“Now what?” Henry asked Deven, as they walked through the passages of the Onyx Hall.
“Now Charles will be crowned,” Deven said. “And Buckingham will go to fetch Henrietta Maria as soon as may be—though this will delay it a little.” The new King had no living brothers; he needed an heir. Until he produced one, the crown would not rest secure.
Henry gestured at the black stone of the walls. “I meant for this court.”
Deven shrugged, perplexed. “As before. They need not change when the mortal crown does, and there is no cause for Lune to interfere.”
The young man went a few steps away, staring at a tapestry on the wall. They stood in a long gallery of such tapestries, and Deven did not know whether that particular image had caught Henry’s eye, or whether he would have stared blindly at whatever hung before him. It showed a swordsman in a moonlit glade, gazing up at the silver disc above.
“You want me to succeed you,” Henry said, not facing him. “As Prince. Don’t you.”
Deven found himself glad he had waited for Henry to broach the subject. It meant the young man was ready to address it. “Only if you wish it,” he said, resisting the urge to cross his fingers. “I would not force you to it, if your desires lie elsewhere.”
Henry’s long-fingered hands curled, then relaxed helplessly. “I—not that I do not wish it, but—” A long pause, and then his shoulders slumped and he turned. Unhappiness and fear chased across his face. “I do not think I can do it. I know you’ve been teaching me, and I’ve tried to learn, but I’m not ready—”
What could Deven say to that? He took his young friend by the shoulders, stopping the words. “You need not be ready, not today. I am hale enough, thanks to this place. You have time to finish learning.”
Still Henry would not meet his eyes. “But surely there must be someone better.”
“Who? Henry, you’ve seen the other men in this place. Half of them don’t have the birth and position to be of use to Lune, and the other half can’t be trusted out of sight. Which is not to damn you with faint praise: I chose you, knowing you needed time to grow into the responsibilities of the Prince. As indeed you are doing.”
Henry scrubbed at his eyes, dislodging one of Deven’s hands. “You do not think me a coward, for what I have said?”
“I would rather a man honest enough to admit his fears, than one who lies out of bravado.”
It made Henry straighten. “You are sure?”
Deven smiled and gripped his shoulder more tightly. “I am.”
“Then I will find a way to be worthy,” Henry said, with fervent determination. “I will prove to you that your trust is not misplaced.”
I already believe it, Deven thought, watching the young man walk away. But when you believe it, too—then, Henry, you will be fit to bear the title Prince of the Stone.
We are mortall;
And can but deedes of men: ’twere glory ’inough,
Could we be truely a prince.
—Ben Jonson, Sejanus His Fall
I.ii.227-9
Blackfriars, London: 27 July, 1625
The servant led Antony into Deven’s parlour, then left the two in peace.
Deven was attempting to tune his cittern, which he had not played in far too long. But he laid the instrument aside when Antony entered, for it was apparent from the young man’s expression that he had news of import. “Penshaw is in prison,” he said, “and the trial will be soon.” His eyes echoed the satisfaction of the words.
“Good,” Deven said. Despite the confidence he showed to Antony, he had not been certain it would work; much depended on the strength of Penshaw’s mind. But it seemed the man felt guilt over Henry’s death, even if his own hand had not wielded the blade. And that was lever enough to move him—at least with faerie aid.
Lune had proven her words to Antony: she did not flinch from punishing the guilty. The night Penshaw heard of Quijada’s failure and death, he dreamt of Henry, and every night thereafter the spectre returned, accusing him of his crimes. Not Antony, this time, but a faerie sent to plague his sleep. Lune would fabricate no evidence against the man, but she felt no compunctions about provoking him with what they knew.
Penshaw lasted a month before he confessed.
His family had enough wealth and influence to keep the matter from the public eye, and Charles had no desire to jeopardise the fragile alliance with France—let alone his marriage, which had not begun well. But neither had it begun so badly he would countenance his gentlemen plotting against his wife, and the Penshaws were far from mighty enough to save their son. Robert Penshaw would die for his crimes. Quietly, and without fanfare.
His conduct with Henry, though, remained a secret. As Deven had asked Lune to ensure.
It was a gift to Antony, though one left unspoken. Whether the young man counted sodomy among the crimes Penshaw should die for, Deven had not asked, and never would. They would each deal with that knowledge in their own way. And in the meantime, Henry would rest in his grave with his name, as Antony had said, unsullied.
Melancholy thoughts. Deven called for wine, and went back to tuning the cittern, hoping to lighten the young man’s mood, and his own. He was surprised to find some time later that the evening was drawing down; they had passed the whole afternoon in company. And if it was not as convivial as with Henry, Antony being far more reserved in his manner, it was pleasant enough.
“Will you dine with me?” Deven asked, once he noted his growling stomach. His larder was passing bare, but they could go out.
The young man looked surprised by the suggestion. “I will—and thank you.”
Deven laid the cittern aside, then hesitated. “Perhaps I should wait to say this,” he admitted, “but I would not want you to think my friendship offered under false pretences. Regardless of how you answer me, that offer stands. But I must ask: now that this business is done, will you come below again?”
Antony’s eyes softened briefly, showing hints of many things: healing grief, puzzlement, uncertainty.
And, perhaps, a trace of wonder.
“Henrietta Maria,” he said. “You mentioned the Armada, and the Gunpowder Treason. Are these…assistances something the fae do often?”
Yes would be the persuasive answer, but not entirely honest. “Sometimes,” Deven said. “They also dice, and drink, and gamble at cards; they take mortal lovers, laugh at new fashions, and sing the most scurrilous broadside ballads they can find. They are not entirely noble, and I would be lying if I presented them as such. But they can be good.”
One blunt-fingered hand lifted briefly to rub his throat—remembering Dead Rick and Quijada, Deven suspected. Then the young man said, “Yes. I will come below again. If they will have me.”
“We will,” Deven said, laying the faintest stress on the pronoun. “And I am glad of it.”
Antony met his gaze. “Why?”
How much honesty was too much? With this man, more was better than less—which might, in time, be a detriment to him. But Deven did not think so. The fae could use a dose of sturdy honesty, to counteract all their twisted dealings. Hanged for a lamb…
“Because,” he said, “I have found myself considering the prospect of you as Prince after me.”
It was enough to rattle the young man’s solidity. “Me?” Antony exclaimed, astonished. “You must be jesting.”
“Not in the slightest. You have a good head, and a good eye for politics. And you have no fear of Lune, no awe that would prevent you from standing up to her when she needs it.”
Antony blinked. “Does she need it often?”
“More than she thinks. But she agrees with me in this matter—that you might do well indeed.” Better than Henry, though it pained Deven to admit it. He had tried to shape the young man into the necessary form, because he seemed the best clay available. And Henry had been willing. But Antony, though less pleasing in company, and positioned more for Parliament than for court, was better suited to the task—if only Deve
n had known it sooner. The irony would forever tinge this memory, that Antony would never have come among the fae had Henry not died. The elder Ware would never have thought to introduce his brother to such wonder.
Pragmatic as always, Antony said, “I did not think she liked me.”
Deven chose his words carefully. “You will never have an easy friendship, I think. But that may, in certain ways, be good. She…will need someone who does not seem a replacement for me.” Antony’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded in thoughtful understanding. “But what she needs foremost is a good Prince. And we believe you might be that.”
He let Antony consider that for a moment, then added, “I expect no answer from you now; I would not take it if you gave me one. You do not know well enough what it is to be Prince of the Stone. But you should know that I have thought it.”
Antony sat, mouth slightly open, for quite a long time. Finally he said, “You are right—I do not know.” Then another stretch of silence, before he said, “But I would be willing to learn.”
Deven’s heart warmed. It was no promise, from either of them; Antony might refuse, or prove unsuitable after all. It was hope, though, and the light of possibility, shining a path through the darkness ahead.
Rising, he offered his hand to Antony. “Then we shall dine below, food from a larder kept safe for the likes of us to eat—if you will trust me.”
“I will,” Antony said, and accepted his hand.
About Marie Brennan
Marie Brennan is an anthropologist and folklorist who shamelessly pillages her academic fields for material. She most recently misapplied her professors’ hard work to the Onyx Court historical fantasy series (Midnight Never Come, In Ashes Lie, A Star Shall Fall, and With Fate Conspire). She is also the author of the doppelanger duology of Warrior and Witch, the upcoming adventure A Natural History of Dragons, and more than forty short stories.
When she’s not obsessing over historical details too minute for anybody but her to care about, she practices shorin-ryu karate and pretends to be other people in role-playing games (which sometimes find their way into her writing).
Other Books By Marie Brennan
The Onyx Court series
Midnight Never Come
England flourishes under the hand of its Virgin Queen: Elizabeth, Gloriana, last and most powerful of the Tudor monarchs.
But a great light casts a great shadow.
In hidden catacombs beneath London, a second Queen holds court: Invidiana, ruler of faerie England, and a dark mirror to the glory above. In the thirty years since Elizabeth ascended her throne, fae and mortal politics have become inextricably entwined, in secret alliances and ruthless betrayals whose existence is suspected only by a few.
Two courtiers, both struggling for royal favor, are about to uncover the secrets that lie behind these two thrones. When the faerie lady Lune is sent to monitor and manipulate Elizabeth’s spymaster, Walsingham, her path crosses that of Michael Deven, a mortal gentleman and agent of Walsingham’s. His discovery of the “hidden player” in English politics will test Lune’s loyalty and Deven’s courage alike. Will she betray her Queen for the sake of a world that is not hers? And can he survive in the alien and Machiavellian world of the fae? For only together will they be able to find the source of Invidiana’s power—find it, and break it….
A breathtaking novel of intrigue and betrayal set in Elizabethan England, Midnight Never Come seamlessly weaves together history and the fantastic to dazzling effect.
In Ashes Lie
The year is 1666. The King and Parliament vie for power, fighting one another with politics and armies alike. Below, the faerie court has enemies of its own. The old ways are breaking down, and no one knows what will rise in their place.
But now, a greater threat has come, one that could destroy everything. In the house of a sleeping baker, a spark leaps free of the oven—and ignites a blaze that will burn London to the ground. While the humans struggle to halt the conflagration that is devouring the city street by street, the fae pit themselves against a less tangible foe: the spirit of the fire itself, powerful enough to annihilate everything in its path.
Mortal and fae will have to lay aside the differences that divide them, and fight together for the survival of London itself …
A Star Shall Fall
Science is King, but Magic is Queen …
The Royal Society of London plays home to the greatest minds of England. In the century since its founding in 1660, it has revolutionized philosophy and scientific knowledge. Its fellows map out the laws of the natural world, disproving ancient superstition and ushering in an age of enlightenment.
To the fae of the Onyx Court, living in a secret city below London, these scientific developments are less than welcome. Magic is losing its place in the world—and science threatens to expose the court to hostile eyes.
In 1666, a Great Fire burned four-fifths of London to the ground. The calamity was caused by a great Dragon—an elemental beast of flame. Incapable of destroying something so powerful, the fae of London banished it to a comet moments before the comet’s light disappeared from the sky. Now the calculations of Sir Edmond Halley have predicted its return.
So begins their race against time. Soon the Dragon’s gaze will fall upon London and it will return to the city it ravaged once before. The fae will have to answer the question that defeated them a century before: How can they kill a being more powerful than all their magic combined? It will take both magic and science to save London—but reconciling the two carries its own danger …
With Fate Conspire
Marie Brennan returns to the Onyx Court, a fairy city hidden below Queen Victoria’s London. Now the Onyx Court faces its greatest challenge.
Seven years ago, Eliza’s childhood sweetheart vanished from the streets of Whitechapel. No one believed her when she told them that he was stolen away by the faeries.
But she hasn’t given up the search. It will lead her across London and into the hidden palace that gives refuge to faeries in the mortal world. That refuge is now crumbling, broken by the iron of the underground railway, and the resulting chaos spills over to the streets above.
Three centuries of the Onyx Court are about to come to an end. Without the palace’s protection, the fae have little choice but to flee. Those who stay have one goal: to find safety in a city that does not welcome them. But what price will the mortals of London pay for that safety?
A Natural History of Dragons
You, dear reader, continue at your own risk. It is not for the faint of heart—no more so than the study of dragons itself. But such study offers rewards beyond compare: to stand in a dragon’s presence, even for the briefest of moments—even at the risk of one’s life—is a delight that, once experienced, can never be forgotten. . . .
All the world, from Scirland to the farthest reaches of Eriga, know Isabella, Lady Trent, to be the world’s preeminent dragon naturalist. She is the remarkable woman who brought the study of dragons out of the misty shadows of myth and misunderstanding into the clear light of modern science. But before she became the illustrious figure we know today, there was a bookish young woman whose passion for learning, natural history, and, yes, dragons defied the stifling conventions of her day.
Here at last, in her own words, is the true story of a pioneering spirit who risked her reputation, her prospects, and her fragile flesh and bone to satisfy her scientific curiosity; of how she sought true love and happiness despite her lamentable eccentricities; and of her thrilling expedition to the perilous mountains of Vystrana, where she made the first of many historic discoveries that would change the world forever.
Wilders series
Lies and Prophecy
There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and prophecy.
Kim thought majoring in divination would prepare her for the future. But even with her foresight warning her of trouble, she’s taken by surprise when an unknown force attacks Julian, her enigmatic classmate and
friend. Her gifts can’t protect him against further attacks and an inexplicable string of disappearances . . . and if she’s reading the omens right, Julian isn’t the only one in danger.
Kim knows she isn’t ready for this. But if she wants to save Julian — and herself — she’ll have to prove her own prophecies wrong.
Welcome to Welton
In this prequel to the urban fantasy novel Lies and Prophecy, Kim is ready for her freshman year at college—but her challenges include more than just choosing courses and learning to live with a roommate.
University has welcomed a new student, one of the strange and powerful wilders. If Julian Fiain is going to fit in among his fellow psychics, he’s going to need help.
Doppelganger series
Warrior
When a witch is born, a doppelganger is created. For the witch to master her powers, the twin must be killed. But what happens when the doppelganger survives?
Mirage, a bounty hunter, lives by her wits and lethal fighting skills. She always gets her mark. But her new mission will take her into the shadowy world of witches, where her strength may be no match against magic.
Miryo is a witch who has just failed her initiation test. She now knows that there is someone in the world who looks like her, who is her: Mirage. To control her powers and become a full witch, Miryo has only one choice: to hunt the hunter and destroy her.
Witch
Mirei’s extraordinary magic makes her the most powerful witch alive. By some, she is hailed as a miracle, while others proclaim her to be an evil abomination … and vow to destroy those who champion her.
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