Lune knelt and laid one hand against the stone of the floor. The charm that governed the entrance spoke to her fingers. Francis had prayed, the words of God bringing him from one world to the other without any eyes seeing him. For her, the angelic touch sufficed.
Had any observer been there to watch, the floor would have remained unchanged. But to Lune’s eyes, the slabs of stone folded away, revealing a staircase that led downward.
She had no time to waste. Gathering her courage, Lune hurried below — and prayed the threat of the Hunt had done its job.
THE ONYX HALL, LONDON: May 9, 1590
The marble walls resonated with the thunder above, trembling, but holding strong.
Seated upon her throne, Invidiana might have been a statue. Her face betrayed no tension — had been nothing but a frozen mask since a hideous female giant brought word that the Wild Hunt rode against London.
Whatever he might say against her, Deven had to grant Invidiana this: she was indeed a Queen. She gave orders crisply, sending her minions running, and in less time than he would have believed possible, the defense of the Onyx Hall was mustered.
The presence chamber was all but empty. Those who had not gone to the battle had departed, hiding in their chambers, or fleeing entirely, in the hope of finding some safety.
Most, but not all. Invidiana, motionless upon her throne, was flanked by two elf knights, black-haired twin brothers. They stood with swords unsheathed, prepared to defend her with their lives. A human woman with a wasted, sunken face and dead eyes crouched at the foot of the dais.
And Achilles stood near Deven, clad only in sandals and a loincloth, his body tense with desire to join in the slaughter.
The thunder grew stronger, until the entire chamber shook. A crashing sound: some of the filigree had detached from between the arches, and plummeted to the floor. Deven glanced up, then rolled out of the way just in time to save himself as an entire pane of crystal shattered upon the stones.
Achilles laughed at him, fingers caressing the hilt of the archaic Greek sword he wore.
Where was Lune, in it all? Up in the sky, riding with the Hunt to save him? Battling at some entrance against guards that would keep her from the Onyx Hall?
Would she bring the miracle he needed?
He hoped so. But a miracle would not be enough; when she arrived, Achilles and the two elf knights would destroy her.
His sword was gone, broken in the battle against Achilles; he had not even a knife with which to defend himself. And he had no chance of simply snatching a weapon from the mortal or the knights. While he struggled with one, the others would get him from behind.
His eye fell upon the debris that now littered the floor, and a thought came to him.
They said Suspiria had called her lover Tiresias, for his gift. She had clearly continued the practice, naming Achilles for the great warrior of Greek legend.
Deven glanced upward. More elements of the structure were creaking, cracking; he dove suddenly to one side, as if fearing another would fall on him. The movement brought him closer to Achilles, and when he rose to a kneeling position, a piece of crystal was cold in his palm, its razor edges drawing blood.
He lashed out, and slashed the crystal across the backs of Achilles’s vulnerable heels.
The man screamed and collapsed to the floor. Downed, but not dead, and Deven could take no chances. He seized a fragment of silver filigree and slammed it down onto his enemy’s head, smashing his face to bloody ruin and sending the muscled body limp.
He got the man’s sword into his hand just in time to meet the rush of the knights.
The palace groaned and shook under the assault of the battle above. How long would the Nellt siblings and their army hold off the Wild Hunt?
She ran flat out for the presence chamber. The rooms and galleries were deserted; everyone had gone to fight, or fled. Everywhere was debris, decorations knocked to the floor by the rattling blasts. And then the doors of the presence chamber were before her, closed tight, but without their usual guard. She should pause, listen at the crack, try to discover who was inside, but she could not stop; she lacked both the time and the courage.
Lune hit the doors and flung herself into the room beyond.
A wiry arm locked around her throat the instant she came through, and someone dragged her backward. Lune clawed behind herself, arms flailing. Fingers caught in matted hair. Eurydice. Sun and Moon, she knows….
Achilles lay in a pool of his own blood along one wall. Sir Cunobel of the Onyx Guard groaned on the floor not far away, struggling and failing to rise. But his twin Cerenel was still on his feet, and at the point of his sword, pinned with his back to a column, Michael Deven.
“So,” Invidiana said, from the distant height of her throne. “You have betrayed me most thoroughly, it seems. And all for this?”
Deven was bruised and battered, his right hand bleeding; great tears showed in his doublet, where his opponents had nearly skewered him. His eyes met hers. They were not so very far apart. If only she could get to him, just for an instant—
One kiss. But was it worth them both dying, to deliver it? What would happen, once their lips met?
Lune forced herself to look at Invidiana. “You mean to execute us both.”
The Queen’s beauty was all the more terrible, now that Lune knew from whence it came. Invidiana smiled, exulting. “Both? Perhaps, and perhaps not… he has drunk of faerie wine, you see. Already he is becoming ours. Once they take the first step, ’tis so easy to draw them in further. And you have deprived me of two of my pets. It seems only fitting that one, at least, should be replaced.”
She saw the signs of it now, in the glittering of his eyes, the hectic flush of his cheeks against his pale skin. How much had he drunk? How far had he fallen into Faerie’s thrall?
Some. But not, perhaps, enough.
Lune faced the Queen again. “He is stubborn. ’Tis a testament to your power that he drank even one sip. But a man with strong enough will can cast that off; he may refuse more. I know this man, and I tell you now: you will lose him. He will starve before he takes more from your hand, or from any of your courtiers.”
Invidiana’s lip curled. “Tell me now what you think to offer, traitor, before I lose patience with you.”
Eurydice’s bony arm threatened to choke her. Lune rasped out, “Promise me that you will keep him alive, and I will convince him to accept more food.”
“I make no promises,” Invidiana spat, her rage suddenly breaking through. “You are not here to bargain, traitor. I need do nothing you ask of me.”
“I understand that.” Lune let her weight drop; Eurydice was not strong enough to keep her upright, and so she sagged to her knees on the floor, the mortal now clinging to her back. Bowing her head against the restricting arm around her throat, Lune said, “With nothing left to lose, I can only beg, and offer my assistance — in hopes of buying this small mercy for him.”
Invidiana considered this for several nerve-racking moments. “Why would you wish for that?”
Lune closed her eyes. “Because I love him, and would not see him die.”
Soft, contemptuous laughter. Invidiana must have guessed it, but the admission amused her. “And why would he accept from you what he would not take from us?”
Her fingernails carved crescents into her palms. “Because I placed a charm on him, when I went to the mortal court, that made his heart mine. He will do anything I ask of him.”
The battle still shook the walls of the presence chamber. Most of what could fall, had fallen; the next thing to go would be the Hall itself.