Close to the mark; she was sharp, this elfin woman. He supposed she had unknown ages in which to practice. “Then please, come into the back. A poor enough place, compared with your home—”
Lune dismissed that with a wave of her gloved hand. “Hard as it may be to believe, Dr. Ellin, a hovel is as interesting to me, in its own way, as a palace. Both are reflections of humanity.”
And that, in turn, interested him. Jack showed her through into the back room, where a fire warmed the air, and offered her wine, which she accepted.
While he busied himself with such small tasks, Lune waited with the patient air of one who recognized nervous delay when she saw it. What question was pressing enough to send her into his home? Not until he was seated did she speak. “Tell me, Dr. Ellin—were you born in London?”
He blinked. “On Gracechurch Street. Is that what you came here to ask?”
She laughed quietly. He heard the faintest undercurrent of tension in it; was she nervous, too? Something had ruffled the faerie woman’s composure, beneath the mask of her mortal face. “No. But it’s a necessary prelude. As is this: how much do you know of Antony’s relation to my court?”
“Fragments,” Jack said honestly, and took a gulp of his wine while he considered. “I heard a few call him ‘the Prince.’ ” Though a man less like a faerie prince, he was hard-pressed to imagine. I suppose a Puritan would be less like.
“Prince of the Stone,” Lune said. “You will hear some call that the title of my mortal consort, but the…intimate relationship the word consort implies was no part of my dealings with Antony. I swore years ago to always rule the Onyx Court with a mortal at my side, and the Prince is the man who fills that role.”
Jack listened with a distracted ear; half his attention was taken up by the light this shed on Antony’s behavior, particularly with regards to Kate. Consort and yet not to a faerie Queen—no wonder he feared to confess it to his wife.
“If you wish it,” that selfsame faerie Queen said, “the title shall be yours.”
He blinked. Then blinked again. Then fought the urge to clean out his ear, as if its physical state could be blamed for what he’d just heard. “I beg your pardon?”
Lune met his gaze without flinching, though her hands were wrapped tight around the wine. “There has been no Prince since Antony’s death. Already some of my courtiers whisper that my vow was but a passing fancy, and that henceforth I will rule as our kind usually does—alone, or with a consort more fitting to my nature. Some would like it to be true. But I promised Antony before he died that I would do everything in my power to help London and its people, and I cannot do that without someone to speak for them.”
Words fled like startled cats when he reached for them; Jack became aware that he was gaping, and tried to stop. “So—” He trailed off, unsure where to begin. “You need a consort, and so you come to me.”
“I need a Prince,” she said. “I do not offer it to you out of desperation; were you not suitable, I would search until I found another.”
“Suitable?” The word came out on an undignified laugh. “I’m no Prince. My unsavory habit of dabbling in surgery and other such matters even tarnishes my name as a gentleman. And I know nothing of your world.”
She smiled, with more than a touch of sadness. “Your predecessors learned. I have no doubt that you shall, too.”
Did she calculate that response for its effect on him, or speak it without thinking? Either way, its effect was undeniable. The strangeness of that world seemed so distant as he sat here, advising patients on their ills, but it haunted him again and again in dreams, and every morning he woke up with a head full of unanswered questions. Now Lune sat before him, offering the answers to them all—or at least the unfettered opportunity to ask them.
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?”