A Star Shall Fall

Or something else. Aspell’s motivations had never been clear to her. He enjoyed power, but was content to bide his time until those above him precipitated their own fall. If he did anything to hasten that, she’d never caught him at it.

Until now. The change bothered her, because she didn’t know its cause.

She would have to be wary of him. Whatever game Aspell was playing, she did not intend to let it take her by surprise.

THE ONYX HALL, LONDON

15 March 1759

“He said he intended nothing against your will.” The memory stung bitterly in her mind. “And I believed him.”

The elfin woman Irrith had spoken to in Dr. Andrews’s deserted laboratory was gone; the creature she faced now was every inch the Queen of the Onyx Hall. Lune sat with rigid posture, hands unnaturally still on the arms of her chair, flanked by Sir Peregrin Thorne and Dame Segraine. The Queen had listened without comment to the tale of Irrith’s involvement with the Sanists; now she sat silent a moment longer, eyes as flat and inexpressive as two silver coins.

Sir Peregrin asked coldly, “And what was your part to be in all of this?”

Irrith was already kneeling; now she ducked her chin and dug her fingers into the midnight carpet. “He—he said the idea would need to be in her Grace’s mind already, so that she’d make the decision quickly when the time came.”

A soft, sharp exhalation: the first sound Lune had made since Irrith began. “Perhaps he spoke the truth, then,” she said, with a razor edge of irony. “My will; my decision to die. Once he’d arranged for it to be so.”

“You give him too much credit, madam,” Segraine muttered. Irrith had asked her to be here for this audience. Lune might be merciful as Queens went, but Irrith wanted a friend present regardless. “He’ll have weighed Irrith to an ounce before he said anything to her. He knows she would never agree to outright regicide. But just because he said all those fine words doesn’t mean he wouldn’t hurl you into the Dragon’s maw if you decided the wrong way.”

Irrith’s gut twisted. Still like a babe in the wood. Still a puppet to be danced about by courtiers. Carline used friendship to snare her; Aspell had used her ideals. Pretending all the time that he wanted what she did, when in truth his treason began long before the Onyx Hall began to crumble.

She bowed her head even farther. “Your Majesty… what are you going to do?”

Leather creaked as Lune flexed her good hand. “Sanist sentiment is widespread in some parts of the Onyx Court. Eliminating their leading cabal won’t change that—though it would at least prevent what you’ve described. Unfortunately, Lord Valentin led my efforts to uncover that cabal. Thanks to him, we have nothing better than suspicion, and your word that he is their leader. We have no firm accusation to level against him, that would carry weight in a trial.”

What do you need a trial for? Just kill him! But Irrith had reason to be grateful for the Queen’s sense of justice, and her mimicry of mortal customs in reaching it. “Your Grace, I meant—what are you going to do with me?”

Sir Peregrin made a brusque sound that might have been either a growl or an angry laugh. Irrith did not dare look up at Segraine. She could feel the pressure of Lune’s gaze upon her. This is what he wanted me to be afraid of. And I am. Bad enough I went with him, but much worse that I stayed silent. That I let months go by without telling her.

“Why did you meet with the Sanists?”

Irrith could read nothing out of that question; Lune was too good at keeping her thoughts from her voice. Not that she would have had any other answer to give, regardless of the Queen’s state of mind. All she had was the truth. “Because the monarch is the realm. I don’t think it’s fading because you’re wounded, madam, but—I don’t know if it can be repaired so long as it has a mistress who isn’t whole.”

That was definitely a growl from Sir Peregrin. Lune, however, gave a quiet and weary reply. “Neither do I. I’m not ready to give up yet, though.”

“You shouldn’t!” It burst out without any polite address at all, and jerked Irrith upright as if someone had pulled on a string. Sitting back on her heels, hands clenching, she said, “He wants you to think you should. All of them do, all the Sanists, and they’re too eager to accept the easy answer, rather than looking for something else. But Aspell’s the heart of it. Don’t wait for a trial; give me permission, and I’ll go stab him this very moment.”

The Queen laughed, as much from startlement as anything else. “A very kind offer. Unfortunately, it’s one I can’t accept. That would make him a martyr, and encourage the others. Not only do you not have my permission, Irrith, you have our royal command that you are not to murder Valentin Aspell.”