Marie Brennan - In Ashes Lie

The sudden light in his eyes must have given him away; either that, or he’d begun to visibly salivate at the thought. Lune raised a querying eyebrow, and he responded with a lopsided grin. “Are you familiar with the Royal Society?”

“I have heard the name,” she said cautiously. “Some group of learned men.”

“Some group of men who wish to learn. To increase their store of knowledge, to test it against the world around them, and to share that knowledge with others. I could tell you such stories—”

But his eager chatter cut short at the look on her face.

Lune said, only slightly unsteady, “Have you told them of us?”

“What? Certainly not. When have I had the chance?”

She breathed more easily, but not all the tension left her. “Then I must beg you not to. We live here in secret, Dr. Ellin. I wish it were not so; it would be a great victory indeed if we could walk the streets in safety. But yours is a world of iron and faith, and these weapons may easily be turned against us. People, some of them, are content to know that the fae live in hollow hills and shaded glens, old peel towers and other remote places. Those same people would not likely rest well if they knew we went about beneath their very feet.”

He had never stopped to give it particular consideration. Now that he did…

She spoke of a threat to her kind, but that was not the only danger in play. Though Lune might look like an ordinary gentlewoman, she was not. She was a queen, and if he threatened her realm, he had no doubt this quailing fear would all too quickly turn to action. He did not think the fae would let him speak before the Royal Society.

Even if I did so, I would be laughed out of the room.

Faeries in London—the very thought was preposterous. And yet there they were; and knowing that, Jack could hardly walk away from them. Not with Lune offering this chance to know more. “I hope you would not forbid me to indulge a personal curiosity, at least.”

Her eyes weighed him to the last ounce, but she shook her head.

Curiosity had come first, hard on the heels of her offer; now the more sensible part of his mind caught up, and brought with it a question insufficiently answered. “But why me? I’m no great citizen of London, as Antony was. Until I came into your realm, I had never set foot in a royal court. I know little of such grand ways—or such intrigues.” He assumed they had intrigues. Every court did.

Lune accepted the protest without concern. “I could answer you at greater length, and I will, if you choose to join me. But for now, I shall put it in plain terms, for they are the most powerful I have: You love London. You have stood fast by her side, even in the face of a disaster that surpasses any in living memory. If I am to fulfill my promise to do the same, I will need assistance.” A quiet shadow darkened her eyes, and for a brief moment, she looked away. “Each Prince teaches me something new. I should like to learn this dedication from you.”

What had she learned from Antony? Jack was not about to ask. For his own part, he felt supremely unqualified to teach anything to a faerie queen, but he believed her words sincere.

She wanted to learn; so did he. Her curiosity was a simple one, his rather more voracious—but they both betokened open minds, and that was not a bad foundation upon which to build.

And a whole world lay beneath his feet, waiting for him to explore it.

An unrestrainable smile spread over his face, as much rueful as amused. No sense fighting myself, when I’ve clearly already decided the point.

Jack drained his wine and said, “Tell me, then—what would this require?”

THE ONYX HALL, LONDON: May 1, 1666

Why he expected the creation of a faerie prince to be much less complicated than the coronation of a king, Jack didn’t know. Simple-minded hope, perhaps. Lune’s visit to him in Monkwell Street, without so much as a single attendant shadowing her heels, had made it seem like all that was needed was the offer and acceptance.

Of course not.

The antechamber he stood in now was too small for satisfying pacing; he could go barely three strides before reaching a wall. At least his boots didn’t squeak, for all they were new. Whatever cobbler elf had made them, he knew his craft. The supple leather encased his legs like a glove, and was far from the richest part of his garb.

Fortunately, Jack had won the fight over the style of his clothing. The beauteous lordling in charge of dressing him had fallen victim to the excesses of Charles’s court, and would have put Jack in a frothy confection of multicolored ribbons, petticoat breeches, shoe roses, scented curls, and worse. Jack could not imagine anyone had ever forced Antony into such nonsense, and stood his ground. Three shouting matches later, Lune ordered Lewan Erle to dress Jack as the physician pleased, so long as the material was rich.

And so it was. Jack ran one nervous hand down the emerald-green moire of his doublet, fingertips catching on the silver lace that edged it. The buttons on his waistcoat were diamonds— diamonds, which the fae accounted not the most precious of their jewels. The brooch on his hat glittered with starlight itself, somehow caught in crystalline form. And the silk of his shirt was so fine, it might have been woven of wind.

He hoped the finery would stand him in good stead today. Jack knew full well that many of Lune’s subjects were less than happy at the thought of his elevation.

Somehow, I managed to convince myself there would be no politics. Willful blindness on his part. How could a Prince not get tangled in politics? Aside from the simple fact of his mortality, he was not high-born enough for the courtiers, who considered Antony’s baronetcy scarcely acceptable. They would prefer a peer. Jack tried to imagine Lune making her offer to the Duke of Albemarle, and snorted with suppressed laughter.

Lewan Erle gave him a reproving look. The elf ’s curls hung in golden perfection, and his clothing was even in good taste; it would not be seemly for him to outdo the future Prince in extravagance. He took such matters very seriously, even if Jack did not.

A twinkling light slipped beneath the door and flitted into the center of the room, where it dimmed and brightened three times. Our cue. The ceremony had begun some time before, Lune speaking in memory of her late Princes—Antony, and the one before—but the time had come for its final scene.

Erle bowed and opened the door. Jack took a deep breath, steeling himself, then went through.

The antechamber stood just off the entrance to the great presence chamber, where a pair of burly creatures like very small giants stood at the bronze doors. At his nod, they grasped the handles and hauled the tremendous weight toward them, creating an impressive frame in which Jack stood for a moment, letting everyone see him.

I am, without doubt, quite mad.

Everyone was gathered inside. Not just Lune’s courtiers, but all her lesser subjects as well, and ambassadors from every realm that bothered to maintain relations with the Onyx Court. Half the creatures there, Jack had no name for. They came from all over England, from Wales and Ireland and Scotland, even from the continent. The room was packed to the walls, and rippled with a respectful nod as he passed down the narrow aisle left for him in the center. Nods, no more; he was not Prince yet.

To remedy that, Lune waited on the dais at the far end. She was a splendid sight, attired in a midnight-blue gown that harmonized beautifully with his own green, with her formal crown upon her head. Silver, surprisingly—he expected a richer metal—but it might have been poured from the moon itself. Perhaps it had. In this world, Jack could take nothing for granted.