A Star Shall Fall

Hating himself for that thought, Galen finally turned to Lune. Speaking as much to her as to the doctor, he said, “But we will find another way. That, Dr. Andrews, is what the experimentation is for. Like miners, we will draw the metal from the ore.” He cursed his choice of metaphor the instant it left his mouth, as his imagination supplied him with reminders of smelting. The ore did not survive the process unharmed.

Still, Andrews nodded. His expression had gone thoughtful again. “It will be difficult, Mr. St. Clair, to work on that matter without the assistance of your scholars. Two mortal men and one heathen faerie—we aren’t likely to get far on our own.”

Lady Feidelm, Wrain, Savennis. More distantly, the von das Tickens and Ktistes. Lune moved for the first time since she had entered, studying the room; not the furnishings, but the walls and fittings. “We can ensure that nothing said in here will be overheard. I would keep the number to a minimum—only those that work with you here. That, I think, will be safe enough.”

So not the dwarves or the centaur. Galen wondered it if was mere accident that excluded the foreigners. Well, Lady Feidelm is Irish. She has been here longer, though, and proved her loyalty to this court. And Abd ar-Rashid—but they could hardly leave him out, when he was the one who pointed to the moon queen in the first place.

“Be careful,” Galen said, bowing to necessity. “And work fast. The sooner we have an alternative, the safer we will all be.”

And not only against the Dragon.

THE ONYX HALL, LONDON

14 November 1758

Irrith only rarely attended court. The pageantry could be amusing at times, but the business Lune conducted during that time interested her very little. It was, however, the one place she could be sure of finding Valentin Aspell—aside from his chambers, and visiting him there would draw far too much attention.

The greater presence chamber, when she arrived, seemed much emptier than she recalled. Even a full court, summoning everyone in the Onyx Hall, didn’t really fill the enormous space, but the assembled lords and ladies seemed like a handful of dice rattling around in an oversized box. Leaning over to Segraine, who was not on duty today, Irrith whispered, “Where is everyone?”

The lady knight shook her head almost imperceptibly. “Fewer every time. Some are still in the city, but drawing back; others have gone entirely.”

As Carline had predicted they would. And the comet hadn’t even been sighted yet.

Lune called forward Sir Peregrin, the Captain of the Onyx Guard. Four knights followed him, carrying a long, narrow box, which they placed on the floor when they knelt. The captain said, “Your Majesty, the yarthkin Hempry has hafted a piece of the jotun ice to length of ash.” He gestured, and the knights uncovered the box, revealing an enormously long pike, its end glinting with the same near-invisible material Irrith had seen them wrestling with a year ago. “I have selected these four to be your spear-knights: Sir Adenant, Sir Thrandin, Sir Emaus, and my lieutenant Sir Cerenel. They will stand ready to do battle with the Dragon, and to stab it through its fiery heart, for the defence of the Onyx Hall.”

The Dragon might or might not have a body when it returned, but it would

have a heart; that much, they were certain of. Lune thanked the spear-knights and made a speech Irrith didn’t bother listening to. She waited impatiently until court was adjourned, then drifted in Aspell’s direction, knowing better than to run straight for him. Still, the Lord Keeper glared when she drew near. “I am quite busy, Dame Irrith.”

“I have something to tell you,” she whispered. He was the one who brought her into this; if her inability to skulk well bothered him, it was his own damned fault.

His thin-lipped mouth barely moved in response. “Crow’s Head. Two hours.”

For a meeting like this, it was probably the safest place in the Onyx Hall, given the copies of The Ash and Thorn scattered around. And it wouldn’t be easy to slip spies past Hafdean, the surly hob who kept the place. Irrith, lacking a pocket-watch, went early, and sat beneath the preserved human head mounted prominently on the wall. Magrat wasn’t in her usual place. Perhaps the church grim was off haunting some religious folk.

Eventually Hafdean nudged her in passing. Irrith hadn’t seen Aspell come in, nor anyone under a glamour, but she wasn’t surprised; she went through a door at the back of the main room and found herself in a small chamber that undoubtedly had another, hidden exit. Aspell was there, pacing. “You had best not make a habit of this, Dame Irrith. What do you want?”