The grim's smile was all teeth. "That's what he he thinks. I'd be obliged if you didn't; I stand to win a pair of eyes off him." thinks. I'd be obliged if you didn't; I stand to win a pair of eyes off him."

Gambling, at least, was something Irrith understood. So was a challenge. She returned Magrat's grin fiercely. "All right. I could see my way clear to obliging you... if you give me me something in return." something in return."

"Iron blast your soul," the goblin said, but the venom was only halfhearted. "I should've known better than to tell you that. All right, what do you want?"

"More information. Not now; I'll save the debt for later. And I'll make it something small."

Magrat thought it over, then spat in her hand again. Wet palms joined, the church grim said, "I'm counting on your stubbornness. Don't you disappoint me."

The Onyx Hall, London: February 12, 1758 My own court should not be a distraction to me.

Lune recognized the foolishness of that sentiment, even as she thought it. Political difficulties did not resolve themselves just because there was an external threat; some might, but others worsened. For every faerie who decided a wounded Queen was a problem for later, after the defeat of the Dragon, there was another who felt that now more than ever, they needed a sovereign who was whole.

The best she could do was to keep one finger on that pulse, and try to antic.i.p.ate where real trouble might break out. To that end, she met in private with her Lord Keeper, Valentin Aspell.

"As you might expect, madam," the lord said in his quiet, sibilant voice, "the reaction is mixed. Some take it as a hopeful sign: if you can achieve something as great as the Calendar Room, then surely you can mend the Onyx Hall."

He let a hint of reproach through. The major responsibility of the Lord Keeper, at least publicly, was the maintenance of enchanted items; the Calendar Room, while hardly something that would fit into the royal treasury, might have fallen under his authority. Lune had shared the secret only with those few who needed to know, however, and Aspell had not been one of them.

Hopeful signs were good. She knew better than to believe they comprised the majority, though. "What of the rest?"

The Lord Keeper picked up a neatly bound stack of newspapers, grimacing as the cheap ink came off on his fingers. "Sanist reactions are as you would expect. The profound lack of logic and reasoning on display is nothing short of astounding; some have leapt to the conclusion that the Calendar Room operates by draining your your life, madam, and that you are therefore mortal now." life, madam, and that you are therefore mortal now."

Lune sighed. She knew better than to think the common subjects of her realm were all stupid; some goblins and pucks were very clever indeed, just as some of her courtiers were utter fools. But many of those common fae were uneducated, knowing nothing beyond what their own natures inclined them to, and that made them easy prey for rumors.

Some of which, she knew, were spread deliberately.

Aspell shook his head before she could ask. "I do agree with you, madam, that there is a leadership of some kind among the Sanists-a group actively seeking your replacement. But they are more careful than the fools who drink in the Crow's Head. I doubt we'll be able to find them until they make a clear move."

The fact that he was right made it no easier to swallow. And even if she broke up the Sanist leadership, the sentiments would remain; it might give her a brief respite, but nothing more.

She lifted one hand to pinch her brow, then made herself lower it. While there was no great warmth between the two of them, she couldn't fault Aspell's effectiveness; he'd served her almost continually since her accession to the throne, and proved his use more times than she could count. Sooner or later he would find the right thread to pull, and unravel this knot.

She just hoped it came sooner. It would be pleasant to have one less problem to deal with.

"Keep watch over Carline," Lune said at last. "If she isn't involved, they may yet approach her. Inform me if you uncover any signs of trouble."

Ordinarily she put the Lord Keeper's spies to a variety of uses, but they were useless in the matter of the comet, and the Sanists were by far her second greatest worry. Anything else could wait. Valentin Aspell bowed deeply and said, "Madam, I will do everything I can."

St. James, Westminster: February 14, 1758 Miserably chill rain washed across Westminster in sporadic waves, but the interior of Gregory's was warm, and laden with the competing scents of coffee, wig powder, perfume. The close of the Christmas holidays, the sitting of Parliament, and the prospect of approaching spring meant the quality were returning to London from their country estates, and marshaling themselves for the beginning of the Season.

Of Galen's companions, two had retired in such fashion, while one-like him-had stayed in London, for lack of money to make that country estate habitable. Today was the first renewed gathering of their usual club, which Mayhew had dubbed the f.e.c.kless Scions. It was more a joke than anything else. They were just a small group of friends meeting in a coffeehouse; nothing like so organized as White's, or even the clubs of the wh.o.r.es or the Negroes. It was, however, the only one Galen belonged to. There was one for men a.s.sociated with the fae, but it was an awkward thing; they were too mismatched of a lot, and as Prince, he felt very self-conscious in attending.

Besides, those men would not have been able to help him with his current problem. Galen drained his coffee cup, clapped it onto the table, and said, "Friends, I need your a.s.sistance. I have to find a wife."

His declaration met with appalled looks. Jonathan Hurst, eldest of their coterie at twenty-five, said, "What for? By any decent standard, you've got at least five more years of free whoring ahead of you, before being shackled to a wife."

"Don't tell me you've sired a b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Laurence Byrd said suspiciously.

Peter Mayhew smacked him on the shoulder. "He said find find a wife, idiot. If he had a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, logic says it would come with a woman attached." a wife, idiot. If he had a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, logic says it would come with a woman attached."

"Not if the mother's dead, or unsuitable! He might need another woman to raise the child for him."

"I don't," Galen said, before their speculations could saddle him with enough scandal to occupy society gossips for a week. "There's no child-at least not that I know of. But my father is forcing my hand." Galen said, before their speculations could saddle him with enough scandal to occupy society gossips for a week. "There's no child-at least not that I know of. But my father is forcing my hand."

Noises of comprehension sounded around the table. All had met his father, and knew Charles St. Clair's manner. "It had to happen sooner or later," Byrd agreed, his countenance now sympathetically gloomy. "Well, there's one silver lining: the sooner you're married, the sooner you get out from under his thumb. You have that to look forward to, at least."

For what it was worth. Galen knew better than to believe his wedding and departure from Leicester Fields would mean freedom from his father. He knew men of thirty years' age who still flinched when their sires spoke.

None of his companions suffered quite so much under the patriarchal hand. Byrd's and Mayhew's fathers were both of a more amiable nature, and Hurst's had died seven years ago-though that had the unfortunate effect of making him responsible for two headstrong younger brothers, both of them disinclined to respect him as the patriarch of their household.

"My round," Mayhew said, and got up to buy more coffee, threading his way through the room.

Hurst tugged the folded cuffs of his coat straight with a precise motion and said, "All right. You've asked our aid, and we shall give it. What do you need?"

"A wife," Byrd reminded him.

"And any female creature of marriageable age will do? Provided, one imagines, that she has two legs, two eyes, and all the other parts customary to such a creature-"

Galen laughed. "I took your meaning, Hurst, and he did, too. He's just being an a.s.s. As to your question..." Laughter turned to a sigh. "The primary requirement, as you might imagine, is wealth."

Hurst nodded. "Your sisters."

Mayhew had just come back, and the bowls rattled against the table as the he set them down. He was the youngest of their group: eighteen, and precisely Daphne's age. Galen knew full well that his friend harbored a not-so-secret tendre for his middle sister. He also knew, unfortunately, that the Mayhews were in even worse straits than the St. Clairs. Regardless of what wealth Galen acquired with his marriage, his father would never consent to let Daphne wed someone of such low status.

"How large of a settlement do you need?" Byrd asked. If he noticed Mayhew's discomfiture, he gave no sign, but simply took one of the cups.

Choosing a number left a bad taste in Galen's mouth, but he'd promised himself, while Edward shaved him that morning, that he would approach this in precisely the same way he did the threat of the Dragon: identify what needed to be done, evaluate potential methods of achieving it, and then pursue them one by one until he attained success. It was a wretched manner of seeking marriage, but it was also the only way he could bring himself to do it at all.

"Five thousand," he said at last. "More, if possible." Which made it unlikely he'd snare the daughter of a gentleman. Those with good fortunes were seeking better prey than him.

His companions nodded, and Hurst said, "Anything else?"

Now it became a matter, not of necessity, but of desire. And that was far more treacherous territory. "The usual," Galen said, trying to make light of it. "An agreeable nature, good habits of cleanliness, no insanity in the bloodline-"

"No fondness for lapdogs," Byrd suggested. "Can't stand the d.a.m.n things. I'll never visit if you marry a woman with a dog."

But Hurst didn't break his gaze from Galen. He, too, sought a wife, though less urgently; as head of his own household, it was now inc.u.mbent upon him to secure an heir. "You're a romantic, St. Clair," he said, over Byrd's complaints about useless dogs. "Surely you must desire more in a wife than a moderate fortune and a clean bill of health."

Byrd ceased his tirade. Mayhew, too, was watching. They would not let it go, he knew; they understood him too well.

A faerie queen, he thought, images of Lune filling his mind. Seated on her throne, or taking her ease in the garden, ethereal as the moon. he thought, images of Lune filling his mind. Seated on her throne, or taking her ease in the garden, ethereal as the moon.

He closed his eyes. "A serene manner," he said, releasing the words one by one, as if laying treasures on the table. "Well-educated, not just in languages and music and dancing, but history and literature. And above all, a quick mind, curious and clever. Someone I can converse with, in more than mere flirtation."

Silence greeted his description. Galen made himself open his eyes once more, and found himself facing three very different expressions. Byrd, ever the cynic, recovered his tongue first. "You'll have to keep such a wife on a leash; curiosity and marital stability rarely go hand in hand." Mayhew smacked him again.

"I'm quite serious," Galen insisted, flushing. "Fortune is well and good, but that is my father's requirement, not mine. And he isn't the one who will be living with her until death do us part. I'm d.a.m.ned if I'll take a wife I don't respect."

It silenced Byrd, and put a thoughtful look on Hurst's face. "It narrows your field, at least, and that is a virtue; you'll be pursuing specific targets, which they often appreciate. Judith Chamberlain might do."

"Too old," was Byrd's immediate verdict. "He can't take a wife half again as old as he is."

Which was an exaggeration, but Hurst let it pa.s.s. "Abigail Watts. Cecily Palmer. Northwood's eldest-what's her name-"

"Philadelphia," Mayhew supplied, after a moment's pause.

Byrd had objections to them all. "Abby Watts would never tolerate a mistress. The Palmer girl's mad for another fellow; she'd she'd be the one straying from be the one straying from you, you, St. Clair. And Philadelphia-phaw! Can you imagine a more unwieldy name?" St. Clair. And Philadelphia-phaw! Can you imagine a more unwieldy name?"

"Well, d.a.m.n it all, Byrd; you'll shoot down every girl in England if we give you half a chance!"

He met Mayhew's accusation with a shrug. "As they merit, my friend."

"Every marriage is a compromise," Hurst said-a declaration so authoritative, it could almost make one forget he was still unmarried himself.

"I'll compromise on beauty," Galen said; none could meet the standard of Lune, anyway. "But not upon fortune, nor upon respect. If that means there end up being lapdogs, then Byrd, you'll just have to endure." He drew a small book and pencil from his pocket. Opening it to a blank page, he asked Hurst, "Which names did you suggest, again?"

The Onyx Hall, London: March 11, 1758 Irrith didn't have the temperament for spying and intrigue, nor the inclination to publish her thoughts in either of the Onyx Hall's newspapers. But reading The Ash and Thorn The Ash and Thorn for a few weeks vexed her enough that she did the one thing she was good at, which was to go after the source of her problem. for a few weeks vexed her enough that she did the one thing she was good at, which was to go after the source of her problem.

Carline.

Not Lady Carline, not anymore; she'd lost her position in Lune's bedchamber after her ill-fated attempt to trick Irrith. She still occupied the same rooms as always, though, and that was where Irrith sought her out, pounding on the door with an impatient fist.

A mortal servant opened the door, a wrinkled old woman quite unlike the beautiful youths that had waited on the elf-lady before. The woman eyed her dubiously. "What do you want?"

"Carline. And my business with her is serious, so don't even-"

"Irrith?" The surprised call was unmistakably Carline's velvety tone.

The woman scowled and let Irrith pa.s.s. The chamber beyond was embarrasingly luxurious, with red-cushioned benches in some Oriental style; Carline lounged upon one of these, wine in hand. She rose as Irrith entered. "Why, it is is you. I'd heard you were in London once more, but I confess, I never thought you would come to me." you. I'd heard you were in London once more, but I confess, I never thought you would come to me."

The fallen lady's lush body showed to great advantage even in the relatively plain gown she was wearing, and she towered nearly a head over Irrith. Undaunted, the sprite put her hands on her hips and glared upward. "I wouldn't have, except that I have something to say to you."

The black eyebrows rose. "I see you haven't changed. Or rather, you've changed back to what you were before I tried to refine you. Very well, be blunt: say what you have come for."

"Stop trying to overthrow the Queen."

The previous rise had been an elegant affectation; this time, Carline's brows shot upward like startled crows. "I beg your pardon?"

Irrith dug a folded copy of the most recent Ash and Thorn Ash and Thorn out of her pocket and waved it. "You didn't stop, did you, even after Lune found out. I told you fifty years ago, Carline: you don't just out of her pocket and waved it. "You didn't stop, did you, even after Lune found out. I told you fifty years ago, Carline: you don't just vote vote your monarch out." your monarch out."

"The mortals did," Carline said. She'd recovered from her surprise, and set her winegla.s.s down with a clink clink. "Seventy years ago. And now the Jacobite pretenders try to regain the throne through the votes of swords-which is better? But I have no wish to debate political philosophy with you, Irrith, as entertaining as it would be to watch the result. Since I have somewhere I must be, let me say this instead: come with me. I'd like to show you something."

Irrith recoiled, sensing a trap. "No."

"What do you expect-that I'll knife you and leave you in an alley? I promise, I mean no harm."

Carline might be taller, but she'd never be able to kill Irrith, especially not when Irrith had a pistol in her other pocket. "I've learned my lesson about trusting you."

The former lady sighed in disappointment. "I confess, that was an error on my part. I didn't think you clever enough to realize what I was doing. Well, I I have learned have learned my my lesson; no more tricks." She tilted her head and looked down at Irrith with an expression that might almost be called fond. "You had a certain charm, though. Unlettered, uncultured-I enjoyed introducing you to the lesson; no more tricks." She tilted her head and looked down at Irrith with an expression that might almost be called fond. "You had a certain charm, though. Unlettered, uncultured-I enjoyed introducing you to the beau monde beau monde and watching you scandalize them. Consider this a favor, in repayment for that diversion. I'll even give you bread. And when it's over, I'll answer the demand you came to make." and watching you scandalize them. Consider this a favor, in repayment for that diversion. I'll even give you bread. And when it's over, I'll answer the demand you came to make."

That Carline was dangerous, Irrith had no doubt. But it was danger of a sort that could be avoided, so long as she kept her eyes open. And the offer, she had to admit, had aroused her curiosity. "Very well. But if you're deceiving me after all, you'll find out just how uncultured I can be."

Covent Garden, Westminster: March 11, 1758 Carline led her above and west. At first Irrith thought this more of her usual beau monde beau monde business, entertaining herself with society's high-born and beautiful people. But their destination lay in a warren of narrow streets just north of the Strand, where a crowd of people both fine and not waited outside a large building. "Three shillings for a floor seat," Carline said. "I will find you afterward." business, entertaining herself with society's high-born and beautiful people. But their destination lay in a warren of narrow streets just north of the Strand, where a crowd of people both fine and not waited outside a large building. "Three shillings for a floor seat," Carline said. "I will find you afterward."

It was a theater. "Where will you be?" Irrith asked, but her companion had already vanished into the crowd.

If this was a deception, it wasn't Carline's usual style. Irrith frowned, paid, and went inside. There she found herself a seat on one of the backless benches that covered the floor. The theater, being crowded, she had to fight for a place, but being in London made her remember the use of her elbows. Soon she had a patch of green cushion large enough for her rump, just in time for the play to begin.

She'd been to the theater before, though not this particular one. It amused her to watch mortals invent and play out stories that never happened. With their studied gestures and bombastic delivery of lines, they almost became something other than humanity, strange beasts in a ritual pageant.

She'd never seen anything like this before.

It was as if real people were on the stage, unaware of the audience observing them. They laughed and shouted and wept, for all the world as if these things were happening to them in truth. If their words were more eloquent and their lives more strange than any real person's would have been, it only heightened the effect, like a polishing cloth bringing out the fine grain of wood.

It was magic. The charms and enchantments of faerie-kind were nothing to this. During one of the pauses for applause, Irrith realized she'd even seen this play before; it was an old one, The City Heiress, The City Heiress, written by a woman last century. But this new style of acting made it all seem fresh. They wove an illusion with nothing more than the tools of ordinary life, until the audience vanished and there was nothing but the story on the stage. Here was a rich heiress, and here, the two men who would woo her, and Irrith had to struggle to remember they were simply mortals playing a part. written by a woman last century. But this new style of acting made it all seem fresh. They wove an illusion with nothing more than the tools of ordinary life, until the audience vanished and there was nothing but the story on the stage. Here was a rich heiress, and here, the two men who would woo her, and Irrith had to struggle to remember they were simply mortals playing a part.

Mortals-and one faerie.

Irrith's jaw fell slack when Carline walked onto the stage. That it was the elf-lady, she had no doubt; Carline looked almost exactly like herself, the glamour only serving to remove the faerie cast from her features. But she was dressed in sumptuous clothes befitting a wealthy man's mistress, for that was the role she was playing: Diana, mistress to the younger of the two would-be suitors.

It broke the magic, and for that, Irrith resented her. In the scenes that didn't include Diana, she could briefly lose herself once more, but every time the faerie actress reappeared Irrith was back in a noisy and boisterous theater, watching people in costumes pretend to be something they were not. And Carline was no good at it: she could not counterfeit emotion, not as the humans could. For fae, there was little distance between pretense and feeling, and without the latter it was hard to manage the former.

When the play ended, Irrith turned to the drunken young gentleman at her side. "What was that woman doing up there?" she demanded.

"Mrs. Pritchard?" He seemed to have forgotten Irrith's use of her elbows, for he peered at her in a friendly enough manner, albeit an unsteady one. "Too old for the role of Charlot, but she's so splendid that-"

"Not the heiress," Irrith said impatiently. "The other one. The mistress. Diana."

"Oh, her." The gentleman blinked, then turned to his companion. Her Her occupation was obvious enough, for he seemed to have forgotten her name. The woman, painted an inch thick, merely shrugged. He echoed the shrug back at Irrith. "She plays here on occasion. Don't know why Garrick lets her; she isn't any good." occupation was obvious enough, for he seemed to have forgotten her name. The woman, painted an inch thick, merely shrugged. He echoed the shrug back at Irrith. "She plays here on occasion. Don't know why Garrick lets her; she isn't any good."

Irrith could guess. Further application of her elbows got her through the crowd and out the lobby once more, and then she followed two gentlemen around to the back of the theater.

They had come to see Mrs. Pritchard, but were turned away at the door. Irrith loitered a little distance off until Carline emerged, dressed once more in plain clothing.

The sprite shook her head in disbelief as Carline came toward her. "All right, so you've charmed the manager into letting you make a public display of yourself. Why did I have to see this?"

Carline looked hurt-genuinely so. "Mr. Garrick knows my worth. Some of the best people in London have come to see me perform. Did you not enjoy the play?"

She sounded like she truly believed it: that the rich gentlemen and their ladies came to see her, her, rather than the splendid Mrs. Pritchard. "I enjoyed it," Irrith said grudgingly. "But what did this have to do with anything?" rather than the splendid Mrs. Pritchard. "I enjoyed it," Irrith said grudgingly. "But what did this have to do with anything?"

She jumped back when Carline tried to grab her arm. "Stop that," the lady said through her teeth. "We've drawn attention, Irrith, and unless you want to make new friends, you'll come with me, quickly."

Glancing around, Irrith saw they were almost alone in the alley, save for two pipe-smoking actors, one prost.i.tute trying to drum up a bit of business, and a rough-looking fellow taking far too much interest in herself and Carline. They went swiftly around a corner, then another, then a third; the elf-lady clearly knew her way through this warren. They emerged without warning into an open s.p.a.ce, edged with taverns doing roaring business: Covent Garden Market, Irrith realized, much seedier than when she last saw it.

There were prost.i.tutes and thieves here, too, but being out in the open gave them a measure of safety from the latter, and Carline's company deterred many of the former. Not all, though; one half-fed wretch asked through bruised lips if the gentleman might perhaps like the company of two two ladies. "No, thank you," Irrith said, and hastened past. ladies. "No, thank you," Irrith said, and hastened past.

Carline breathed deep of the reeking air, then let it out in a gusty sigh. "I brought you here so you could see the truth. This is what I'm doing these days-not scheming, or plotting, or egging on the Sanists. You've no reason to believe me, Irrith, but I swear to you: I don't want Lune's crown."