Twin white statues of Victory, robed in long tunics with one breast exposed, took flight at the corners of the proscenium arch that defined the Royal Presence. Two lengthy gold garlands dangled between each winged Victory. Four carved giltwood trophies, each representing the four seasons, dominated the wall panels in pairs to either side of the Chairs of State.
If a wall wasn’t elaborately sculpted and gold-leafed, it was coated with crimson silk wallpaper, decorated with red ivy leaves in a diamond pattern. Cream coloured plaster friezes of fighting men divided the walls from the gold ceiling as if the blood of the warring men coloured the wall.
Graeme stepped to one of two older thrones that flanked the Royal Presence. “Dinnae seem that comfortable,” he said of the gold chair set on top of a gold Sphinx before he plonked himself its velvet cushion. Ellis cleared his throat. Graeme shrugged his shoulders boyishly.
Viper faced the towering, heavily draped windows that overlooked the palace’s interior courtyard. In the fresco overhead, she recognized the heraldry of the Plantagenet households involved in the Wars of the Roses. One hooded figure caught her attention, positioned with a tree that grew from within a giant stone. Both natural objects, tree and stone, had feminine curves. The figure held a small package out to another man who had Tewdwr inscribed into the ground at his feet.
Owain moved to her side. “You’re lost in history.”
“By my troth, that is Turstin,” Viper said, pointing at the disguised character.
“It is. I was one of the craftsmen when Buckingham Palace was built. It’s my little contribution to the legacy told by the sculptures in this room: Turstin presenting Owain Tewdwr with the Parhelion.”
A sad smile touched upon Viper’s face. “He was only part humaine, yet he defied his creators to save a nation of humaines.”
“And in so doing, he gave rise to the mightiest royal dynasty since the Norman Conquest.” Queen Elizabeth’s voice, soft and regal, easily carried across the room. The queen’s unexpected entrance had an enigmatic feel in the theatrical décor. A curved, secret door in the corner of the room beside clicked shut behind her.
Captain Ellis snapped to attention. Owain bowed deeply from the waist. Viper stayed standing and tilted her chin with respect.
Graeme flew out of the sphinx throne, nearly bumping into the queen. “I… Ye were supposed to be… that is…” He bowed hastily. “Yer Majesty.”
Queen Elizabeth hid her amusement very well. “I suppose you were expecting me to have a grander appearance. Fanfare perhaps?” Viper saw the upturning corner of the queen’s mouth. Graeme introduced himself to her, bumbling apologies.
In contrast to the room, the queen’s casual manner of dress and entry without being announced lacked ceremony. She approached Owain with a slight limp, wearing flat leather shoes, a black and charcoal herringbone skirt, and a sage green blouse. She had a diamond and ruby broach pinned onto the left side of her off-white cardigan. Queen Elizabeth still didn’t wear a crown.
“At ease, Captain,” she said to Ellis, then extended her hand in greeting to Owain. “May I formally welcome you to the House, Mr.?”
“Owain Henry, Your Majesty,” he said with pride, as if he had never used the name in public before.
“Indeed.” Her eyes flicked to the Tudor heraldry above their heads. “I sense that you and Viper both have a significant interest in our country’s history. We shall speak together in the future. Presently we must turn our attention to other matters. Captain Ellis?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“What is your report about the men I tasked you to find?”
Ellis stood with his legs at shoulders’ width apart, hands behind his back. He made brief eye contact with the queen, then said, “We tracked them to Aldgate East Tube Station where we engaged in combat to protect the safety of Viper and her companions. My team cornered two of the men. However, the leader shot his subordinate at point blank range in the heart before he turned the gun on himself. He said, ‘For the love of Atticus,’ before he committed suicide, but I haven’t a Scooby what he was talking about.” Queen Elizabeth looked at him questioningly. “Sorry Ma’am. I mean I don’t know what he meant.”
The queen clasped her hands, decorated with more age spots than jewels, in front of her. Dark circles had appeared under tired eyes and her hair was less meticulously quaffed than before.
“Then, I have no choice.” She inhaled pensively and approached the Royal Presence.
“Ma’am?”
The queen stepped onto the short platform and pulled back the curtain behind her Chair of State. Behind it was a wide door, solid black and without ornamentation, beside which hung a braided gold cord.
“Please, come onto the dais.” Queen Elizabeth watched until everyone had moved up the steps and joined her at the top level of the platform. “All together?”
Instead of opening the black door, the queen pulled on the dangling cord. With a massive creak, the dais telescoped downwards until it became an elevator that lowered them with short jerking motions.
“Don’t worry,” Queen Elizabeth said, “the lift is very old, but sturdy. It doesn’t get much use, otherwise it would be difficult to hide it from the eight hundred or so people who work here. Mr. Huntly, do close your mouth.”
The doors of the elevator opened onto a dimly lit semi-circular room. “Welcome to the Crux.” She strode forwards and guards flanking the elevator saluted her. “The previous Kings of England built places from which to wage wars. So have I.”
A handful of smartly dressed humans between rows of high-end computers stood up upon her arrival. She waved a hand and they resumed their study of giant screens and illuminated maps of England, riddled with demarcations. Hallways branched off from further within the room.
The queen retrieved a palm-sized painting from the pocket of her cardigan and presented it to Viper. The immortal recognized the wooden object as a memento meant to be worn as a pendant. In the miniature oil portrait, she beheld a man in a black coat with a wide, lace collar. He clasped a woman’s hand descending from a cloud above his right shoulder. The young man had tight, light brown curls and a narrow, bearded face. A tall, feathered hat, typical of men in Elizabeth’s Court, topped his head.
To the right of his head were the words Attici Amoris Ergo painted in gold; on his left, the date 1588.
“We’ve determined that this miniature was painted by Nicholas Hilliard, likely under royal commission. However, we don’t know the identity of the man in the portrait. We presume he was a guest of Elizabeth Regina’s Court. I quite forgot about the miniature until I read the name Atticus on your letter from Queen Elizabeth the day I encountered you on my Jubilee barge.”
Attici Amoris Ergo. Through the love of Atticus.
Atticus.
The name scribed by the Faerie Queen in her last letter to Viper.
The man whom John Dee’s medium, Edward Kelley, wanted to introduce to Elizabeth.
The word of portend that stabbed Viper’s heart.
“Why bring me unto this place and show me this miniature?”
“Captain George Reed, my senior archeologist at the Ministry of Defence, went missing shortly after he sent me a letter about the sinister activity of the Atticus Archival group.”
“Atticus Archival is the country’s largest independent archeological retrieval and storage company,” Owain explained to Viper, holding his hand out to examine the miniature. “They’re well connected. I’ve contemplated investing in the company. They don’t need the capital but I’m sure we’ve competed for historical resources in the past. Your Majesty, I don’t understand the connection.”
“George is my old friend, from the war. He has very particular interests in England’s ancient history. In his message, he mentioned an impending conflict involving monsters. Daoine Tor perhaps? He implied that someone threatened his life if he didn’t comply with the company’s proposition.”
“Which was?” Graeme asked.
&nbs
p; “George was abducted before he could tell me.”
Viper guffawed with such inappropriate zest that the queen took a hesitant step backwards. The sound of the immortal’s laughter echoed through the subterranean room.
“You want me to find this group, their leader Atticus, and act as your weapon?” Viper’s hair flew wild over her shoulders without a breath of air in the room. “Let not my incredulity at your behest lessen the little respect I hath gained of you in these last days.” Owain put his hand on her arm to caution her. She brushed him off. “I hath never been, nor will I ever be, a pawn for a queen, nor a king. I hath faced my enemy, and though I did not conquer her as I had intended, she is now held by Atticus, your enemy. If I o’erthrow him, you may win your war. If Annys is free, you will lose your country.”
Queen Elizabeth reached into the pocket of her pullover and retrieved the Parhelion. Viper squinted in the amulet’s white light, brighter than the room’s electricity.
“Atticus is a threat to you as well,” said the queen, chin held high. “You wanted this magical object before and I kept it from you. If you help me, if you serve Britain, the Parhelion is yours.”
Owain breathed, “Mistress!” from beside Viper.
“Ma’am, no,” Ellis butted in, disregarding the age-old code of a soldier’s silence. “Begging your pardon, I doubt Viper would hurt you, but if you release that amulet, you’ll be defenseless against other immortals, won’t you?”
“Every ruler must make sacrifices.” Queen Elizabeth held the amulet, dangling from its chain. The Parhelion, starburst stones mounted with gems and pearls, circled like a divining pendulum. “Remove the binding, worlds unwinding. One now, one then, one here again. War will be known when Elizabeth sits a Second Throne. These words press upon me with urgency. I cannot ignore them.”
Viper thought of Turstin, and of what he had forfeit when he snatched the Parhelion from the Sisters almost a hundred years before she knew of its existence. She had no concrete memory of England’s earliest years, and what distant recollections she did have were of fire, chaos, and overwhelming pain. Her eagerness to find the Parhelion and unleash its magic had only brought her to ruin. Viper glanced at Owain. Tears formed in her eyes when she beheld his misshapen head, bowed legs and scarred body. The one good thing the Parhelion brought her was her Foundling. The same power that had created him also damned him.
Viper closed her eyes and warmed her skin. Her tears dried before they trickled down her cheeks. When she opened them, spoke directly to Queen Elizabeth.
“I want no part of your sacrifice.”
The queen’s dangling pearls earrings bobbled. She pursed her lips together.
Viper and Queen Elizabeth squared off underground, much as they had on water.
A muted electronic warning bell sounded from a nearby panel. Ellis checked a display monitoring the hallway outside the Throne Room. A pretty staffer with shoulder length, brown hair, and the nameplate “Miranda” on her uniform, knocked at the doors to the Throne Room. Her tapping barely reached the ears of the mortals hidden below.
“Captain,” Queen Elizabeth said, drawing herself upright. “I believe Mr. Owain’s car has arrived for him. Please see my guests to their limousine.”
Viper, Owain, and Graeme rode the Gherkin’s central elevator up to the secondary residential level on the third-to-last floor. The immortal had retreated into her own mind, saying nothing during the trip back from Buckingham Palace. Like her, Owain said little.
The elevator doors retracted open and Graeme said, “Well, if you winnae be needing me…”
“Thank God, you’re back!” Clare called out with enthusiasm from the open-plan kitchen. “I need to order pizza.” Viper faced Graeme, who shrugged. They stepped out of the elevator into the shared space between the guest apartments.
Clare sat at a white table surrounded by empty plates and glasses. An array of crumbs and remnants of food cartons sullied the bleached alabaster stone island counter and frosted glass cupboards.
“What did ye do, lassie?” Graeme’s jaw dropped to the ground floor of the building. “I said help yerself, but this is a wee bit ridiculous.”
“I haven’t been able to stop eating since you left,” Clare joked without joking. She wore one of Ivy’s crisp blouses, stained with mustard. “Is it natural to be so hungry after everything we’ve been through?”
Viper surveyed the girl’s body. “There is a magic most strong acting upon the girl.” Clare eased herself out of the chair, her black pants taut over a slightly rounded belly. Viper saw a rapidly pulsing aeir layered behind the aeir of the young woman. “She is with child.”
“Now that’s ridiculous!” Clare scoffed. Her flushing skin barely kept its pink hue as she paled with awareness. “I only slept with Dhillon once.” She tugged on her hair distractedly.
Graeme screwed his face up with disbelief. “Ye shagged the swot?”
“I’m only human,” she snapped with the full resentfulness of her youth.
“Unless, you’re not,” Owain interjected. Everyone stared at him. He hobbled to the kitchen island and removed a bottle of white wine from the fridge. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.” He retrieved a glass from the cupboard. His hand trembled so much that he spilled wine over the lip of his glass.
Viper reached over and steadied him. “She is Gwynllian’s descendant?”
“If she is, that could explain her connection to the Sisters, and you,” Owain said with academic satisfaction. “With your permission, Clare, we’ll dig into your adoption records and ancestry. Imagine, if we could find other people like you; like me.”
Clare nodded. “I have to tell Dhillon,” she said and rushed from the room with the abrupt resolution of her youth.
The Daoine Tor studied the concerned faces of Owain and Graeme. Clare had been through a greater amount of stress in the last few days than she had in the entirety of her difficult life. A pregnancy inadvertently caused by elldyr creft would require them to rally around Clare. The men felt protective of the girl, perhaps as a daughter or sister.
Viper’s heart uplifted. London was not the home she sought when she first chanced upon the mystery of the Parhelion. She never found her family or her home. Viper paused in thought. The magic-touched youths, the Scotsman, and Viper’s Foundling could be her adoptive clan as much as the elusive Sisters, or even the spiteful Annys. As the descendants of Foundlings, if elldyr creft affected Clare and Dhillon’s baby, then the child deserved Viper’s protection. Viper smiled, heart-warmed by the thought of living with her new collective. She didn’t have the answers to her past, but she had fresh hope for her future.
Clare’s emphatic crying disrupted Viper’s new-found serenity. “He’s gone!” The girl yelled as she ran into the room. She gripped a letter in one hand, and Dhillon’s pendant in the other. “Read this!” She slammed the letter and an old book on the kitchen island, then tossed the pendant alongside. Viper lifted the obsidian without remark about the scratch marks on Clare’s arm that had not been there moments earlier.
Owain picked up the letter and read aloud:
Don’t hate me. I don’t have much time to explain. I have the crystals. At first, I snuck one away from you in the tunnel. Then you gave me the other two to hold. It’s like I’m meant to carry out my plan. Annys wasn’t captured by the Deltas. Before you and I met, I agreed to help her get rid of Viper and fix my dad’s disfigurements. He’s been tortured by Viper and the effect of her damned magic for too long. I have to give the crystals to Annys. I want you to be with me. Use the scrying pendant with the instructions I’ve marked out in this book and it’ll guide you to me. Do not tell anyone. I wish I could say this in person. Come to me and I’ll make it up to you.
Dhillon xo
“A protector and a lover; One false, one true,” Viper said under her breath. She stared at the treacherous Thames beyond the window. Graeme re-read the letter, as if his ears lied to him. Clare sobbed in Owain’s compassionate em
brace.
The thought of Annys being free and enhanced by Mort Lake Glass enraged Viper.
“You cannot go to him,” Viper stated.
“What if Dhillon finds out that I’m pregnant, and Annys makes him come for the baby?” Clare asked as she wept.
The reflection of sheet lighting flickered in Viper’s eyes. Thunder rumbled the windows. Rivulets of water sliced the glass like talons sent from her enemy. Viper extended her arm and held out the stone pendant. The volcanic glass-like stone randomly swung back and forth. Before it divined her destiny, Viper closed the obsidian in her fiery grip.
“Contact Elizabeth. It is time for us to unite in our sacrifice.”
34: Endings and Beginnings
January 20th, 1603.
St. Helen’s Church, London.
Rank coal fog clung to London’s bones. Stale, unmoving air reduced visibility to a mere ten feet. Grey clouds promised a cold, cleansing rain. Viper’s hair, stark and straight, gleamed like sunshine in the mist. The murkiness corrupted the sounds of London stirring to life around her, like vague, unveiled threats. The church reminded her of St. Bennet in the grass market, where a lifetime ago she saved Elizabeth and her royal era on her Coronation day.
Viper dressed for her queen. The immortal wore a damask silk underdress of green and white, decorated with pearls set in a diamond pattern. Over this, her damask cloth-of-gold gown had slashed sleeves through which she had pulled the underlying silk. Her fitted bodice buttoned up from her waist to her sheer partlet. A modest ruff circled her neck. She kept her hair loose, as Elizabeth did for Coronation.
Viper still would not wear a farthingale.
Beside her, Mouse tapped his fingers on the scrolled hilt of the backsword strapped to his thigh. He appeared a man in his early twenties, and every bit a gentleman, except for his anxious disposition. Mouse shuffled his weight from foot to foot in highly polished black boots. A crimson velvet cape, couched with silk cords, swung from his left shoulder. Viper didn’t know if Mouse’s nerves were related to the weapon, in which he wasn’t proficient, despite his training, or to the proximity of their destination.
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