The serpentine lord bowed himself out. A moment later, Cuddy entered, and the usher closed the door behind him. “Majesty,” the lubberkin said, going to one knee, “there was a spy, outside the dwarves’ workshop, who observed me coming out. I fear the Sanists have found the room at last.”
Galen’s gut tightened. “Who is the spy?”
The lubberkin shook his head. “I don’t know her name. I could describe her—”
“No need,” Lune said. “We will go see her ourselves. Is she secure?”
Cuddy leapt to open the door for her, but took care to answer before he turned the handle. “The brothers are watching her, in the pillar trap. I don’t know how she made it past the others; I came immediately to you, madam.”
Then they were out into the more public space of the presence chamber, where some of the more favoured courtiers congregated in idleness. All surged to their feet as the usher announced, “The Queen, and the Prince of the Stone!” A wave of bows and curtsies eddied around them as they passed, and curious whispers rose in their wake.
They went by a secret path, one of many that honeycombed the Onyx Hall, until they reached the entrance to the main passage. Cuddy moved the rowan-wood barrier aside, and Lune laid a palm upon the stone of the floor. The defences, recognizing her touch, let them pass unhindered.
Two stocky figures waited at the edge of the pillar-trap, and one slender one that leapt to her feet as they approached. Galen recognised her instantly, and was surprised at himself; there were many fae in the Onyx Hall, and he’d seen her only twice. But Irrith had made a vivid impression—though that impression consisted mostly of mud.
“Your Grace!” she exclaimed, and dropped back down.
Galen winced. Her knees must have struck the floor hard, though she didn’t make a sound. Lune said, in a tone both startled and wary, “Irrith? Sun and Moon—what are you doing here?”
“Proving that Ktistes is a bad liar,” the sprite said. Then, belatedly noticing her own impudence, she added, “Madam.”
“The centaur?” Galen shook his head in confusion. “What do you mean, he’s a liar?”
She hesitated, one hand going to the stone as if to push herself upright, before remembering no one had given her permission to rise. “He told me this was a bad patch. Because of the wall. But it isn’t near the wall at all, is it? I think we’re somewhere around Fish Street. My lord.”
Her accuracy startled Galen. Few fae attempted to trace the connections to London above, beyond the entrances. Only he and Lune, bound into the sovereignty of the Onyx Hall, understood them instinctively.
“The way was barred with rowan wood,” Lune said. Since that first exclamation, the emotions had drained out of her voice, leaving it cool and unreadable. “Even if you believed the reason to be false, you knew you were forbidden to pass. And if that had not made it clear, the other defences must have. Yet you continued on. Why?”
Galen wondered at her coolness. Cuddy had accused Irrith of being a Sanist, but he doubted it; the sprite had been gone from the Onyx Hall since before that problem began. There was no reason to think she’d been swayed by them in the few short months since her return. He doubted Irrith even read a newspaper.
Those shifting green eyes held an echo of old hurt. “Madam… nobody sent me. I really was just curious. And I suppose it was foolish of me, but I—I’ve learned my lesson. I know better than to tell anyone anything I’ve seen.”
The weary bitterness of it took him aback. It didn’t fit with the Irrith he’d seen before. She and the Queen were clearly having a conversation of their own, separate from the four who watched them; and glancing around, he saw that Cuddy and the dwarves understood no more than he did.
A division that only sharpened when Lune waved one hand in dismissal. “That doesn’t matter anymore, Irrith. It’s been moved. This, however, is a different matter.”
Whatever “it” was, the revelation of its movement was enough to make Irrith’s eyes nearly start from her head. Then the rest of the Queen’s reply sank in, and the sprite twisted enough to glance over her shoulder, at the dwarves’ workshop behind her. The sundial door hung slightly ajar, but gave her no glimpse within. “I’ve hardly seen anything—but of course that doesn’t matter, does it, your Grace? I know there’s something here. Though…” She curled her fingers halfway in, as if stopping short of fists, then said, “I won’t be the last to come down here. Those defences didn’t stop me, and you rule over a court of very curious fae, madam.”
She was right. It had worked so far—and, with any luck, would only need to work a little while longer—but the defences were not remotely enough. Galen could hardly tell her why there weren’t more: the massive enchantment just a short distance away, behind the sundial door, made it unwise in the extreme to place many other charms nearby. If they tried, Ktistes feared this might become a broken part of the Onyx Hall in truth.
Very quietly, Irrith said, “I could give you my word.”
Galen happened to be looking directly at Lune when she said it; he therefore caught the minute narrowing of the Queen’s eyes, the tightening of her sculpted lips. Fae could not break their sworn words, which made Irrith’s offer the perfect solution. If she swore, she would be incapable of telling what she’d seen. Why did that prospect disturb Lune?
He didn’t know, any more than he knew what Irrith had almost told in the past. The one thing he did know was that this entire affair risked being magnified far beyond its merits. Finding Irrith here had clearly disturbed Lune, enough that her response might be too harsh.
Saying that, however, was more than a little difficult. “Madam,” Galen began diffidently, then choked on the rest.
Lune’s lips pressed together again, before she turned her attention to him. “Yes?”
Now he had to say something. Holding his hands out in placation, Galen went on, “I know that Dame Irrith, as a faerie, falls under your authority instead of mine. But if I may… offer a suggestion…”
The Queen gestured him onward, with a hint of impatience.
He felt like a very sharp stone had lodged in his throat. Around that obstruction, Galen said, “It may be that in this instance, there is more to be gained by revelation than by secrecy. Not just as concerns Dame Irrith, but the court as a whole.”
Cuddy failed to repress a snort, and Lune’s eyebrows rose into two doubtful arches. “What gain do you see?”
Galen spent little time among the fae outside of the Queen’s company, but Edward Thorne heard things, and passed them on to his master. “There’s a great deal of fear in your realm that time is running out. We have a year—perhaps less, if an astronomer makes an early discovery. If your subjects were to know there’s more time—”
He stopped because he could see Lune working through the complications and counterarguments. “It hasn’t harmed the Hall,” she murmured, almost inaudibly. “Though some, of course, will try to say that it has. But if we leave unspecified the details of its operation—to silence, or at least confuse, those who would demand to know why we haven’t disposed of the cometary threat already—”
“They’re asking that anyway,” Galen reminded her. Then he wished he’d found a more tactful phrasing. “But this, at least, is a concrete step, something they can point to when they ask themselves whether—”
The rest of that sentence was swallowed, courtesy of more belated tact, but Lune finished it for him. “Whether we’ve accomplished anything at all.”
Everyone else had stayed well out of this exchange. Irrith looked to be holding her breath. Galen said, “If the question of secrecy is removed, then Dame Irrith has nothing to betray, whether by accident or design.”