“Be of good cheer, Master Deven,” Dee said at last in absent, thoughtful tones at odds with his words. “You will see your young woman soon. I cannot say when, but look you here — the Moon is in the Twelfth House, and the Stellium of Mars, Mercury, and Venus — her influence has not yet passed out of your life.”
Deven did not look where the ink-stained finger pointed; instead he watched Dee. The chart meant nothing to him, while the astrologer’s pensive expression meant a great deal. “Is there more?”
The sharp eyes flicked up to meet his. “Yes. Enemies threaten — her enemies, I think, but they may pose a danger to you as well. The gentlewoman’s disposition is obscure to me, I fear. Conflict surrounds her, complicating the matter. Death will send her into your path again.”
Death? A chill touched Deven’s spine. Was that a threat? He did his best to feign the concern of the lovestruck man he pretended to be, while searching for any hint of malice in the other’s gaze. Perhaps the chart really did say that. He wished he knew something of astrology.
Deven bent over the paper, lest Dee read too much out of his own expression. “What should I do?”
“Be wary,” the philospher said succinctly. “I do not think the woman means you harm, but she may bring harm your way. Saturn’s presence in the Eighth House indicates authority is set against this matter, but the Trine with Jupiter…” He shook his head. “There are influences I cannot read. Allies, perhaps, where you do not expect them.”
It might be nothing more than a trick, something to send him running in fear. But at the very least, it did not sound like the kind of horoscope an impatient man might invent to placate a lovelorn stranger. Either it was a coded warning, or it was genuine.
Or both.
“I thank you, Doctor Dee,” he said, covering his thoughts with courtesy. “They say knowledge of the stars helps prepare a man for that which will come; I only hope it shall be so with me.”
Dee nodded, still grave. “I am sorry to have given you such ill tidings. But God guides us all; perhaps ’twill be for the best.”
Recalling himself, Deven removed his purse and laid it on the table. It was more than he had meant to pay, but he could not bring himself to fish through it for coins. “For your researches. I pray they lead you to knowledge and good fortune.”
THE ONYX HALL, LONDON: April 25, 1590
A clutch of chattering hobs and pucks passed through the room, laughing and carefree. All the fae of England were abuzz with the preparations for May Day, and the courtiers were no exception. Every year they took over Moor Fields north of the wall, enacting charms and enchantments that would keep mortals away. And if a few strayed into their midst, well, May Day and Midsummer were the two occasions when humans might hope for kindlier treatment at fae hands. Even the cruelty of the Onyx Court subsided for a short while, at those great festivals.
Lune watched them go from her perch high above. The chamber had a great latticework of arches supporting its ceiling, and it was upon one of these that she rested, her skirts tucked up around her feet so they would not trail and attract notice. It was an imperfect hiding place; plenty of creatures in the palace had wings. But it gave her a brief respite both from malicious whispers, and from those who sought to harm her.
When all around her was silent, she lowered herself slowly to the floor. Her gown of raven feathers was suitable for hiding, and she had long since discarded her velvet slippers; the pale skin of her bare feet might betray her, but it was much quieter when she moved. She lived like a rat in the Onyx Hall, hiding in crevices, stealing crumbs when no one was looking.
She hated every heartbeat of it.
But hatred was good; anger was good. They gave her the energy to keep fighting, when otherwise she would have given up.
She would not let her enemies defeat her like this.
Lune slipped barefoot out of the chamber, down a passageway that looked all but disused, lifting the ragged hem of her skirts so they would not leave traces in the dust. Until she began her rat’s life, she had never realized how many forgotten corners the palace held. It was enormous, far larger than any mortal residence, and if it served the function of both hall and city to the fae that dwelt therein, still it was more than large enough for their needs.
Up a narrow staircase and through a door formed of interwoven hazel branches, and she was safe — as safe as she could get. No one seemed to know of this neglected chamber, which meant she had already bypassed one part of Invidiana’s sentence upon her, that she be dependent on others for a place to lay her head. This place was hers alone.
But someone else had found it.
Lune’s body froze, torn between fight and flight, assuming on the instant that it was Vidar. Or Dame Halgresta. Or one of their servants. Her hands flexed into claws, as if that would be of any use, and her bare feet set themselves against the dusty floor, ready to leap in any direction.
She saw no one. But someone was there.
Lune knew she should run. That was life these days; that was how she survived. But the chamber’s scant furnishings, some of them scavenged from elsewhere in the palace, could not possibly be concealing the tall, heavy form of the Captain of the Onyx Guard, and if it were just some goblin minion…
She should still run. Lune was no warrior.
Instead she moved forward, one noiseless step at a time.
No one crouched behind the narrow bed, with its mattress stuffed with straw. No one stood in the shadow of a tall mirror that had been there when Lune found the room, its crystalline surface so cracked and mazed that nothing could be seen in its depths. No one waited between the cobwebbed, faded tapestries and the stone walls.
She paused, listening, and heard nothing. And yet…
Guided by instinct, Lune knelt and looked into the space beneath the bed.
Tiresias’s face stared back at her, pale and streaked with tears.
Lune sighed in disgust. Her tension did not vanish entirely, but a good deal of it evaporated; she had never once seen the madman attack anyone. And he did not look like he was spying; he looked like he was hiding.
“Come out from under there,” she growled. How had he fit? Small as he was, she never would have expected the seer could curl up in that narrow space. He shook his head at her words, but the violation of even this tenuous sanctuary angered Lune; she reached under the bed and dragged him out bodily. Invidiana was unlikely to execute her simply for manhandling one of her pets.
Emerging into the dim light, Tiresias gave her a twisted smile that might have been meant to be bright. “Not everything is found so easily,” he said gravely. “But if one’s cause is good… you might do it.”
“Get out,” Lune spat. She barely restrained herself from striking him, venting the anger she dared not release on anyone else in the Onyx Hall. “You are one of her pets, her tools. For all I know, she sent you to me — and anything you say might be a trap she has laid. Everything is a trap, with her.”
He nodded, as if she had said something deeply wise. “One trap begets another.” Hiding under the bed had sent his hair into disarray, strands tangling with the tips of his eyelashes, twitching when he blinked. “Would you like to break the traps? All of them?”
Lune laughed bitterly, retreating from him. “Oh, no. I will not hear you. One deranged, pointless quest is enough — or would this be the same one? Will you tell me again to seek Francis Merriman?”
Tiresias had begun to turn toward the door, as if to wander off mid-conversation, but his motion arrested when she said that, and he pivoted back to face her. “Have you found him?”