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won’t help matters to pay the loan in faerie gold.”
    “Of course not. My intent is not to pay it at all.”
    The Queen stared at him, silver eyes unblinking. Her entire image might have been cast from silver, and draped in darkest lapis. He waited while she weighed the repercussions. “I am sure you have your reasons,” she said at last, the statue coming to life once more. “You know the finances of the City better than I. But see the larger picture: failure to crush the Covenanters now will mean their stronger presence in the future. Too much of London is sympathetic to them already, and they are hostile to us .”
    Us had many possible meanings, depending on the occasion. Sometimes it was the royal pronoun. Sometimes it meant Londoners, above and below. This time, it was unmistakably the meaning in between: the fae of the Onyx Court. Nowhere in the world, that Antony knew of, was there a faerie city alongside a mortal one; the other kingdoms of the fae held their seats in places remote from human habitation.
    The Onyx Hall made it possible. That great structure, encompassing within itself chambers and passages as London did buildings and streets, sheltered them from the church bells and iron of the world above. But its inhabitants ventured above, too, and preferred to find the world they visited, if not friendly, then at least neutral.
    The hotter Protestants—Presbyterians and the independent-minded “godly,” whose enemies called them Puritan—were far from neutral. To such people, all fae were devils, and Scotland under their rule was a harsh and austere place. If their influence in England were to grow, the fae would suffer for it.
    Antony said, “I am aware. There is, however, another consideration.
    “The King is desperate of money. Already his judges and his lawyers have found every loophole, every obscure and unenforced statute that might afford him some revenue—ship money, distraint of knighthood; he even continues to collect tonnage and poundage, without the legal right. And still it is not enough.”
    Lune’s chin came up, and he wondered if she saw where he aimed. Though her face showed no identifiable age, she had reigned longer than he had been alive, and had been at the game of politics longer than that.
    “If he cannot get money from the City,” Antony said, “then he will be forced to convene Parliament.”
    A nightingale sang in a nearby willow tree. The ladies were too well bred to whisper amongst themselves while their Queen sat in silent thought, but they exchanged glances. Lune kept no one about her who did not understand at least the basics of mortal politics.
    At last she said, “Why bring this to me?”
    “For aid,” Antony said. She had not rejected the notion out of hand; it encouraged him. “When I said my intent was not to pay it, I spoke of the outcome I hope to see. But I think it will be a close decision. The Common Council will vote against it, but I should like to ensure the aldermen likewise decide against the King. Penington and others have little love for this war.”
    “Then arrange it yourself.” Lune rapped the words out like the crack of an unfolding fan. “Surely you have the means to convince your fellows.”
    Her sharp rejoinder took him aback. Straightening from his ease against the fountain, Antony said in mild tones, “If I had sufficient time, perhaps. But I cannot be both quick and subtle, and the King is not above imprisoning those who defy him.”
    Lune, too, rose from her seat on the bench. “You ask this of me-by influencing their dreams, I presume?” It was the most gentle method of persuasion, but Antony had no chance to say so before she went on. “For the sake of a refusal they might not otherwise give. But I am not convinced of your course.”
    Why did she resist it so unthinking? Fear of the Covenanters and their religion could not explain it all. Lune was protective of her fae subjects, yes, but she was also protective of