Marie Brennan: Midnight Never Come

“Silence,” Invidiana hissed, and his words cut off.

So perhaps Cadogant was the target of this affair. Or perhaps not. He was certainly not guilty, but that told Lune nothing.

“Come before me, and kneel,” the Queen said, and shaking like an aspen leaf, Cadogant ascended the stairs until he came before the throne.

One long-fingered white hand went to the bodice of Invidiana’s gown. The jewel that lay at the center of her low neckline came away, leaving behind a stark patch of black in the intricate embroidery. Invidiana rose from her throne, and everyone knelt again, but this time they looked up; all of them, from Aspell and Vidar down to the lowliest brainless sprite, knew they were required to witness what came next. Lune watched from her station by the pillar, transfixed with her own fear.

The jewel was a masterwork even among the fae, a perfectly symmetrical tracery of silver drawn down from the moon itself, housing in its center a true black diamond: not the painted gems humans wore, but a stone that held dark fire in its depths. Pearls formed from mermaid’s tears surrounded it, and razor-edged slivers of obsidian ringed the gem’s edges, but the diamond was the focal point, and the source of power.

Looming above the kneeling Cadogant, Invidiana was a pitiless figure. She reached out her hand and laid the jewel against the fae’s brow, between his eyes.

“Please,” Cadogant whispered. The word was audible to the farthest corners of the utterly silent hall. Brave as he was, to face the Queen’s wrath and hope for what passed for mercy in her, he still begged.

A quiet clicking was his answer, as six spidery claws extended from the jewel and laid needle-sharp tips against his skin.

“Tormi Cadogant,” Invidiana said, her voice cold with formality, “this ban I lay upon thee. Nevermore wilt thou bear title or honor within the borders of England. Nor wilt thou flee to foreign lands. Instead, thou wilt wander, never staying more than three nights in one place, neither speaking nor writing any word to another; thou wilt be as one mute, an exile within thine own land.”

Lune closed her eyes as she felt power flare outward from the jewel. She had seen it used before, and knew some of how it worked. There was only one consequence for breaking such a ban.

Death.

Not just an exile, but one forbidden to communicate. Cadogant must have been plotting some treason. And this was a message to his coconspirators, subtle enough to be understood, without telling the ignorant that a conspiracy had ever existed in the first place.

Her skin shuddered all over. Such a fate might have been hers, had Invidiana been any more enraged by her failure.

“Go,” Invidiana snapped. Lune did not open her eyes until the hesitant, stumbling footsteps passed out of hearing.

When Cadogant was gone, Invidiana did not seat herself again. “This work is concluded for now,” she said, and her words bore the terrible implication that Cadogant might not be the last victim. But whatever would happen next, it would not happen now. Everyone cast their gaze down again as the Queen swept from the room, and when the doors shut at last behind her, everyone let out a collective breath.

In the wake of her departure, music began to thread a plaintive note through the air. Glancing back toward the dais, Lune saw a fair-haired young man lounging on the steps, a recorder balanced in his nimble fingers. Like all of Invidiana’s mortal pets, his name was taken from the stories of the ancient Greeks, and for good reason; Orpheus’s simple melody did more than simply evoke the loss and sorrow of the peasant fae, and Cadogant’s downfall. Some of those who had shown cruel amusement before now frowned, regret haunting their eyes. One dark-haired fae woman began to dance, her slender body flowing like water, giving form to the sound. Lune pressed her lips together and hurried to the door, before she, too, could be drawn into Orpheus’s snare.

Vidar was lounging against one doorpost, bony silk-clad arms crossed over his chest. “Did you enjoy the show?” he asked, that same smirk hovering again on his lips.

Lune longed for a response to that, some perfect, cutting reply to check his surety that he stood in the Queen’s favor and she did not. After all, fae had been known to suffer apparent disgrace, only for it later to be revealed as part of some scheme. But no such scheme sheltered her, and her wit failed. She felt Vidar’s smirk widen as she shouldered past him and out of the presence chamber.

His words had unsettled her more than she realized. Or perhaps it was Cadogant, or those poor, helpless country pawns. Lune could not bear to stay out in the public eye, where she imagined every whisper spoke of her downfall. Instead she made her way, with as much haste as she could afford, through the tunnels to her own quarters.

The closing of the door gave the illusion of sanctuary. These two rooms were richly decorated, with a softer touch than in the public areas of the Hall; thick mats of woven rushes covered her floor, and tapestries of the great fae myths adorned her walls. The marble fireplace flared into life at her arrival, casting a warmer glow over the interior, throwing long shadows from the chairs that stood before it. Empty chairs; she had not entertained many guests lately. A doorway on the far side led to her bedchamber.

At least she still had this, her sanctum. She had lost the Queen’s favor, but not so terribly that she had been forced from the Onyx Hall, to wander like those poor bastards in search of a new home. Not so terribly as Cadogant had.

The very thought made her shiver. Straightening, Lune crossed the room to a table that stood by her bedchamber door, and the crystalline coffer atop it.

She hesitated before opening it, knowing the dreary sight that would meet her eyes. Three morsels sat inside: three bites of coarse bread, who knew how old, but as fresh now as when some country housewife laid them out on the doorstep as a gift to the fae. Three bites to sustain her, if the worst should happen and she should be sent away from the Onyx Hall — sent out into the mortal world.

They would not protect her for long.

Lune closed the coffer and shut her eyes. It would not happen. She would find a way back into Invidiana’s favor. It might take years, but in the meantime, all she had to do was avoid angering the Queen again.

Or giving Halgresta any excuse to come after her.

Lune’s fingers trembled on the delicate surface of the coffer; whether from fear or fury, she could not have said. No, she could not simply wait for her chance. That was not how one survived the Onyx Court. She would have to seek out an opportunity, or better yet, create one.

But how to do that, with so few resources available to her? Three bites of bread would not help her much. And Invidiana would hardly grant more to someone out of favor.

The Queen was not, however, the only source of mortal food.

Again Lune hesitated. To do this, she would have to go out of the Onyx Hall — which meant using one of her remaining pieces. That, or send a message, which would be even more dangerous. No, she couldn’t risk that; she would have to go in person.

Praying the sisters would be as generous as she hoped, Lune took a piece of bread from the coffer and went out before she could change her mind.

RICHMOND AND LONDON: September 18, 1588

So this, Deven thought blearily as he fumbled the lid back onto the close stool, is the life of a courtier.

His right shoulder was competing with his head for which ached worse. His new brothers in the Gentlemen Pensioners had taught him to play tennis the previous night, in the high-walled chamber built for that purpose out in the gardens. He’d flinched inwardly at having to pay for entry, but once inside, he took to it with perhaps more enthusiasm than was wise. Then there was drinking and card games, late into the night, until Deven had little memory of how he had arrived here, sharing Vavasour’s bed, with their servants stretched out on the floor.