather condescendingly explained it when she gave me my 'proper' name of Fleet-Feet. To be honest I still don't really see the difference but apparently it is abundantly obvious to cats) people did not have them. Mitsy (Slays-Many-Mice) and Cinders (Leaps-High) were perfectly content to share Henry. Apparently, for some reason none of the many cats belonging to either the Poles or to their retainers would have me. I wondered if there was something wrong with me personally or if cats didn't have elves?

Slays-Many-Mice sauntered into the room, tail held high like a standard, complete with a not slain mouse for Leaps-High to practice her hunting technique with. Seeing me in the room she set the mouse down but stepped on its tail. The little animal's claws scrabbled frantically on the rushes.

'Our two-legs aren't coming back are they?'

'No, some have already been killed. Some might be killed at any time.'

She quickly and neatly killed the mouse and ate it. 'Why are you here, Fleet-feet?'

'I wanted to warn you, the house has been sold already, new two-legs will be coming bringing their own hunters.'

She hissed, ears back, hackles raised 'Since my mother's mother's mother my line has hunted here.'

I shook my head 'It won't matter. Your two-legs have been overthrown, they will clear this house of everything that belonged to them.'

She growled 'They won't find me.'

'I ask your permission to take Leaps-High with me if she would care to go.'

I only received more grooming, from both mother and daughter this time so I went back to the inventory since it does no earthly good to rush a cat's decision.

I sighed and salted the page taking the cats' silence as a no. What was so wrong with me that no cat would have me?

I was out the door and on my way to the Tower when a yowl stopped me. Leaps-High landed neatly on my shoulder not even digging her claws in enough to break skin.

'You left withOUT me' she complained, indignantly.

'I didn't think you were coming' I protested.

This time she gripped tighter with her claws and then promptly ignored me in spite of riding on my shoulder.

'We will have to be very careful' I said hoping she was at least listening despite her pique as I told her the whole of the sorry situation.

I had decided that it was best I not appear too interested in the Poles who remained in the Tower so for the next several weeks I dutifully attended to my lessons and did my 'Master's' bidding as eager as a hound to please. It had taken a bit of snarling on my part but I'd carved out an agreement for Leaps-High among the Tower clan matriarchs one of whom had grudgingly allowed her to share her hunting grounds. People say that cats have no affection, loyalty, or society. This could not be further from the truth and those who believe it have simply spent too much time with those great slavering monstrosities known as dogs. Cats are not half so solitary as most believe and left to themselves form complex extended matriarchies. In cat society mother is EVERYTHING. And there are few animals more loyal and affectionate than a cat – on THEIR terms. A point which those hound enthusiasts never seem to comprehend is that while dogs slavishly wish to join our society with an eagerness that defies description cats are perfectly content with their own society. They befriend us they do not serve us.

'Fleet-feet when are we going to see my two-leg?' Leap-High asked from her perch. Speaking of perches, my sparrow had taken up perching on her head. When a cat allows prey to sit on her head because the prey is yours – that's friendship, as cats define it. While I had deemed it too dangerous for both of us for me to appear concerned Wind had kept me informed. I knew exactly where he was being held and that he was not taking his change from future count to penniless, friendless, condemned traitor well. He was far more upset about the loss of his father and the imprisonment of his grandmother than the loss of lands and titles though. So far his sister's marriage into the Stafford family had kept her safe but that could change in a heartbeat.

Henry Pole was being kept in very poor, nearly solitary conditions and his grandmother the Countess of Salisbury was being 'closely questioned'. Skeffington was having a great deal of trouble with her. Her health was apparently too frail (she was actually stronger than she appeared but no one had asked me and I felt no obligation to reveal it) for conventional torture and it was important she not die in custody without being properly attained. The old woman was popular at court and contrary to his words the King knew that if public opinion soured on him much more he would be a king without a crown so Skeffington to his disgust was forced to use kid gloves on her and he was too proud to demand my assistance for which I was grateful. Henry Courtenay (son of the late Henry Courtenay whose execution I had apparently missed in my brief blackout) was being held in far greater comfort with a riding instructor, fencing master, and a tutor. The difference was the King had liked Courtenay (in spite of the fact that he WAS actually guilty of treason) because he had been a 'meet and merry' companion while stabbing the King in the back with a smile. The staunchly loyal Lord Montague on the other hand simply hadn't been capable of ignoring injustice and while he had made no accusations his grim, unsmiling presence had been a thorn to whatever sliver of a conscious that the King still possessed. Rather than change his ways the King had destroyed the thorn with the added bonus of striking a blow at Reginald Pole. Cromwell wanted both youngsters dead but would never stoop to the treatment young Henry Pole was receiving, that was all the King's spleen. I wondered if he really thought a boy of not yet twelve was too young to go to the block or if he merely wished to keep a Pole on hand to torment at will.

'Fleet-feet!' Leaps-High's meow was decidedly strident. I flicked an ear listening with every fiber of my being to the Wind and heard nothing to dissuade me from finally going to see Henry. The half-grown cat leapt neatly onto my shoulder not needing me to say a word to know that I was going to finally acquiesce to her request.

I came to a dead halt outside Henry's cell and restrained the urge to cuss the filth off the floor. Leaps-High hissed on my shoulder and I had to call my sparrow back. He perched on her head and tilted his head questioningly at both of us. There was an enchantment on the door. I hadn't a clue what it would do if I touched it. For all I knew Skeffington and Cromwell might have already been informed that I was outside the cell. I kept on walking, pretending that I had some business other than Henry in this part of the Tower. I wandered to the back side of his cell and glared at the stones. I could hear them but I could make no SENSE of it nor could I get them to acknowledge me. I spent several fruitless minutes trying again and then sank down onto the floor with my back to the blasted cipher of a wall.

'Pass…age…….wish……y..o..u….?'

The words were said so slowly that I could barely catch that they were words.

'Yes' I barked back while trying to figure out which of the stones had replied.

'?...?...?...?' Too fast, I'd been speaking to quickly for the stones to even hear much less follow. I tried again more slowly.

'Pass….age…….to….Av….a…lon?'

'Where?' I thought as I finally found the right stone, it was a smaller one near the floor. 'No to the room on the other side.'

A pause so long I thought I had lost the stone.

'Un……us……u…..al. I...was……..pa..r..t…..of….a….ga..te……to….Av…a…lon…..from…..he..re,…not…..fr..om…..he..re…..to…..he..re.'

'But can you do it?' as an afterthought I revised it to 'Would you do it?'

'Yesss'

With more than a little trepidation I put first one hand and then the other into the stone. Leaps-High pricked her ears up and then leapt right into the stone without so much as a by-your-leave (not that a cat would ever acknowledge that leave need be given anyway). My pride pricked by being upstaged by a half-pint feline I followed. It was a tight squeeze at best, Henry would never be able to take this road unless I found a way to widen it. I popped my shoulders through with difficulty and slithered into cell.

"Who's there?" Henry sounded like broken thing already and in the dim light his enaid was a dull grey.

I crafted the Shadow of a candle stub and topped it with a flame "It's Cinders and I."

"Rhys" Henry licked his cracked lips "Is this a dream?"

"No" I 'set' the 'candle' down and grasped his hand but he pulled me into a fierce hug. "You're real, you're here, you're still alive."

"You're freezing" I hissed as he wept in my arms. Warm, I had to warm him up before he caught his death of chill in this unheated cell. No sooner had I thought it then heat began to radiate from me like a brazier and I was ashamed I'd left him so long alone in this dismal place in the January cold. The damn cell didn't even have straw much less a blanket.

"Rhys" he whispered suddenly frightened "How did you do that? And how did you get in here?"

Now was the moment of truth, "I'm not really Lord Tallyrand." I let the Shadow drop "I'm a changeling."

He ran a trembling finger up one of my pointed ears "I guess we can't be brothers then" he whispered.

I swallowed "Can we still be friends?"

I received a hard, suspicious glance in reply and then finally "At what price?"

That cut more than Skeffinton's whip "None but those that attend friendship." I rose ready to take my leave but Henry caught my hand.

"Please stay" he swallowed again "You startled me and I spoke in haste. Please forgive me."

I studied his enaid but wasn't certain how sincere he was for this Henry Pole was no longer the boy who had caught me on the stair and I hated Cromwell and Skeffington for that.

I folded myself back up on the floor and leaned against the wall letting the warmth that was still radiating from me soak into the stones so that they would continue to heat the cell even after I was gone.

"Why didn't you use the door?"

I glanced at it, "Cromwell must have someone who can cast spells because there is one on the door. I don't know what it's for, I don't know much about spells aside from being able to sense them."

He blinked at me "But you're an elf."

"I'm a changeling and no one has taught me anything," I scuffed the stones a little with my booted toe. "I can hear that the stones are talking but this one" I pointed to the one Leaps-High and I had come through "is the only one I can make understand me and that is because some other elf once upon a time put a spell on it." Leaps-High decided to demand a bit of attention for herself and Henry absentmindedly scratched her ears.

"What is your real name?"

I shrugged "I don't know. An adult elf gave me to Cromwell. Every time I try to bolt he always catches me. He says another older, wiser elf gave him my leash."

Henry drooped "You're as much a prisoner as I am." He held Leaps-High so tight she meowed a complaint. "You should go. They'll hurt you again if they catch you." He loosened his grip and rubbed the cat gently in apology. "They told me you were dead too, that they'd killed you for trying to warn us. I don't want to be responsible for your death."

I grabbed his shoulders and gave them a little shake "You WON'T be. Anything that happens to me ISN'T YOUR fault. If I'm foolish enough to get caught that's MY stupidity, if they harm me for it than the fault is THEIRS. Don't blame yourself for any of this Henry Pole for you are entirely innocent. I WILL find away to get BOTH of us out of this" I swore. BOTH this time, this time no one gets left behind.

I turned from him to the stone. "Can you only let something that is with me pass? Or can you be a conduit?"

'If….I….am……a..wa..ke,….I….can….let….any..th..ing…th..at….wi..ll…fit…..pa..sss,'

"What would help you stay awake?"

'I….ha..te….it….he..re. I…mi..ss….light…and…..lau..gh..ter….sun….and…song. I…wa.nt….to…be…in….a….gar..den…ag..ain…with…the….scent….of….ro..se..s.'

"If you will serve me, I promise I will get you out of here once Henry is free and return you to a place of beauty. Do we have an accord?"

'I…..mi..ss…..ro..se..s.'

"There is a Rose here."

'Th..is….is….no….pl..a..ce…f.or…a…ro..se.'

"No, it isn't. It will wither and die here if we don't save it. Will you help me save the White Rose?" Because that was what Henry was, the White Rose of York, with a truer claim to the throne than the man who called himself King.

'I….wi..ll. Wh..a..t….wou..ld…..you…..ha..ve…..of….me?"

"Free passage for myself, this cat and this sparrow at all times and place within you to put anything this boy needs to hide inside you. We four, the Wind and no others."

The word Wind brought me chilled me to my marrow. The Latimers were here at the behest of Cromwell. I needed no words to know why. Should Henry Pole mysteriously disappear Milady Latimer would pay the price. How was I to save them both and myself? Cromwell must die but not by my hand. I had no doubts that that would rain fire on us all. I didn't know the extent of his network of Old Blood talent or what they would do if I killed him. To save us all I would have to outmaneuver the master of deception (or the Vicar of Satan as Reginald Pole was wont to call him) and manipulate the King into ordering Cromwell's death. This was not going to be swift or easy.

'Do..ne.' I touched the stone feeling the 'shape' of it so that could decide if there was any way for me to leave a few creature comforts with Henry in his distress since this was going to be his home for some time.

"The Rose Rock" Norrington sounded startled. He flushed slightly when we all turned to stare at him. "Back home on the family estate there is a Children's Garden and in the very center is a plain, pale stone, that stone, ringed with roses. One of the immutable family traditions is that the stone must never be moved or harmed and must always be surrounded by roses."

"Well, then" Jack observed, rings flashing, "we know that young Henry survived else me brother would likely have smashed the rock te bits, move along, whelp, we've only got all night."

I was less than eager to comply with Jack's urging but he had a point, our time was short and Mallory's ability to tie memories to only a handful of actual bloody (literally) words meant that what was in the journal was all out of proportion to its apparent length. I skimmed quickly over the tense months that followed as England prepared for war and Henry Pole and his grandmother became very meanly kept indeed but the King refused to kill them yet much to Cromwell's disgust.

Days turned into weeks, weeks became months as Mallory stalked Cromwell. Henry Pole languished with the cat as essentially his only companion since Mallory rarely had opportunity to visit as Cromwell filled every waking moment (and there were precious few allotted to sleep) with his quest to bring the Old Blood to power. It amounted to a purge with young Mallory well and thoroughly blood soaked in nearly a year of murder and intrigue. I paused finally over a passage….

I snatched my hand back out of Leaps-High's reach as blood welled in the scratches.

'What was that for?' I growled at the cat.

She looked down her nose at me as only a cat can, 'You haven't gone to see him in weeks.'

'I don't WANT to leave him in there alone, but every time I go I risk both our lives and Milady Latimer's as well. I'll go when I get back.'

'You'll go now!' she snarled with a hiss.

'That might impress your kittens but it doesn't impress me.'

'He needs you Fleet-Feet. And not just to send me with meat' she flicked her fluffy black with silver lining tail. Henry's rations had been reduced to little better than starvation so I had rigged a little harness for Leaps-High and with her consent had been using her as a courier of small but important items ever since. Until today she had bourn the burdens cheerfully. 'Who knows how long you will be gone to fetch this two-leg Queen, will you leave him thinking himself abandoned by his last friend? He'll deliver himself to the death your 'Master' has planned for him if you take his hope.'

I regarded the young cat sitting on the mantle. She had matured into such a stunningly beautiful creature that it was a shame I had had to wrap her in Shadow. (It wouldn't do at all for the guards to see her on her supply runs to Henry.) Her upper coat was a long silky black that was off set by the nearly silver under coat and touched here and there with tan. Did I really want to lose an argument with the cat? There would be no living with her if I did but I had a few moments before I needed to be out on the dock. I gathered a few things that would fit into the stone (I had, maddeningly, had no further luck in speaking to the stones of Henry's cell. I had on the other hand discovered that the gate stone was but a piece of what had been a larger stone. The rest of it could be found scattered throughout the Tower and I had reached accords with most of the pieces so that I now had five passages/bolt holes available to both myself and Leaps-High.

I twisted through the stone with the ease of long practice. I was surprised that Leaps-High's kittens WEREN'T in the stone. Had something happened to them and she had said nothing? I was still an uncultured barbarian as cats reckoned things so perhaps she had hinted at her loss and I had missed it. As I emerged on the other side I was treated to a rather depressing moment of deja-vu. Henry had gotten a feather from my sparrow and tied it to a bit of thread and was using it to play with the kittens. I hope Leaps-High had mentioned that my sparrow was NOT on the menu. And Leaps-High was right. It had been far too long since my last visit. Flame, Smoke, and Ashes (cats never get names until their first kill and they think we're quite foolish to name our children at birth) hadn't even had their eyes open last time I was here and now they were playing. Flame, the lone tom of the litter spotted me and made a flying leap attack. I caught the marmalade projectile and tried to pet him but he wanted to play so I let him squirm out of my hands. Smoke who had inherited her mother's black/grey coloring sans the tan accents fled to the far corner while the more calm and collected Ashes blinked big still mostly blue eyes at me from Henry's side.

Henry smiled up at me but it came nowhere near his eyes. We'd had a few rocky weeks early on while he was mourning his father but then he'd perked up a bit, determined not to let Cromwell have the last word. That spirit was gone now, he was trying, I could see that in his eyes but despair was beginning to devour him from the inside out. It had been nearly a year since Henry had seen anything outside of these stone walls, since he had seen the sun and his last sight of that had been his father's execution. It was no wonder that his resolve was faltering, especially when I had made no real progress. I still knew nothing about the spell on the door, the stone was still too small for him to fit through, his escape would still mean the death of Milady Latimer, and while I finally had a plan that might serve to undermine Cromwell's credit with the King I doubted that it would be enough in and of itself and it could easily backfire on us all.

And there was no getting around the fact that the room reeked since the guards had no incentive to empty the bucket frequently. As far as they were concerned Henry was a dead man and there was no one left outside that mattered who would protest on his behalf. His sister, eager to save her own hide, pretended he didn't exist, Mary (alias 'the Most Unhappy Lady in Christendom', I liked Mary but she had a terrible tendency to the melodramatic.) couldn't help herself much less anyone else, Cardinal Reginald Pole was continuing his one man mission to make things as unpleasant as possible for his family, and Geoffrey was busy somewhere on the continent attempting to drink himself to death. Cromwell did have a point about friends and family being unreliable at best. Given that Henry was anyone's meat I was surprised he had remained largely unmolested…except he hadn't. He'd been carefully presenting the unbruised side of his face to me. Damn them to the deepest depths of perdition! I chatted about inanities while I carefully studied his enaid and planned a suitable revenge on the trespassing guards. I would have to be quick and clever to deal with this before I left.

I drew a deep breath. I had been feeling guilty about this since I had decided to do it but it was my best chance to turn the Mouldwarp against Cromwell.

"I'm leaving on the tide but I'll be back soon."

Startled he turned full on forgetting to hide his split lip and blackened eye. I was a healer I knew how deep the damage went and most of it had nothing to do with the body. I cursed them under my breath starting with a relentless invasion of their nether regions by an astounding number of fleas and ending with their offending appendages rotting off due to leprosy. I was strangely light-headed and had to steady myself briefly. Flame flattened his ears to his head and pale grey Ashes joined her sister in the corner with their mother. I shook off the vertigo.

"Why?" He looked shattered as he whispered the question. I had to get him out of here somehow, I had to, this was killing his spirit by inches.

"I'm part of the new Queen's escort." I was reasonably certain that whatever the spell was on the door it wasn't actively reporting back to Cromwell but I dropped my voice to a whisper anyway "Cromwell has talked the King into this marriage against his better judgment. The King is wary of taking a bride he has never seen and Cromwell has spent much of his personal credit to woo the King to consent to the match. If she does not please Cromwell's head might very well roll." I pulled the dragon dagger from my belt and sliced my palm, letting the blood flow onto the stones "I swear on my blood I will return and see you free even if it kills me." I reversed the dagger and slapped the pommel into his hand. "Keep this as a surety until I return to claim it."

"Rhys" he protested staring at the blood dripping through my fingers from the deep cut that I was making no effort to heal.

"Though Death itself bar the way Henry Pole I will be back to win you free. I'm not one of those feckless fairies in those stories you tell. I don't forget my friends."

"I never doubted you" but he had I could see his shame in his eyes.

"What THING do you miss most?"

"The sunrise" he answered instantly. I hadn't ever really paid attention to one before but I did my best to weave one from Shadow and left it for him. I silently promised that I would pay more attention while I was gone and collect some for him when I came back.

Leaving Henry in that cell wasn't getting any easier. I paused on my way to the dock watching two of the guards hopping around in a frenzy, digging at their cods and wailing about fleas. Well, now wasn't THAT interesting. It was hardly PROOF that I had done something but it was suggestive. When I returned from going to fetch Anne of Cleves I would have to see if they had developed leprosy.

I started flipping pages again, passing over the trip to Cleves, Mallory's frustration that while he managed to utterly destroy the King's marriage to Anne of Cleves Cromwell emerged a bit less secure but largely unscathed. In mounting desperation Mallory hatched a new plan.

When I noticed that I was tapping the hilt of my dagger I forced myself to stop. It had nearly been a fatally stupid mistake to leave the dagger with Henry, not for me but for Henry himself. Just because suicide would have never crossed my mind in similar circumstances didn't mean that it wouldn't cross Henry's. I had meant the dagger to be a gesture of my sincerity, there were few things I held dearer and Henry knew that, but what I had left him was temptation to make a quicker, more certain escape than I could arrange.

I hadn't expected the Duke to keep me cooling my heels this long. Sir Thomas Wriothesley might not be a peer, but he was a rapidly rising star in the court and one of Cromwell's inner circle, not someone Thomas Howard, third Duke of Norfolk should lightly leave in the foyer. The real Wriothesley was sleeping off the drugs I'd slipped into his cup earlier so that I could use his face and name for this meeting. I was half hoping to get caught by one of Cromwell's agents just so Cromwell could order me to kill Sir Ferret Face. On further reflection I concluded that I was insulting the ferrets by associating them with Wriothesley.

I toyed with the idea of walking out since the Duke was clearly more interested in playing power games than in what 'Wriothesley' might have to offer.

A servant gave me a chary bow "His lordship will see you now" and led me to the library where the Duke and Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, waited. The bow I gave them was completely proper but ever so slightly mocking.

"How kind of you gentlemen to make time in your pressing schedules for a humble servant of the King" the taunt was there for those who had ears to hear. Both the Duke and the Bishop were out of favor and even the debacle with the soon to no longer be Queen Anne of Cleves hadn't taken enough wind out of Cromwell's sails to give them a chance to worm their way back into the inner circle. Not that the Duke would ever REALLY be there. The King simply didn't like him.

Both men frowned, neither liking being reminded that they were not in the center of the court "Since your schedules are ever so full I will not trouble you further. Clearly you have no need of my news."

"Hold, let us not be hasty" the Bishop who had been Wriothesley's master before he turned his coat in favor of Cromwell "I have always been fond of you, my boy, and I always hoped you would return home."

"Raise ye up a child in the way he should go" I began.

"And when he is old he will not depart from it" the Bishop finished with a smile that was one part smug satisfaction, one part wary, and one part old anger. "So you want to return to the fold now? Why? I thought you found the new learning very compelling."

"Cromwell is going far beyond denying papal authority" I paused and leaned forward lowering my voice and letting fear show in my eyes "Cromwell isn't Christian at all. He plans to raise someone from the Old Blood to the throne and he seeks an alliance with the Fair Folk."

The Bishop looked at me like I was daft but all color drained from the Duke's thin face and I thought he might faint before rage and anger the like of which I had never seen blazed through his enaid.

The Bishop seeing his distress started to say something dismissive but the Duke brushed him aside and pulled a miniature from under his robes.

"Have you seen this thing?"

I followed the still swinging pendant with my eyes. The features could be mine own in however many years it would take me to reach that age but the slit-pupilled silver eyes reminded me of Hers. His hair was blue too but much paler than mine. He wore a thick silver necklace of a style I had never seen. What answer would serve my plans?

"No" I settled on honesty "I have never seen him." My blood said kin though but for all I knew all elves but the one that had delivered my to Cromwell looked like me. "Who is he?"

The Duke's hand knotted around the trinket as if he could crush the elf it represented by grinding it to dust in his bare hands.

"He called himself the Prince of Avalon. They came in the night, years ago, he and his band of miscreants. With a word he bound me motionless and then toyed with my beautiful Anne like a cat plays with a mouse. He killed my wife, slowly right in front of me and I couldn't do a damn thing to stop him"

Anne? Anne who? The Duke was married to Elizabeth and their hatred of each other was legend. He beat her, she shrieked at him whenever they came within a hundred yards of each other which had confused me since looking at their enaids they should have been a good match.

"Not a damn thing" he repeated.

And now I understood. The manner in which he had lost his first wife had poisoned his relationship with the second, had perhaps poisoned his whole life I reflected as I fit this new information into what I knew of him.

"And then he stole our daughter for 'sport' to be hunted at his leisure."

My ears flicked forward. Could that be where I came from? Not from the Duke's daughter, there was no blood link between us, but could we have been the bastard half-breed children of some other captive? Was that why we had been abandoned to be hunted by Her and then when I survived that been cast out among humans? Was I an embarrassment to the family to be hidden here? If this man who hunted children for sport was my father though it would certainly explain Cromwell and Skeffington's confusion about me being a healer.

"Sport" He repeated and I thought for an instant he might scream or weep or throttle the Bishop out of sheer frustration. Heaven help me if the Duke ever saw my real face. "As if we were no more than beasts." It sliced deep, what the Prince of Avalon had done, not just because he had lost his wife and daughter but because he was a military man. The Duke had led more than one army into battle, to be so helpless against another. I shivered, remembering Her silver eyes. "As if we were no more than dumb beasts." He rounded on the Bishop "Heretofore our differences with Cromwell have been minor things"

The Bishop looked like he badly wanted to protest that.

"But make no mistake this is now a war for our very survival. No prisoners, no retreat, no compromise."

The Bishop clearly thought both of us were mad to even be entertaining the concept that the Fair Folk were real. The Duke now rounded on me.

"He speaks highly of how clever you are, I assume you have a plan?"

"First and foremost we have to strip Cromwell of the King's protection before we can do aught else."

The Bishop snorted.

"And you have a golden opportunity. All the spells Cromwell can muster won't make the King love Anne of Cleves." Apparently a good curse was better than all of the spells Cromwell's Old Blood could muster. Once Cromwell was out of the way I would have to try one against that cell door. "Once the divorce is over the King will wish to prove that his impotence in bed has nothing to do with himself and everything to do with Anne and he will be looking for a consort." Both these men were well aware of this and their eyes told me to get to the point.

"I think the King will find your niece Catherine Howard most fetching at this time. He will be seeking a young, vivacious woman with the kind of…talents your niece possesses" None of us was willing to mention just how much 'help' the King needed from his 'lady' to 'perform'. Heads had rolled for less. But the Duke was clearly surprised to hear that young Katherine had experience. "But place her in the Queen's household and nature will take its course. The King will be wild to be free of Anne and Cromwell did his work too well, he will not be able to extricate the King easily nor will he be willing to believing knowing that he will be elevating a Howard to the throne."

The Bishop shook his head, "I hate him but Cromwell is no fool. He was the one that ended the King's marriage to Catherine of Aragon. He rode Anne Boleyn's skirts to power and discarded her when the King tired of her and sent her to her death. The man has no loyalty to anything but his own advancement."

"No, he has no loyalty to anything but his own schemes." I corrected "His advancement is merely a means to the ends. He will not make it easy for the King to back out of this repugnant marriage if His intended bride is a member of the Howard clan who is actually willing to advance your position at court." I didn't say that Anne Boleyn had actively worked against her Howard connections. I didn't have to. "And I think the King would be willing to entertain the notion that his love of Mistress Anne was an unnatural affection cast upon him by a witch. If we could further convince him that Cromwell supplied the sorceress…"

I let the thought trail off. It might things awkward for Bratty Bess but her mother was already a bitch and an adulteress and she was a bastard would the rumors of witchcraft actually make matters any worse? Not that I cared. I even had a scapegoat chosen. Of course the Duke wouldn't be content with just one but I had already shifted through as many of Cromwell's agents as I was aware of and had picked a handful to give up. Some richly deserved it, some simply didn't seem to be useful to me. A few that I hadn't selected would probably pay for this betrayal as well but those who came to the court had 'offered themselves on the alter of Fate'.

The Duke studied me "And what assurances do we have that you are not playing us false?"

"What surety would milord have?"

"Young Tallyrand."

Well, that was interesting, not to mention more than a touch awkward.

"Cromwell's ward?" the Bishop asked "He's but a child not yet seven."

"He is Old Blood" the Duke snapped back "and I intend to have him."

I had long suspected that the 'accident' that had killed old Tallyrand and his other children was no accident and I would bet money that the Duke had been involved. To pull down Cromwell I perforce must elevate the Duke, who would seek to kill me at the first opportunity. Four years in Cromwell's 'academy' had taught me a great deal, let the Duke do his worst, I could take care of myself.

"Wait until Cromwell is gone and then simply petition the King for him" the Bishop said dismissively. "Besides Cromwell keeps the boy close, to steal him away would only tip our hands and put that wily fox on his guard. Let it lie."

The Duke held his peace but if nothing else I had learned I had a powerful enemy who was about to become a great deal more powerful but only as long as his niece Katherine Howard held the King's heart. It would not be long. I would see to that. I would use them to destroy Cromwell and then I would destroy them in their turn.

I skipped over several pages noting how Mallory was ingratiatingly smiling to Cromwell's face while orchestrating his death.

Strikes Boldly (the kitten previously known as Flame) was stalking a strip of fabric dangling from Henry's threadbare britches as we exchanged blows with the practice swords I'd brought with me. Henry's horsemanship and archery skills were perforce suffering from his captivity but I was determined that his swordplay wouldn't. We also practiced languages, music, and dancing when I could steal a moment's time and I regularly 'borrowed' books to be left with Henry. I decided not to tell Henry that he was about to be raked from behind since he REALLY needed to learn to watch his back. Speaking of which I checked the locations of the other cats; Leaps High was out hunting, Skitters (Smoke) was in her corner watching the fire I had burning in the opposite corner, and Waits Patiently (Ashes), my own personal favorite, was doing just that. If she intended to wait until I was distracted enough to let her 'catch' me she would wait a long time indeed. Waits was by far and away the best hunter of the four, better even than her mother already because she knew how to wait for the opportune moment as Cromwell was fond of saying. Unlike Strikes Boldly who I would have named 'too big for his britches' if it had been up to me. Yowler, the kittens father and the dominate tom in this part of the Tower, and I had come to an…understanding about Strikes Boldly. He was old enough that Yowler should be running him out of his territory but he was Henry's favorite and I was loath to see him loose anything else so for now Yowler was suffering the kitten to stay. Of course Strikes Boldly didn't see the situation for what it was and had gotten the notion into his adolescent cat head that Yowler was frightened of him. Silly ball of orange fluff. Speaking of silly balls of attitude (though this one of feathers instead of fluff), my sparrow came streaking through the stone, twittering about something but unfortunately I couldn't speak to birds nearly as clearly as cats.

Henry let out a pretty good yowl himself as Strikes Boldly slashed his claws against his calf whilst claiming his prize. He drug the scrap off to his 'spot' to triumphantly 'kill' it. Henry whirled from the cat to me.

"You knew he was behind me? And you didn't tell me?"

I shrugged "You need to learn to watch your back." I smiled to take the sting out of it but to my chagrin he seemed to just crumple for an instant before exploding.

"What for! I'm never getting bloody out of here! I'm going to DIE lost and forgotten in this god forsaken HOLE! Why don't you just leave me to it? Why do you have keep coming back and getting my hopes up?"

He advanced on me with the wooden sword over his head. It would be funny if it wasn't so heart rending. I ducked several wild swings before capturing his hands.

"I'll stay away if that's really what you want."

And he burst into tears "I'm sorry, Rhys" (At least that was what I think he said) "It's just so hard watching you walk out of here and stay trapped in here. I'm not a traitor. I didn't do anything wrong." And then the sobs became completely unintelligible but I thought 'didn't do anything' figured prominently. I wrapped my arms around him and tried to croon soothingly but I didn't really know how, that sort of thing didn't happen in my life.

"I know you didn't. I know" I murmured into his hair as I could feel my failure to get him out of here like a loadstone around my own throat. Henry could have been an absolute monster or an angel and it wouldn't have mattered, all that really mattered was the blood in his veins. I glanced over at my sparrow who was hopping up and down to get my attention. I would really rather he didn't do that around the cats lest one of them finally give into their instincts and eat him. Without letting go of Henry I flicked my ears to catch the Wind and gazed into the fire.

"Henry" I shook him a little, as I wove Shadow so that he could see what was happening. "Henry, Cromwell is under arrest."

He rubbed one grubby hand over his eyes. The guards barely gave him enough water to drink leaving none for bathing. When I considered it safe enough I brought extra water but it was a rare occurrence and in spite of Wind scouring the cell both it and Henry reeked.

"It's over?" he whispered.

I would have preferred to rip my tongue out by the root then crush his hopes but there was nothing to be gained by letting him think he would be walking out of here today.

"It is a beginning" I said "We will have to wait until his execution for me to attempt to defeat the spell on the door."

"That could be YEARS, Rhys. Try it NOW."

I shook my head "And what happens to both of us if he sends his men after us? As long as he is alive there will be those willing to obey his commands."

He went pale "I'm sorry Rhys. It's easy to forget how much you're risking to help me. It must, it must be very hard for you since he's the closest thing to a father you've ever known."

I watched the Duke and the Bishop strip him of the symbols of his rank and turn him over to the Guard in little more than an undershirt and hose. He was going to his death and I was the one sending him there regardless of who signed the order. Henry thought that should bother me. It didn't. I was also sacrificing the Old Blood's best opportunity to return to power, or at least parity. That would have bothered me if I had actually believed it was possible.

I decided not to answer the question since my lack of emotion would only upset Henry further.

"Once he is dead, which should be soon since I intend to instill even more fear of sorcery in the King, I will test myself against the door. If that fails then I find another way. Cromwell is the one who was pushing for your death. If your uncle would desist in annoying the King, perhaps I could convince the soon-to-be Queen to intercede on you behalf. The King wouldn't release you but he might be convinced to at least let you out for air and if I can make certain Skeffington is otherwise engaged then I can easily get us both out regardless of the spells on the door. The only way to get you safely out of here is by hiding you in Shadow and I can't do that as long as Cromwell is alive. I'd rather be struck dead and damned than leave you in here Henry but we have to be smart about this because we're only going to get one chance."

He nodded. His head understood, the only question was, would his heart survive?

Hugs weren't something that I gave or tolerated but I gave him one anyway before leaving to meet Cromwell at the Watergate.

I HAD to get just the right mix of restrained panic and worry down. If I was sloppy here Henry and I were both dead. Cromwell gave me a couple of hand signals on the way to his cell telling me to contact him later. I rushed to Skeffington instead who was in a rare state of agitation. Generally speaking nothing rattled Skeffington but I could see the flash and fire in his enaid.

"Betrayed" Skeffington growled at me as I came through the doorway. I knew better than to dodge when he backhanded me into the wall. While I was still dazed he swung me around and lifted me by the throat. Damnation they knew! Just as I was about to cast all caution to the Wind and attack Skeffington he growled "You sloppy little maggot. It's your bloody job to listen for this sort of thing and warn us. How many bloody times have I told you sloppy gets you killed? Well, this time it's My Lord Privy Seal that is the one paying the price for your sloppiness." He slammed me against the hard enough to shatter ribs and I could taste blood. "You cost us the best chance we've had in generations and when I'm done with you, you are never, ever going to forget that sloppy gets you killed." Lovely, another beating, whatever, it wasn't like he hadn't been doing that for years.

I skipped over most of it. I didn't want Elizabeth to see.

I swayed on my knees with spots dancing before my eyes as the thought that he was going to beat me to death flashed through my progressively foggier thoughts. His face filled my whole world "Why is this happening to you, maggot?"

"Sloppy"

He slapped me and for a breath I was completely blank.

"Speak clearly."

"I was sloppy."

"And what does sloppy do?"

"Sloppy gets you killed."

He looked at me expectantly but I couldn't think of what he wanted, could barely think at all as I hovered on the edge of consciousness.

He sneered at me, "I thought you were smarter than this, maggot, Master. Sloppy gets you killed, Master."

Sloppy was going to get me killed. I had spent all my time figuring out how to elude the Duke and hadn't spared a thought for how Cromwell's fall would change the dynamics between Skeffington and I. He was waiting. I must have paused too long or he saw the hesitation in my eyes because he hit me one more time and the darkness claimed me.

I shook the water out of my eyes and swallowed a groan. I ached in places that as a mere apprentice torturer I hadn't been aware I had.

"Get moving, maggot, you have work to do."

It was the darkest hour of the night, after midnight but no where near dawn which meant I'd been out for hours. It took three tries to get to my feet. I wanted to toss my shoulders back and fuse my neck vertebrae if that's what it took to keep my head up. I might have made that fatal mistake if I had had the strength to do it but I HAD been healing myself during the beating and Skeffington had pummeled me until I had nothing left. Even now it was taking everything I could muster just to stay vertical. And this was hardly the opportune moment to move against Skeffington. One thing at a time, Cromwell first, he was the both the one holding my 'leash' and targeting Henry. Once I had been made aware of the possibility of a 'leash' I had discretely gone looking for it. I thought I had found it, a gossamer strand of power that connected Cromwell and I. I had been very careful NOT to disturb it. I had assumed that it would disperse with Cromwell's death but had considered the possibility his death might do me some harm. I had accepted that as a reasonable risk but had never in my darkest nightmares considered I might simply be exchanging Cromwell for Skeffington. That was like jumping out of the proverbial frying pan into a raging volcano in full eruption. Skeffington set the bucket that he'd poured some of the contents of over my head and nodded to what was left.

"Clean yourself up, maggot. You need to be in Cromwell's cell within the hour."

I glanced up in surprise "We're going to rescue him?"

Skeffington drew back his hand to hit me again but stopped and growled "What's in your head, maggot? Do I need to beat more sense into you? Where are you getting these mad notions? In the court anyone who falls behind is left behind. There's no place for sentiment here, maggot. But Cromwell will stay true to the cause and he'll have much you need to know." His eyes narrowed "It's a sad state of affairs but you are now our best hope and if you fail NOTHING will save you from me. Get going."

I made a quick stop in the privy along the way and shuddered at the nearly black with blood urine I left behind and felt the fear of Skeffington I had thought I'd conquered rebloom. I crossed the grounds at a snail's crawl, slower even than pace at which everyone else moved. Every step was a trial as my vision wavered and darkened.

I fumbled picking the lock three times, nearly dropping my tools and alerting the guards (who I noted were NOT Skeffington's men) to my presence. Now THAT would have been sloppy. Wind swallowed the sound of the door opening and I only just managed to hold together the Shadow that hid the opening of the door. I sank down against the door struggling not to pant.

"Boy?" Cromwell asked. By longstanding arrangement Wind kept anything said between us from prying ears so I didn't even bother trying to mask his voice.

It took more effort than I would have ever dreamed possible just to light a candle and hide its light from the barred window in the cell.

Cromwell went pale and crossed himself in the papist manner. I must have looked truly ghastly for him to unthinkingly make THAT sign in response. He started to reach for me and then looking at the bruises thought better of it and reached for his water bucket instead.

"What did Skeffington do this to you for?"

"He said you were going to die because I was sloppy and that he would make certain I remembered to never be sloppy again."

Cromwell sighed heavily "This isn't your fault, Boy. I must have trusted someone I shouldn't have."

I had to force myself not to look down or away. I'd put him here but I didn't dare let him know that yet. The time would come, I promised myself, for gloating, to ask him who was better now, but not until the end.

He ripped a strip of clothe from what was left of his finery, soaked it gently in his meager water ration, and started, ever so gently, to wipe the crusted blood that had survived Skeffington's dousing from my face. It was a strange sensation. It hurt and yet it felt good. I blinked at him fighting to keep the confusion off my battered face. Was he genuinely concerned about me? Or was I simply too important to lose? Or was this just him softening me up for something?

"Get some sleep, Boy" he said while nodding to his own pallet. I started to protest that Skeffington had sent me to learn and I had no intention of failing him again so soon. Seeing my reluctance he restrained another sigh "Boy, you're no good to any of us dead. I'll see to it that Skeffington remembers that point." There was something odd about Cromwell tonight. Perhaps it was just the arrest and the reversal of his fortunes. There was no desperation about him, resignation perhaps, and yet he seemed very different. He picked up the writing supplies I had brought in case he wanted messages sent. "We will talk after you have had at least a few hours rest."

Now that I had permission to sleep again crossing the chamber seemed like far too much effort. As my nearly swollen shut anyway eyes closed I vaguely registered a pair of hands scooping my up and laying me on the pallet.

I awoke with a start. It wasn't dawn yet but it wouldn't be long. I still felt like I'd been trampled by a horse but I was at least clear headed. As I moved to sit up my hand curled in Cromwell's shirt which he had clearly removed to cover me with since there were no blankets in the chamber. The man himself looked up from his writing and studied me with his bulldog eyes. Apparently I looked better but not well because instead of having me join him he rounded up all the writing supplies and joined me.

"Take this to Cranmer" he said handing me the first one. "I'm asking him to take you under his wing and blunt the edge of Skeffington's…enthusiasm."

I blinked at him "Cranmer?" Cranmer, who rattled in his boots in my presence and nearly pissed himself if Skeffington even glanced at him, was supposed to protect me from Skeffington. That was like setting a rabbit to guard a bear cub from a wolf.

"You have instinct, Boy, and talent but you lack subtly and experience. Cranmer is, himself, no match for Skeffington, but the King loves Cranmer and will do all that he can to please him."

I had to grant him that point, the rabbit would be backed by the Lion, the one person in England Skeffington would give way before because the King was utterly infatuated with the Archbishop, not in a lustful manner but in a friendship that was, in all honesty, deeper than the one between Henry and I. For God's sake the Archbishop had MARRIED and managed to retain royal favor in spite of it. I had planned on appealing to the new Queen but the King had already proven just how fickle his affection for women could be. Best to hedge my bets, listen to Cromwell, and do both.

"Leave the bruises even when you've regained the strength to heal them and let them show."

I bridled at that. I wasn't a baby, if it wasn't for Henry I would have no trouble at all taking care of myself.

"How many times, Boy" Cromwell said with a strange blend of gentleness and stern censure "have I told you not to let your pride rule you?"

This time I sighed. Boys were beaten all the time, spare the rod and spoil the child and all that, it would take something truly brutal like the battering I'd taken from Skeffington to garner sympathy and as much as it galled me that WAS the bloody point of slinking to Cranmer. I leaned against the wall and watched Cromwell's enaid. I thought I recognized fear, dread, frustration, and sorrow all of which I expected given the circumstances but there were other things as well that were less easily defined but if I had to guess I would call relief. Was Cromwell happy to have failed! He was certainly more relaxed as if a great weight had been taken from his shoulders.

"Better" he said approvingly "Now take these and go. We will have a few weeks before my" he paused stumbling over the thought of his death "We have a little time yet. You don't have to learn everything tonight." But he stood above me looking down "It's no easy task I'm leaving you, Boy, and I'm sorry for that. The King has no real love for the Reformation so you will have to be clever to keep the pressing the cause. Remember the more division you can sow among the Christians the easier it will be to reestablish the Old Ways. Divide and conquer."

I paused outside the cell looking back. Yesterday it hadn't bothered me a bit to send Cromwell to his death today I was less certain.

And I still am. Mallory in the carchar wrote. There was no way to save Henry without killing Cromwell. The truth is Will if I was the Prince I should be instead of the one that I am I would have killed Henry myself. Princes and Kings should be able to set personal feelings aside and serve their people and policies regardless of their affections.

The next words were written in a 'whisper' I can't do it Will. I've tried, more than once through the years, and I just can't. I wish there was another heir because Avalon deserves someone better than me but there isn't and even at my worst I'm better than Him. I think, perhaps, that is what I was supposed to learn from Cromwell because with the exception of your Dark Lady I've never met anyone better a setting their own personal desires aside for the sake of a cause. I've never been any good at fighting for causes only for people. Cromwell was a lot like your Dark Lady. I can't decide if they were the best or the most evil people I've ever met. No cruelty in either of them or pettiness which is more than I can say for myself but they're both so dedicated to their causes that they've forgotten how to be people. And yet they're not so obsessed that they can't see the full effect of their deeds not that that would turn either of them aside. I think either of them are (or were as the case may be) capable of sending the world spiraling into chaos without batting an eye if it would serve their purpose and yet both were (or are) dedicated to making the world a better place as they define it. Such arrogance and yet I find myself respecting both of them for it. I had intended to gloat at Cromwell's execution, to see his despair as he realized just how lost his cause was but it was too petty and while I never gave myself to his cause as he would have wanted, in the end I did cleave to the Protestants not that it did much for his beloved Old Blood in the end.

I skipped over a few paragraphs and paused over his meeting in the afternoon with Cranmer.

I had to make myself move stiffly and slowly, after all I was supposed to be a poor battered soul trying to garner sympathy. I wanted to toss my head high and prove that on little beating couldn't bother me but that wouldn't serve my purposes. I paused in surprise when the Wind bore me a second voice speaking with Archbishop Thomas Cranmer, Milady Latimer. What was she doing here? Lord Latimer was staunchly moderate while Cranmer was most definitely in the more radical camp but she would hardly be the first wife to fly further than her husband would have liked.

Cranmer frowned as he recognized my livery. He had thought he and Cromwell were staunch allies (the truth was he had been one of Cromwell's best and most useful pawns) and my presence reminded him that the Protestant cause had just lost its most powerful advocate. The frown deepened furrowing his brow when I came near enough for him to get a good look. I was supposed to cringe like a whipped hound but I just could NOT do it. I settled for stiff dignity. Tears welled in Milady Latimer's eyes. Hell be damned but I didn't want pity so I forced myself even straighter before bowing low.

"My Master" officially the attainder wasn't finished so Cromwell's rank was in legal limbo, but it was best to simply avoid all references "Sends you this."

Cranmer was clearly torn. His own position was tenuous if there was going to be a general purge against those in favor of the Reformation and it was borderline treasonous or at least unwise to accept a message from an accused (and nearly condemned) traitor but Thomas Cranmer was, at his core, far too gentle and decent soul for the court. All that had kept him alive this long was the King's 'love' (a fickle thing) and Cromwell's cunning. I, personally, didn't think he would last long without the latter in spite of the former but I only needed him until I could win Henry free. He took the missive and read it, slowly, excruciatingly slowly. How could I have forgotten that about him? Ned was not yet three and I swore he was faster reader than Cranmer. From the way his fingers kept twitching I assumed he was missing his quill as well since the man seemed incapable of reading anything without making copious margin notes. Since we'd likely be here until tomorrow morning I turned my attention to Milady Latimer who I was disconcerted to discover was gazing at me intently. I straightened a bit more tilting my chin up neither desiring nor needing pity.

But pity wasn't what showed in her eyes and kindness seemed far short of what did. I wanted to observe her but Wind bore me word that the King in the company of Mistress Howard was approaching and Cranmer wasn't finished reading the letter and he was about to be caught with the potentially treasonable missive. I drew a deep breath ready to flee should the situation turn ugly but reluctant to do so before Milady Latimer.

The King was all smiles. He was, after all a man drunk on love, or infatuation at the very least, convinced that he was young again. Cromwell had often said everything was a matter of perspective and that the human talent for self-deception was infinite. I questioned infinite but the King clearly thought he'd shed 20 years and 10 stone, which was a damned impressive bit of self-deception. Mistress Howard was her typical vacuous self with not a care in her head but fine gowns and dancing. She smiled prettily for the King but had no love for him. It wouldn't be difficult at all to lead her astray and when she fell odds were good she would take her uncle the Duke with her. All I had to do was survive long enough for the Duke to finish Cromwell's destruction and then destroy him before he could destroy me and while I had alternate plans should I fail to make either Katherine Howard or Archbishop Cranmer (provided he survived the day) my champion I NEEDED this to work. As one we bowed to the King.

"Rise, hale and well-met goodly gentles all."

Cranmer drew a deep breath and began to pass the letter to the King "Cromwell"

"We have no desire to hear his pleas."

"This one is not for himself, but for the boy."

The King and his current paramour really looked at me for the first time. Mistress Howard paled and swallowed as pity bloomed through her enaid. God but this was HARD, harder than the beating itself in some ways. I HATED being seen as weak.

"You granted his wardship to Cromwell. Apparently some of Cromwell's erstwhile servants are feeling a bit frustrated and are being a bit indiscriminate about whom they punish."

"Milord" Mistress Howard breathed a plea of her own. She might be an idiot, but she was a kind-hearted one. I made note of that, perhaps if I couldn't breach the spells on the door she might convince the King to let Henry out of his cell for exercise which would allow me much more flexibility in rescuing him especially if Skeffington was disciplined for his behavior.

The King gently kissed the tip of her nose "We will not have your tender petals bruised, my thornless rose."

"May I become young Tallyrand's ward, your Highness?" Milady Latimer surprised us all with her request as she laid a gentle but firm hand on my shoulder.

"Milady?"

"Latimer"

"Ah, John Neville's wife then" the King looked on her long before acquiescing to her request.

That was the first time that great lump of putrid flesh ever noticed Milady Latimer. It shames me that it was on my account. He was at the time thoroughly smitten with Mistress Howard but after her execution he would remember Milady Latimer.

I flipped past a number of pages mostly dealing with joining the Latimer household, dealing with 'Bratty Bess' and Anne of Cleves, and Cromwell's execution which had been…messy. No need at all for Elizabeth to see THAT in her delicate condition. I stopped for the shriek.

I hit the stones next to the door again since I couldn't hit the door itself. Couldn't even bloody TOUCH it. Cromwell was DEAD and I was no closer to getting Henry out. What was I going to tell him? How could I even face him? Whatever the spell was on the door I had no idea how to get it off. I snarled if I couldn't get in then I would just have to get Henry out, somehow. I whirled, time to see if Mistress Howard, now Queen of England could be swayed to help.

I continued flipping noting that the young Queen had only managed to get the King to approve some new clothing for the former Duchess of Salisbury and her grandson much of which Mallory stitched himself. And that it had now been two years since Henry had been allowed out of his cell, indeed since the door had been opened since the food and jakes bucket went through a smaller door. I paused on another passage that I recognized very well from a few nights ago, the execution of the Duchess.

I caught her sleeve "Why won't you help me? Why won't you help HIM? He's your grandson, your ONLY grandson. Don't you care that he goes to the block after you?"

She pulled her sleeve from my hand, firmly but without yanking and looked down her nose at me.

"You know NOTHING, child, less than nothing. I have lost my father, brother, and son to the block. I watched my brother ROT in this Tower before he went to the block as innocent of the charges against him as my son was and I and my grandson are. My father was a guilty as sin but that isn't why he was drowned in a vat of his favorite wine. He died for the same reason we will for the blood in our veins." She paused for a moment and I double checked that Skeffington couldn't spot me in my awkward perch. He was watching Henry "What will you do boy? Drain the blood from his veins? Because that is the only way he will ever be safe. Better that he die now than live for more years in that dank cell."

I licked my lips. She truly believed Henry could never be safe. And why shouldn't she, every male member of her family had been condemned to a traitor's death even if it hadn't caught up with her son Reginald yet. Niece of kings no one knew better the dangers of royal blood. I couldn't get to Skeffington without a blood bath and I couldn't steal Henry away from here without either distracting or killing Skeffington. The thought of what he would do to me if he caught me was a cold knot of dread. I couldn't keep letting the fear of Skeffington rule my life but now was not the opportune moment. But it might have to be if I couldn't sway Margaret Pole, Duchess of Salisbury. I would have kill Skeffington first because I had discovered to my chagrin that not only could he See through my Shadows he could shatter them so others could see the truth.

"But he can be safe" the fear was like ice in my own veins as I dropped my Shadows. "I am NOT young Tallyrand."

While she blinked at me in shock I pulled my dark dragon dagger from its sheath and laid my right palm open to the bone. "And I swear by my own blood I will see your grandson safe. If it can not be under the name of Pole then it shall not be. Will you help me?"

Her eyes narrowed "What do you want with my grandson elf?"

I watched the blood drip through my fingers "He is my friend. I only want him to live long and well. I swear to you I mean him no harm nor do I seek to ensnare him."

"You would make him a Changeling, like yourself?"

I nodded.

"What do you need from me? Why not just take him?"

I nodded to Skeffington "Because, like Cromwell, he can see me, he can stop me."

She sighed "Then you are as much a prisoner as we."

"Cromwell thought that" I let her see his death in my eyes. She crossed herself.

"I will consider your request if you can swear to me that, first what you intend will not endanger either I or my grandson's immortal soul."

"It will not" I swore easily.

"You will kill no one else to save the boy."

That was harder but I nodded desperate at this point.

"And you will at least make him a gentleman."

"I so swear"

"What is it you need of me, elf?"

"I need your death to be so horrid that those men will refuse to see him follow you to the block. I need time to arrange matters."

She swallowed. These men had seen more than one friend, enemy, or compatriot go to the block. They had dined while men burned. Most of them were not strangers to stretching men on the rack or flogging them bloody. Rousing their sympathy would be no easy task. I could use Wind and Shadow to help but ultimately the Duchess would be giving up a relatively quick and easy death for something savagely brutal that might not work. She was wavering. She wasn't going to do it.

"Will you rob him of his only chance?" I whispered a plea. I sidled behind the other spectators careful to stay out of Skeffington's sight while watching her with baited breath. Would she? Wouldn't she? I slid carefully between the spectators trying to figure out how I could cleanly take out Skeffington if the Duchess failed me.

I used my hand to shadow the rest of the page. I knew from watching the beginning of her mad dash the other night that she would choose to give her grandson a chance to live. I also knew that Mallory had called her death ugly and messy. I didn't want to see it and neither my wife nor my unborn daughter needed to either. There wasn't much room left on the page but Mallory had proven just how much he could pack magically into a few words, hopefully the Duchess would be dead by the next page. I flipped it quickly and glanced down.

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