A dose of common sense helped. “As I understand it, alchemists worked with laboratory equipment, boiling and distilling things. How in Heaven’s name are we to wrestle your philosophic sulphur into any kind of conjunction, when it will be trying to burn us all alive?”
“I haven’t the first notion,” Andrews said. The gleam in his eyes chilled Galen, even as the possibility that sparked it quickened his breath. “That, Mr. St. Clair, is what we must devise.”
Under most circumstances, Irrith would have enjoyed the chance to go into the city on someone else’s bread. After all, every bite she got from another was a bite that didn’t come out of her own meager store, and then she had a whole day of safety in the world above.
Most circumstances did not involve Valentin Aspell, and a meeting she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to attend.
They shared a hackney, which put her much closer to him than she wanted to be. The uncomfortable silence lasted for a few minutes before Irrith said, “Aren’t you going to make me swear an oath?”
His whisper-thin eyebrows rose. “An oath?”
“Not to tell anyone about this.”
Aspell glanced out the window of the carriage, at the crowded streets creeping by. “Dame Irrith, do not insult my intelligence. At the first hint of such a demand, you would run as far from me as you could—and with good cause. Oaths are for conspirators with something to hide. The people you will see today practice a degree of secrecy, yes, because it would be easy for someone to use our words against us. But I assure you: those you will meet are no different than you.”
She squirmed uncomfortably on the stained bench. If they’re no different from me… then I’m no different from them.
But Aspell had assured her the purpose of this meeting was to discuss a means of preserving the Onyx Hall, against both its fraying and the Dragon. True, clouds blanketed the sky above them; the ritual had done its work. That didn’t get rid of the beast, though. And it did nothing to reverse the Hall’s decay.
Hence today’s meeting. Irrith wasn’t surprised to find it taking place above. Lune kept a good eye on both worlds, but there was no way she could watch London as closely as the Onyx Hall. If fae wanted to do something secret, their chances were better among the humans, whose teeming masses would take little notice of anything they did. Still, the choice made Irrith frown. Aspell had handed her a piece of bread without so much as a blink—not that he blinked often anyway. That kind of generosity wasn’t normal, especially nowadays.
She thought again about the black dog that ambushed her on her way into the city. Had there been other such attacks? If so, Lune had kept them quiet. But she would, wouldn’t she? Doesn’t want anyone to know if she can’t keep the tithe safe.
Her stomach was doing a queasy dance even before they arrived at their destination and she discovered it to be another damnable coffeehouse, under the sign of the Grecian. Foul drink; just what her nerves needed. If Aspell insisted she have some, she would run away.
They didn’t sit at the tables, though. Aspell spoke briefly to the owner, then led Irrith into an upstairs room, where a coal fire tried to warm the air and mostly just stained it with smoke. Several people already waited there. Fae, obviously, concealed under glamours, just as she and the Lord Keeper were. It had the feel of conspiracy, however much Aspell insisted on their good intentions.
He counted them swiftly and nodded. “We are all here. Let us begin.”
This was all? Irrith made it only eight in the room, not counting the two of them. Then again, it would be too suspicious if a lot of fae all vanished at once. No doubt some of these would report back to friends of theirs. And Aspell must have some means of identifying those who came, or a spy could join them without anyone knowing. He was too clever for that.
She wished the word spy hadn’t crossed her mind.
“We have a newcomer among us today,” Aspell said, gesturing to her. Irrith was glad of her habit of masculine glamours—then she wondered. Everyone in the Onyx Hall knew of that habit. Should she have looked female today? At least Aspell had the wit to use the right pronoun when he said, “I have asked him here to tell us what he’s seen of the Queen.”
Blood and Bone—she hadn’t expected to be shoved into this so quickly. Rising, Irrith made an awkward little bow, and tried to figure out how to begin. “Er—the Queen. She’s… at first I thought it was that she’s tired. And, you know, that could be from a lot of things. We don’t have to sleep like mortals do, but working all the time the way she does—that would tire even a hob.
“But I don’t think it’s that. She’s tired, but there’s something else, too.”
Irrith swallowed hard. Hob was another word she shouldn’t have thought; it summoned up an image of the Goodemeades. What would they say, if they knew she’d come here today?
She’d come for a reason. Not for Aspell’s sake, or out of disaffection with Lune and the Onyx Court. No, she was here because she didn’t want to see those things lost.
Irrith said, “I think her Majesty’s fading.”
With those words out, it was easier to go on. “My best guess is that the Hall is calling on her strength to hold itself together. Only a little; it’s hard to see the effect. I wouldn’t have noticed it except I—” She caught herself before she could say anything that would betray her identity. “It’s slow. But if Ktistes can’t find a way to mend it, and especially if the mortals tear down more bits…” Irrith gestured helplessly. “It will only get worse.”
“Like two cripples holding each other up,” one of the fae said. “Keeps either one from falling over, at least for a while. But it doesn’t make either one whole.”
“The Queen isn’t crippled,” Irrith said sharply, forgetting Lune’s hand for a moment. That’s only a hand, though. “And Ktistes already made the entrances work again, after they burnt in the Fire. He’s clever; he’ll probably find a way to repair this, too.”
Aspell made a placating gesture. He’d disguised himself as a pale-faced clerk, though he’d forgotten to put inkstains on his fingers. “All of us are here because we share a common goal, and that is the preservation of the Onyx Hall. If the centaur could restore our home to health, we would all be satisfied.
“But he cannot, because the foundation is too badly cracked. The sovereign is her realm. It cannot be whole unless its ruler is.”
“Has anyone tried healing Lune?” Irrith asked.
It produced grumblings around the table. No doubt they’d been through all of this before, maybe years ago. And she’d just made it obvious that whoever she was, she’d only recently come to the Onyx Hall—if they hadn’t guessed that already. “Well, have they?”
The man at the far end of the table said, “There was talk of getting her a silver hand, like that Irish king. But silver doesn’t make you whole.”
“And besides,” another added, “there’s the iron wound. You can talk all you like about healing her hand, but nothing heals what iron does to you.”
Nothing they knew of. Irrith wondered if Abd ar-Rashid could do it. Apparently iron didn’t bother his kind, and he said he knew a lot about medicine. If he could heal the Queen, this whole problem would go away.
Or would it? Irrith honestly didn’t know whether making Lune whole would do anything to help the Onyx Hall. It might rob the Sanists of their best argument against her, and that would be something—but the real malcontents would still say that Lune had failed as Queen, because her first duty was to hold her realm together.