Read Online Midnight Never Come by Marie Brennan - Free Book Online
Authors: Marie Brennan
Tags: Fiction, Historical fiction, General, Historical, Fantasy fiction, Fantasy, Action & Adventure, Urban, Great Britain, Great Britain - History - Elizabeth; 1558-1603, Courts and Courtiers
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not have such a man already friendly to him. Deven hoped he did, but until that was confirmed, best not to broach the subject with Hunsdon at all.
Squaring his shoulders, Deven gritted his teeth and went in search, hangover and all.
But luck, which had preserved him through the morning’s ordeal, was not on his side in this matter. The Principal Secretary, he learned, was ill and thus absent from court. His inquiries led him to another man, ink-stained and bearing a thick sheaf of papers, who was attending the meetings of the privy council in Walsingham’s absence.
Deven made bold enough to snatch a moment of Robert Beale’s time. After introducing himself and explaining his business, at least in broad outline, he asked, “When might the Principal Secretary return to court?”
Beale’s lips pressed together, but not, Deven thought, in irritation or offense. “I could not say,” the Secretary said. “He requires rest, of course, and her Majesty is most solicitous of his health. I would not expect him back soon — for some days at least, and possibly longer.”
Damnation, again.
Deven forced a smile onto his face. “I thank you for your time,” he said, and got out of Beale’s way.
He could hardly go asking favors of a man on his sickbed. He could send a letter — but no. Better not to press the matter. As much as it galled him, he would have to wait, and hope the Principal Secretary recovered soon.
T HE O NYX H ALL , L ONDON :
October 20, 1588
Tens of thousands of mortals lived in London, and more in the towns and villages that surrounded it. In the entirety of England, Lune could not begin to guess how many there were.
Except to say there were too many, when she was trying to find a particular one.
She had to be discreet with her inquiries. If Tiresias was to be trusted — if he truly had a vision, or overheard something while lurking about — then this Francis Merriman knew something of use. It followed, then, that she did not want to share him with others. But so far discretion had availed her nothing; the mortal was not easily found.
When a spindly little spriteling came to summon her before Vidar, her first thought was that it had to do with her search. There was no reason to think that, but the alternatives were not much more appealing. Concealing these thoughts, Lune acknowledged the messenger with a nod. “Tell the Lord Keeper I will come when I may.”
The messenger smiled, revealing sharp, goblinish teeth. “He demanded your immediate attendance.”
Of course he did. “Then I will be pleased to come,” Lune said, rising as she mouthed the politic lie.
In better times, she might have made him wait. Vidar’s exalted status was a new thing, and Lune had until recently been a lady of Invidiana’s privy chamber, one of the Queen’s intimates — inasmuch as she was intimate with anyone. That freedom was gone now; if Vidar said to leap, then leap she must.
And of course he kept her dangling. Vidar’s rise to Lord Keeper had made him a most desirable patron, rich in both wealth and enchantment, and now his outer chamber thronged with hopeful courtiers and rural fae begging some favor or another. He might have demanded her immediate attendance, but he granted audience to a twisted bogle, two Devonshire pisgies, and a travel-stained faun in Italian dress before summoning Lune into the inner chamber.
He lounged in a chair at the far end of the room, and did not rise when she came in. Some fae held to older fashions of clothing, but he closely followed current styles; the crystals and jet embroidered onto his doublet winked in the light, an obvious mimicry of Invidiana’s clothing. Rumor had it the black leather of his tall, close-fitting boots was the skin of some unfortunate fae he had captured, tortured, and executed on the Queen’s behalf, but Lune knew the rumors came from Vidar himself. It was ordinary doeskin, nothing more. But the desire for that belief was telling enough.
She
Squaring his shoulders, Deven gritted his teeth and went in search, hangover and all.
But luck, which had preserved him through the morning’s ordeal, was not on his side in this matter. The Principal Secretary, he learned, was ill and thus absent from court. His inquiries led him to another man, ink-stained and bearing a thick sheaf of papers, who was attending the meetings of the privy council in Walsingham’s absence.
Deven made bold enough to snatch a moment of Robert Beale’s time. After introducing himself and explaining his business, at least in broad outline, he asked, “When might the Principal Secretary return to court?”
Beale’s lips pressed together, but not, Deven thought, in irritation or offense. “I could not say,” the Secretary said. “He requires rest, of course, and her Majesty is most solicitous of his health. I would not expect him back soon — for some days at least, and possibly longer.”
Damnation, again.
Deven forced a smile onto his face. “I thank you for your time,” he said, and got out of Beale’s way.
He could hardly go asking favors of a man on his sickbed. He could send a letter — but no. Better not to press the matter. As much as it galled him, he would have to wait, and hope the Principal Secretary recovered soon.
T HE O NYX H ALL , L ONDON :
October 20, 1588
Tens of thousands of mortals lived in London, and more in the towns and villages that surrounded it. In the entirety of England, Lune could not begin to guess how many there were.
Except to say there were too many, when she was trying to find a particular one.
She had to be discreet with her inquiries. If Tiresias was to be trusted — if he truly had a vision, or overheard something while lurking about — then this Francis Merriman knew something of use. It followed, then, that she did not want to share him with others. But so far discretion had availed her nothing; the mortal was not easily found.
When a spindly little spriteling came to summon her before Vidar, her first thought was that it had to do with her search. There was no reason to think that, but the alternatives were not much more appealing. Concealing these thoughts, Lune acknowledged the messenger with a nod. “Tell the Lord Keeper I will come when I may.”
The messenger smiled, revealing sharp, goblinish teeth. “He demanded your immediate attendance.”
Of course he did. “Then I will be pleased to come,” Lune said, rising as she mouthed the politic lie.
In better times, she might have made him wait. Vidar’s exalted status was a new thing, and Lune had until recently been a lady of Invidiana’s privy chamber, one of the Queen’s intimates — inasmuch as she was intimate with anyone. That freedom was gone now; if Vidar said to leap, then leap she must.
And of course he kept her dangling. Vidar’s rise to Lord Keeper had made him a most desirable patron, rich in both wealth and enchantment, and now his outer chamber thronged with hopeful courtiers and rural fae begging some favor or another. He might have demanded her immediate attendance, but he granted audience to a twisted bogle, two Devonshire pisgies, and a travel-stained faun in Italian dress before summoning Lune into the inner chamber.
He lounged in a chair at the far end of the room, and did not rise when she came in. Some fae held to older fashions of clothing, but he closely followed current styles; the crystals and jet embroidered onto his doublet winked in the light, an obvious mimicry of Invidiana’s clothing. Rumor had it the black leather of his tall, close-fitting boots was the skin of some unfortunate fae he had captured, tortured, and executed on the Queen’s behalf, but Lune knew the rumors came from Vidar himself. It was ordinary doeskin, nothing more. But the desire for that belief was telling enough.
She
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