Part 22 (2/2)
”For what?”
”For caring.” Lack of sleep made him too easily tearful; he fought the urge back, though his vision swam a little. ”As you said, all Father cares about is Delphia's dowry. And Mother isn't here, making sure I eat and rest. You are. And I cherish that.”
Cyn rose up on her knees so she could hug him more easily. Galen laid his cheek against her hair. She was and always had been his favorite among his sisters, and the one thing he would miss when he and Delphia established their own household.
”You had better take care of yourself,” she said into his shoulder. ”Or I'll follow you with a plate in one hand and a pillow in the other.”
More laughter bubbled up. ”I will.”
And thank you, dear sister, for the favor you did unawares. This ambush, Cynthia concerned for his well-being, curious about his absences-it settled the question that had plagued his heart since May. This ambush, Cynthia concerned for his well-being, curious about his absences-it settled the question that had plagued his heart since May.
He did not want Delphia to suffer such doubts.
By his prerogative as Prince, he would tell Miss Philadelphia Northwood of the Onyx Hall.
Memory: November 9, 1756 The library of the fae was a marvel. Galen laughed at the thought; everything everything in this place was a marvel. More than a year since he'd gained entrance to the Onyx Hall, and he still gaped like a country squire come to London for the first time, stunned afresh by each new wonder. in this place was a marvel. More than a year since he'd gained entrance to the Onyx Hall, and he still gaped like a country squire come to London for the first time, stunned afresh by each new wonder.
No one could blame him in this instance, though. The shelves rose in three levels around him, rimmed with silver balconies and ladders of ivory, a temple to the written word. Surely even the great library of Alexandria had not been this grand. He saw works in Greek and Latin, French and stranger tongues-and then, as if to bring him back to earth before his thoughts grew too too lofty, shelf after shelf of common novels, including all twenty-three volumes of La Calprenede's lofty, shelf after shelf of common novels, including all twenty-three volumes of La Calprenede's Cleopatre Cleopatre and what looked like the complete works of Mademoiselle de Scudery. and what looked like the complete works of Mademoiselle de Scudery.
”Novels are very popular among the fae.”
He would have recognized that clear, musical voice blindfolded. Galen turned and bowed deeply to the Queen of the Onyx Court. ”Your Grace. I did not hear you come in.”
She moved like a ghost, to approach unheard in the hush of the library. There had been others in here when he entered-an Irish lady he'd seen before, a mortal man who seemed to be the place's caretaker-but they had vanished, leaving him alone with the Queen.
Who looked ghostlike indeed in her white gown. She wore it for mourning, he knew; black was too common a color in this dark realm for it to carry the significance mortals gave it. Court rumor said she would wear it until she chose a Prince to replace the one who had recently died. Galen didn't know what had befallen Lord Hamilton; rumor had plenty to say about that, but none of it agreed with any of the rest. The man hadn't been seen in months, except by Lune's closest advisers, and then one day she told the court he was gone.
The Queen beckoned for him to follow, and led him away from the novels to one of the tables at the center of the library. Someone had moved a chair away so that it faced the open carpet, and here Lune settled herself, white skirts floating down like a cloud. There was no chair for Galen, but he wouldn't have felt comfortable taking one anyway. She came here seeking me. Why? She came here seeking me. Why?
When he first came to the Onyx Hall, he'd counted himself lucky to glimpse the Queen from afar. He attended her court audiences as often as he could purely because they afforded him a chance to watch her, regal as sovereignty itself, seated upon her great silver throne. In the last few months, though, his luck had grown beyond measure: he'd been invited to attend upon her in the lesser presence chamber, or to escort her during an idle walk in the night garden. Thus he'd found that her mind was as great as her beauty, and turned often to varied subjects, from Britain's strife with France to the reception of the latest opera. Indeed, that was how he'd discovered the library; the Prince's valet, Edward Thorne, had told him that many newspapers and magazines could be found there. If Galen was to keep the Queen's interest, he needed to read more widely than his restricted allowance would permit.
Now this-a private audience...
She said, without preamble, ”Mr. St. Clair, I have come here today to say something that may seem like a generous offer. I a.s.sure you it is not. Rather call it a favor-one I must beg of you, for the good of my court.”
He had to be dreaming. G.o.d knew he'd dreamt this many times: Lune coming to him, some deed only he could accomplish, and then her grat.i.tude... embarra.s.sment and surprise made him fumble his reply. ”Anything for I- that is, anything I can do for you, madam, I'll do without hesitation.”
Her silver eyes were grave. ”No, Mr. St. Clair. I want you to hesitate, for I want you to consider this with all due care. But I have come to offer you the t.i.tle and office of Prince of the Stone.”
It was was a dream. Galen would have pinched himself, only he didn't want to wake up. a dream. Galen would have pinched himself, only he didn't want to wake up.
”You know the danger that threatens this realm,” the Queen went on. ”Whatever Prince stands at my side will be in peril; he cannot escape it. But without a Prince, I am weakened. The Onyx Hall needs both a mistress and a master. I have chosen you to replace Lord Hamilton, but the ultimate choice is yours. If the burden I would place on you is too great, you are free to refuse.”
With every word she spoke, reality struck more strongly home. This was not a dream. She was truly here, and so was he, and she wanted him to be Prince of the Stone.
I'm not qualified.
He'd seen Lord Hamilton. A gentleman of about forty, with a sharp mind and connections throughout society; that that was what a Prince should be. Not the twenty-year-old scion of an impoverished family, who had been in the Onyx Hall for scarcely a year. was what a Prince should be. Not the twenty-year-old scion of an impoverished family, who had been in the Onyx Hall for scarcely a year.
Some fragment of that last thought must have escaped his lips, for Lune smiled. It was the first bright expression he'd seen on her face since Lord Hamilton's death. ”You might be surprised to hear that you're far from the rawest newcomer to be elevated in this fas.h.i.+on. Other Princes have had less time. And they've done perfectly well.”
But surely they were more prepared! He managed to keep that reply behind his teeth. Under no circ.u.mstances could the Queen be permitted to know his doubts. He managed to keep that reply behind his teeth. Under no circ.u.mstances could the Queen be permitted to know his doubts.
If he was concerned about that... then he had already made up his mind.
Prepared or not, qualified or not, Lune had come to beg a favor of him. He would have cut off his left arm and given it to her if she asked; he could do this, too.
Belatedly, Galen sank to one knee. The sapphire toe of her shoe extended past the hem of her skirts, and upon this he fixed his gaze. ”Your Grace, everything I am, everything I have, and everything I can do is at your disposal, now and forever. If you want me as your Prince, then I can do nothing but accept.”
And pray I don't disappoint you.
The Onyx Hall, London: October 30, 1758 The sixteenth draft of Galen's intended speech to Delphia went into the fire along with its fifteen predecessors. How did one go about telling his wife-to-be that he consorted with faeries?
He was glad to be rescued by Edward Thorne, knocking at his study door. ”The genie is here to see you,” his valet said.
He shot to his feet. ”Bring him in.” As Abd ar-Ras.h.i.+d pa.s.sed Edward, carrying a sheaf of papers, Galen added, ”Oh, and summon Dr. Andrews-”
The genie held up a hand to forestall him. ”If you please, O Prince, I would like first to speak to you. Alone.”
The valet paused, looking to his master. Galen, though puzzled, nodded agreement. ”Very well. Coffee, then, Edward. My lord, please, be seated.”
He didn't ask how long the genie had been inside the Calendar Room. Few wanted to talk about it after the fact, whether it had been a month or ten years. Galen simply asked, ”Can it be done?”
”That cannot be known, Lord Galen, without attempting the work directly. But yes-I believe it to be possible.”
The philosopher's stone. Galen's heart skipped a beat. ”How?”
Abd ar-Ras.h.i.+d rose and went to a nearby table, looking to Galen for permission. At his nod, the genie carried the table over to their chairs, so he could lay his papers out where they both could see. Diagrams and notes in multiple languages covered them, ranging from English to Latin and Greek and the incomprehensible scribble of Arabic. ”The ultimate intention,” Abd ar-Ras.h.i.+d said, ”is what your alchemists have called the 'chemical wedding.' This, according to the writings of Jabir ibn Hayyan, is the joining of philosophic sulphur to philosophic mercury: two purified opposites, reconciled to one another, producing perfection.”
His English had improved. Had the Arab really spared the time and attention within that room to better his command of the language? It made no difference for those waiting on the outside, and certainly there were days enough to spare, but it spoke volumes about the genie's dedication to his purpose. ”And that perfection is the philosopher's stone,” Galen said.
”Yes. Ordinarily the alchemist begins with some base substance, the prima materia, prima materia, and this he subjects to many processes in his laboratory-from calcination to congelation.” The genie pointed to a list on the second page. ”He does this in order to obtain sophic sulphur and sophic mercury in their pure forms. Purity is necessary: without it, you have the same corrupt matter that all metals are made of, instead of the philospher's stone.” and this he subjects to many processes in his laboratory-from calcination to congelation.” The genie pointed to a list on the second page. ”He does this in order to obtain sophic sulphur and sophic mercury in their pure forms. Purity is necessary: without it, you have the same corrupt matter that all metals are made of, instead of the philospher's stone.”
”But we aren't working with metals.”
”No. And that is why I wished to speak with you privately.” Abd ar-Ras.h.i.+d settled back in his chair, folding his hands together like one at prayer. Like a Christian, at least; the genie regularly went above to carry out his scheduled prayers, five times a day, but Galen had never watched him at it. He had a difficult enough time understanding that this creature could be both a faerie and a wors.h.i.+pper of G.o.d-even the Mohammedan G.o.d.
Despite the detailed notes in front of him, Abd ar-Ras.h.i.+d seemed to have difficulty articulating his concern. ”The notion of Dr. Andrews is that the Dragon is sophic sulphur. I think he may be correct. This allows you to escape the labor of purification-for one substance, at least. But you also need sophic mercury.”
His reluctance was clear; the cause of it was not. ”That is a challenge,” Galen conceded, ”but with the Calendar Room at our disposal, I'm sure we have the time to think of a suitable source-”
The Arab frowned more deeply. ”I have already done so, Lord Galen. But I fear the answer is not one you wish to hear.”
Galen stilled. After a moment, he said, ”You needn't fear any retribution from me, Lord Abd ar-Ras.h.i.+d, for anything you say. Tell me what you know, and we will continue from there.”
The genie said, ”Your Queen.”
<script>