Chapter 2
Ah, thought Ephraim. Hull did attend theatricals and music halls weekly at the very least. But so did many of his fellow clerks.
And, given Hull’s enthusiastic recounting of the performances upon his return, Ephraim hardly thought this magical compulsion formed the whole of his beloved’s ravenous passion for performances.
Regardless, Ephraim now knew with tolerable certainty that Hull had never fed upon him. He felt more bereft than he supposed he ought. This emotion he set aside for the present; his energies were better spent on attending to Hull’s explanation.
“However,” Hull continued, gesturing to the whole of his handsome self from horns to hooves with one sweep of his arm, “I can hardly go out in London in my present state. Nor can I summon my glamour again without restoring myself.”
Unable to summon his glamour without drawing mortal strength and unable to draw mortal strength without summoning his glamour.
Now that Ephraim understood the conundrum he fully appreciated its gravity.
A solution was imperative. He wished only that he were clever enough to concoct it.
He made the attempt, nonetheless. “What must you do? Return to the fae realms?”
He did not add, Might I accompany you?
Ephraim had never asked to visit the fae realms. He suspected that Lofthouse had gone now and again.
But it seemed the sort of place too fantastical for a fellow like himself—a clumsy, awkward thing even in the prime of his youth.
Many a party had occurred at college and university alike without an invitation cast his way.
He understood that his peers considered him unfit for more outrageous exploits and had accepted their judgment.
An indulgent smile graced Hull’s lips. A certain hesitation remained in his gaze. “No, I needn’t go so far as that.”
Ephraim’s heart leapt for reasons he did not have time to ponder at present. “Then—perhaps you might draw your strength from me?”
Hull’s ears pinned back as his eyes flew wide in horror.
Ephraim buried his disappointment; he had no wish to unduly alarm his dearest invalid. “Is it not the done thing, then, to draw one’s strength from one’s paramour?”
“It is the done thing,” Hull admitted with unaccountable yet evident reluctance. “But…”
Ephraim waited for him to explain. When he did not, he ventured, “But not when one’s paramour is a mortal?”
“That is done as well,” said Hull, to Ephraim’s continued bafflement. “But…”
“Then why?”
Hull grimaced. “It is possible to drain one to death.”
“…Ah,” said Ephraim.
“Particularly when one’s paramour is—”
“Yes, I quite understand. Thank you.”
Hull drew up short. Ephraim didn’t blame him.
He was rather surprised at himself. His words were not often so clipped with anyone, much less his dear Hull.
He took some solace in knowing he hadn’t lost his temper altogether, certainly nothing like his speech after their disastrous first kiss beneath the mistletoe.
Ephraim softened his voice and tried to steer their conversation back onto its proper course. “How long have you starved yourself for my sake?”
“I would hardly call it ‘starving,’” Hull insisted with a desperate edge to his voice.
“Your wounds refuse to heal for want of it,” Ephraim pointed out. Dr Hitchingham had told him something of scurvy, how starving sailors would find their scars ripping open into fresh wounds for want of food at sea. This seemed to him more similar than otherwise.
“Not long,” Hull repeated. “Merely since the break.”
Too long by half, in Ephraim’s reckoning. “And you would not even consider drawing your strength from me.”
Hull worried his lip between his teeth. “I cannot.”
“Because I’m old,” Ephraim concluded for him.
“No—” Hull raised himself up on his elbows, as if the force of his protest drove him forward. “No, it’s not that. You’re just… delicate.”
“Frail, you mean.” A wan smile plucked at the corner of Ephraim’s mouth. “A common symptom of growing old.”
“You’re angry,” Hull observed.
Ephraim, who’d thought he’d hid that unseemly response tolerably well, baulked. “Not with you.”
Hull did not appear as though he believed him.
Ephraim endeavoured to explain. “I’m not angry that you require something I cannot provide.
I’m angry that you didn’t tell me of it, and thus prevented me from assisting you in arranging for the lack—or at the very least, stepping out of your way so you might seek what you needed without undue interference. ”
“I don’t want you out of my way,” Hull insisted almost before Ephraim had finished speaking. “My way is much improved for your presence in it.”
No one had ever said anything of the kind to Ephraim in all his days. All his life he had known his presence to be an annoyance or a burden to most everyone of his acquaintance. He counted himself extraordinarily lucky to have even one friend at his age.
Which meant he had no ready reply to his beloved beyond the woefully-inadequate, “Likewise.”
Hull’s smile beamed as beautifully as ever.
“Old and frail and mortal as I may be,” Ephraim began.
“You’re hardly—!” Hull protested.
“Old and frail and mortal as I may be,” Ephraim said again over Hull’s attempts to deny the bald facts, “I think you might grant me a little more credit in my understanding, if given the chance.”
Hull was silent long enough that Ephraim feared he’d offended him, until at last, so softly it startled Ephraim to hear, Hull replied, “Yes. Yes, I ought to have done so.”
Ephraim, who had not often had the pleasure of someone agreeing with his assertions outside of a purely legal context, took a moment to fully absorb this apology.
“So,” Ephraim concluded, “you require strength to draw upon. Mine will not suffice, for reasons earlier stated. Nor will the crowds with which you have previously made do. Therefore we must find someone we can trust with our secrets who could come to you here. Have you any friends in the city who might…?”
Hull shook his head. “They’re jolly enough fellows, but none I could trust to see me as I am.”
Ephraim hesitated. “Then… have you any friends in the fae realms…?”
“I do,” Hull admitted with unmistakable and unaccountable reluctance. “Several, in fact.”
“They would assist you in this matter?”
“They would.” Hull’s demeanour relaxed as he spoke, and it was with a rush of something approaching enthusiasm that he added, “Any of whom would be delighted to meet you.”
“Oh!” The startled syllable burst from Ephraim’s lips quite without thought. He hastened to demur. “I hardly imagine—”
Hull’s freshly-returned smile faded somewhat, much to Ephraim’s growing dismay. “Though if you would prefer not to meet them, I understand.”
“Poppycock!” Another shocking outburst. Ephraim reined in his tongue and tried again to say something more sensible. “Of course I would welcome any friend you chose to introduce. I meant only that it seems rather… well, that is to say…”
Hull took him by the hand. It was a wonderful thing, to have his warmth suffuse his fingertips, the softness of his palm tenderly cradling his knuckles. Ephraim quieted.
“If you are in any way discomfited by the notion,” said Hull, as gentle as a summer zephyr, “you need but say the word. But my friends would be just as glad to meet you in turn.”
Ephraim doubted this. He scarcely believed himself interesting enough for Hull. To think anyone else might find him intriguing strained credulity.
But as his sweet Hull was an invalid at present, Ephraim indulged him on that point without further argument.
When the Holly King sent Hullvardr on his quest, he had made certain things perfectly clear (the danger posed to like-minded gentlemen in the mortal realm, the particulars of how his new master preferred matters in the office, and so forth).
Other things he had strongly implied. Hull, growing more accustomed by the moment to how much the Holly King said by leaving certain things unsaid, had paid particular notice.
The impression he had received was that Ephraim Grigsby required nurturing and defending, not just in his body but likewise in his mind.
His advanced age had made him frail, and Hull’s quest required him to protect Ephraim from worry and concern as much or moreso than physical threats.
Fae customs had proved alarming enough to the youthful Holly King upon his arrival in the realms and his ascension to his throne.
And even with forewarning, Ephraim had fainted when Hullvardr revealed his true form.
If Ephraim were plunged into the depths, the shock might well halt his heartbeat forevermore.
As such, Hullvardr had intended to introduce certain further truths regarding his fae nature in a slow and gentle fashion.
The accident, however, had forced his hand.
And it was with far more fear for his mortal beloved than for himself that Hullvardr had revealed the truth of his kind.
Considering the abrupt nature of the revelation and the distressing circumstances which had demanded it, Hullvardr thought Ephraim had taken it remarkably well.
He was, very naturally of course, upset with Hullvardr for lying to him.
Hullvardr was just glad that the lie had not driven Ephraim to break off their intimacy altogether.
Ephraim was angry with him, certainly, but he had permitted Hullvardr to take his hand again.
With the matter out in the open at last, Hullvardr dared to raise that hand to his lips and press a kiss to those lacework knuckles.
A soft gasp escaped Ephraim. He always seemed astonished at the smallest gesture of affection.
Hullvardr set aside the troubling notion of why his mortal beloved should find affection surprising and instead focused upon the bashful smile that graced his lips and the rosy hue that suffused his countenance.