Read In Ashes Lie for Free Online

boundary in the other direction as well. It was the sort of thing the Prince of the Stone should do.
    He gave Lune a second bow. “As you command, madam.”

KETTON STREET, LONDON: April 2, 1640
    The man forced to his knees on the cellar floor in front of Lune was securely gagged, and his hands bound behind him. Above the silencing rag, the mortal’s eyes burned with hatred that would sear her to ash if it could.
    Had he his tongue to speak, he could not burn her, but he could cause great harm. She was protected, of course; Lune never came above without consuming milk or bread tithed to the fae, which shielded them against faith, iron, and other inimical charms. Strong enough faith, though, could overcome much, like an axe crashing through armor.
    She did not want to test this man’s faith. He could glare at her all he wished, so long as he did not invoke divine names, and the gag was the gentlest means of silencing him.
    “Where did you find him?” she asked Sir Prigurd Nellt.
    The giant towered behind the kneeling man, even though the glamour concealing his nature reduced him to something like human size. The Captain of the Onyx Guard was uncomfortable with such disguises, and wore them badly. “Near Aldersgate,” he rumbled, his deep voice vibrating in her body. “Piling tinder at the base of the tree, with flint and steel in his hand.”
    Lune concealed her shiver. Prigurd was steadfast in the execution of his duty to protect her; if she showed how much this man frightened her, the giant might just crack his head and be done with it.
    What could his fire have done? She honestly did not know. The Onyx Hall was a familiar presence in her mind, like a second skin, laid over her flesh when she claimed sovereignty. But she had not uncovered all its secrets, and could only speculate what would happen if someone tried to destroy one of the hidden entrances that joined the faerie palace to the mortal fabric of London.
    It was a question worth investigating, but not now. “Who is he?”
    The prisoner jerked against his bonds. Behind him, Prigurd’s fingers twitched, and a low growl betrayed the giant’s leashed temper.
    The man who stepped forward to answer her fit better in their mean surroundings than either Lune or Prigurd. He dressed as a common laborer—even though his education, if not his birth, entitled him to better—and knew places like the tavern above their heads well enough to secure this cellar for the interrogation, when Lune decided not to risk bringing the prisoner into the Onyx Hall. Were it not for the undisguised sprite perched on his shoulder, holding a quill and a horn of ink, he might have been any ordinary, forgettable man.
    Which suited him perfectly for his role. A spymaster should not be memorable.
    Mortals who had dealings with the Onyx Court and knew it were still few in number, despite efforts by both Lune and Antony. They had over a dozen now, which was an improvement, but the ever-present threat of the godly and the necessity of keeping the Onyx Hall secure made bringing in strangers a chancy proposition at best. Most were there because they had ties to some courtier—a lover, usually, or the artistic client of a faerie patron. Of them all, only Benjamin Hipley had risen to a position of influence, carrying out certain underhand tasks Antony could not or would not handle.
    “Humphrey Taylor,” he said, reading from a scrap of paper the sprite handed down to him. “His parish is St. Botolph Aldersgate, outside the wall, where he’s been known to preach a Puritan sermon or twelve.”
    She was not surprised in the least. Humphrey Taylor’s torn and scuffed clothes were severe in cloth, color, and cut, a statement against the vainglory of the royal court. Those would have identified him, if the zeal in his eyes had not.
    Lune wished she could take the gag from his mouth and question him herself. But even if she could trick him into accepting faerie wine, thus stopping the godliness of