Андреа Хёст - The Pyramids of London

Had Eleri meant Iona? That sheer confidence, and full force personality? Or…Eluned turned her head and considered Prince Luc, who was possibly as handsome as the papers said, in his reserved way. He glanced in her direction, and smiled encouragingly, and Eluned looked hastily away, then cursed herself because now he would think she liked him. But she supposed he was used to that.

The two triskelion, their song muted, slowed to hover directly above them, sending a faint, warm wind down onto their faces. Then the red and gold, Toroco, sang its name, but drew each syllable out to produce a long OOOOOOO‑oooooo‑OOOOOOO, and the three designated Gwyn Lynns, a fraction of a note behind, sang along with it.

Eluned’s chest throbbed again, and she shot a wide-eyed glance at her sister, but Eleri’s head was turned away. Toward Princess Celestine.

Celestine? Eluned couldn’t understand it. Fine-boned, and a little taller than Eluned and Eleri, Celestine she had her father’s long fall of straight, black hair, and exceptionally nice, clear skin. And…she had seemed to like her new pet? Attractive, yes, and with a fascinating parentage, but ‘incredible’?

Deciding she was misunderstanding something, Eluned turned her attention back to the dome above as Dimity blurred in a series of sidewise darts before settling above them again to sing its name. It was impossible to match the high, ethereal notes, but Eluned at least managed to keep her pitch true, and she took a deep breath after, wondering if she could truly feel the triskelion’s reaction. Everyone spoke of the joy of the Solstice Singing, but she’d had no idea it would be so intense.

Then the two triskelion sang at the same time, spiralling together along with the notes of their names, and they all sang back, even Eleri and Princess Tethané, who had a sweet, true voice, deep for such a small girl.

It was easier after that, to set aside the confusion of Eleri, and the memory of soft fur, and the discomfort of being thrust on prestigious strangers to entertain. The triskelion made all the difference. They could do nothing but spin, and speed or slow their song, but their delight was a second sun. Creatures of Sulis, sky-born, wind-hearted, completely different from her own human existence, present thanks to the tie of full allegiance between Sulis and the Suleviae.

Her hand itched.

Prytennia’s Crown Princess had a reputation for being unsociable, and her official photographic portrait certainly seemed to show a stern and uncompromising young woman. After a less than successful State visit the Dauphin had even taken to calling her ‘La poupée d’acier’: the Steel Doll.

That piece of mockery in no way suited Aerinndís Gwyn Lynn on a warm summer afternoon, wearing the lightest of Continental frocks and with her waist-length hair unbound. While not so deliciously tall as Lynsey Blair, she still had several inches on Rian, and seemingly endless legs. Her mouth—wide and generous, but with an upward crimp in her lower lip—might give her an air of being permanently unimpressed, but automaton-like she most certainly was not.

Rian stole appreciative glances, but during the short walk to the princess’ tower she set aside formidable distraction and refocused on goals. There were immense advantages in the Suleviae becoming involved in the investigation, particularly Princess Aerinndís. As the Sulevia Sceadu, the Crown Princess commanded ‘the Night Breezes’: a very mild name for one of Prytennia’s main defences—and sources of information-gathering.

Hoping Griff had not been too inconsiderate in his explorations, Rian followed the princess to her tower’s central stair, and was not surprised to be led downwards. She knew his heartbeat now, the vampire whose blood she shared. There was a certain resonance as well, not entirely pleasant. Part of herself, sitting before her.

Or, in Makepeace’s case, lying sprawled on an oval table, reading a newspaper.

He was dressed as he had been when she’d first seen him, in a casual wrapped shendy and a worn shirt lacking its laces. The formal clothing of the other day must have been on Cernunnos’ account. Perhaps Makepeace—with a millennia supporting Suleviae rule behind him—offered the Gwyn Lynns the same disdain he spread so liberally elsewhere.

Princess Leodhild and Princess Aerinndís, with barely a pause, gripped one side of the table and tilted it, sending the ancient puppet master and assassin sliding. Makepeace made no effort to arrest his fall, landing on two chairs, which clattered hard to the polished wooden floor.

The vampire folded his paper as he lay in the tangle. “You’ll damage the furniture.”

“No matter. You can cover the repairs.” Princess Leodhild settled herself at one end of the now-righted table, opposite Princess Aerinndís. “Or you could keep your feet—and the rest of you—off the table, Comfrey.”

He responded by reaching up and placing the paper where they could see it. An early evening edition, only a portion of the headline visible, but more than enough.

“Make the effort to send word, Wednesday, should any other events of interest occur in your presence. A minor declaration of war, perhaps, or trivial invasion.”

Rian, adjusting her thoughts to the unexpected family atmosphere, sat down on her vampire’s opposite.

“You neglected to furnish me with an address.”

“I’m always contactable through the palace.”

“Is the common post not read? Shall I invent a code?”

He shot her an irritated glance as he levered himself to his feet and recovered the chairs. “This latest excursion of yours is hardly secret.” But he waved the discussion away. “Any other developments?”

Rian described the visit of Lynsey Blair, the Alban woman’s connection to Lord Fennington, and the proposed trip to Tangleways.

“Folly does fund research into fulgite alternatives,” Princess Leodhild remarked. “His company led the development of those roof-mounted turbines, you know, and the conversion of existing water- and windmills to fulquus generation. Whether he’d need to outsource is another question. Are you proposing to question him directly about this secret commission?”

“That depends on his reaction to Aedric and Eiliff’s names.” She glanced at Makepeace, who had propped his head on one fist. “As you say, the one who commissioned those automatons had small reason to steal them. We had a second visitor to Forest House—searching through the attic where Eleri has been setting up her workroom. So far as I can tell, this one came in through the street-side attic windows, and it took longer for the folies to notice. I don’t think that bull creature could manage that.”

“Mm.” It was difficult to tell if his boredom was feigned. “What did you expect ‘Felix’ would end up doing?”

Rian stared. She’d said that when alone with Eleri and Eluned, with only Griff and the talkative young page nearby, and not within earshot. “How did you—?”

Princess Aerinndís’ husky voice cut through her confusion. “He can make you not notice him. The Amon-Re line can control minds.” Hands neatly folded on the table, the Crown Princess looked merely disinterested when Makepeace turned an expression of genuine annoyance on her. “Pouting from someone so ancient is ever entertaining, Comfrey, but it wastes time. Accident or not, you’ve bound yourself an apprentice. Use her effectively, for in this matter I have no patience left for games.”

She had very dark blue eyes. It took increasing effort not to fall into them.

Makepeace sighed as if greatly put-upon, but then lifted a shoulder. “Wednesday recognised the one calling himself Gaius Silvanus, come with the head of Ficus Lapis to show the progress of the tunnelling. In this fashion for taking the old Republic names, that one is exceptionally common, almost a cliché, and thus infinitely suspicious attached even to the junior assistant of a very reputable engineering firm. So who is this ‘Felix’?”