A Star Shall Fall Part 17

Mrs. Northwood kept a Negro page, in imitation of those fas.h.i.+onable ladies who also had the wealth for such an exotic touch. Galen wondered how Miss Northwood felt about that. "I needn't ask your opinion on this prospect," he said slowly, choosing his words with care. "Do you mean then that you would choose me to escape it?"

The fight went out of her hands, and her shoulders slumped. "I would shame to use you in such fas.h.i.+on-but you've been honest with me, Mr. St. Clair. I thought it only fair to do the same."

Now he did sit, and pull out a handkerchief to blot the sweat from his face. The warm scent of roses surrounded him like a too close embrace. "I-" G.o.d, how desperately he wished for something to wet his throat. "I suppose I'm flattered, that I am preferred to the b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of a Jamaican plantation owner."

She was at his side, in a rush of silk. "Oh, Mr. St. Clair-I didn't mean it that way. Rather to let you understand what you would be taking me away from. Not a secret love, but a match I would avoid at any cost." Miss Northwood hesitated, then settled herself on the bench across from him, smoothing her skirts over her knees with uncertain fingers. "But before-when you spoke of resigning yourself to an unromantic future-the look in your eyes... Mr. St. Clair, is there one you you love?" love?"

The handkerchief twisted in his hands. Ladies had an advantage, with their fans they could hide behind. "Yes," he admitted, in little more than a whisper. "That honesty, too, I think I owe you. But I will never-can never-be with the lady in question." never-be with the lady in question."

"Your father won't permit it?"

Galen laughed at the mere thought. "He wouldn't, if he knew... but no, Miss Northwood. The reasons go far deeper than a father's disapproval. Nor is it a question of wealth, or any other such thing. If you imagine me in the position of a young fool in love with the moon, you'll have a fair sense of just how hopeless my situation is.

"Given that, there is nothing to be gained by delaying my choice. I promise you that, whatever sentiments repose in my heart, you shall have no cause to reproach me for my behavior. It is all I shall ever be able to offer any woman."

He busied himself tucking away the handkerchief, to regain a modic.u.m of his composure. The task done, he found Miss Northwood sitting with her hands folded, and a look in her eyes that said she was preparing to accept, despite-as he had said at the beginning-the reasons his honesty had given her for refusal.

Before she could answer, he spoke again.

"I suppose there is one thing more I can offer. Should you come under my roof, you will never again have reason to conceal your purpose at Mrs. Vesey's. We shall have a library, and you shall buy what books you like for it; you may attend what lectures will admit ladies, learn what languages your talents suit you for, and if your mind inclines to it, you may write." He thought he would have to force a smile past the lump in his throat, but it came with surprising ease. "I may detest Dr. Johnson on many counts, but in this matter, he and I have no disagreement at all: an educated woman is an ornament not only to her family, but to the nation that bore her. I shall do everything in my power to aid you."

Her lips parted during the speech, and remained open in a small, astonished O O; when he finished, she sat without speaking for quite a few moments-and then she answered him, in a strangely breathless voice. "Oh, Mr. St. Clair. I was all prepared to say that unlike you, I am not a romantic, and would willingly accept an offer of stability, respect, and friends.h.i.+p, even were my alternative not so terrible. But then you said those words, and I discovered that some part of me is a romantic after all."

Her voice wavered on the last words, but the waver turned out to be a smile. Galen rose without thinking and crossed to her, then knelt and took her hands. "If talk of books and writing is your notion of romance, Miss Northwood, then we are happily matched indeed. If you will consent to be my wife, then I will go this minute and beg your father for your hand."

The setting sun gave her a halo of fiery splendor. "You will not have to beg hard, Mr. St. Clair. I do consent."

The Onyx Hall, London: July 8, 1758 "Betrothed?" Irrith said in disbelief. "The Dragon will be here in a matter of months. Is this the best time to be talking marriage?" Irrith said in disbelief. "The Dragon will be here in a matter of months. Is this the best time to be talking marriage?"

Galen collapsed into a chair, sighing. "Likely not. But if I waited longer, I might have lost Miss Northwood to another-and besides, I promised my father I would find a wife before the end of the Season, which is upon us now."

Irrith hardly cared about that. True, the quality would be departing soon for their country homes; they were the beau monde, beau monde, the folk Carline liked best. Irrith preferred the ordinary Londoners, who stayed in the city all year. "You'll be so busy, though, with the wedding, and setting up away from your father, and all the rest of it." the folk Carline liked best. Irrith preferred the ordinary Londoners, who stayed in the city all year. "You'll be so busy, though, with the wedding, and setting up away from your father, and all the rest of it."

"As it happens, no." Galen's smile was equal parts amus.e.m.e.nt and smugness. "Drawing up a marriage settlement can take time, and Miss Northwood and I have both made it clear to our families that we are perfectly content to be wed in the spring. Which gives her time to reconsider."

"Maybe I'm misunderstanding your mortal customs, but I thought the lady reconsidering was considered a bad bad thing." thing."

He shrugged. "Usually. But I want Miss Northwood to be certain she's happy with her choice. If her mind changes before spring-if, for example, she falls in love elsewhere-she's welcome to cry off. I have told her so."

Love. Irrith raised an eyebrow. "What does the Queen say?"

It was a cruel blow, but one he would have taken sooner or later. Galen's qualified happiness faded visibly. "I haven't told her yet."

"You are are aware that she keeps spies, yes?" Including, Irrith suspected, Edward Thorne, who was currently in an adjoining room, attempting to remove the dirt Galen had pressed into his stockings when he knelt to propose to Miss Delphia Northwood. aware that she keeps spies, yes?" Including, Irrith suspected, Edward Thorne, who was currently in an adjoining room, attempting to remove the dirt Galen had pressed into his stockings when he knelt to propose to Miss Delphia Northwood.

Galen sat forward in his chair and put his head in his hands. After a moment, he pulled off his wig, giving his scalp a good scratch. The sight reminded Irrith of the last time she'd seen his head bare-and Galen soon recalled it, too, for he blushed and hastily pulled the wig back on. "Dame Irrith-"

So they were back to t.i.tles. "Yes, Lord Galen?" she inquired, too sweetly.

It was so easy to call anguish up in his expressive face. "We cannot-I am promised to another, now."

He never ceased to enchant her, the way different parts of him could say different things, all at the same time. His eyes told a much less certain story than his mouth. It wasn't the manipulative artifice of someone like Valentin Aspell, either; Galen felt felt all these things, honestly and completely, even when they contradicted each other. However did he manage it? all these things, honestly and completely, even when they contradicted each other. However did he manage it?

She would not surrender the game, not so long as his eyes were still playing. "Promised, Galen. Not married."

"But her Grace-"

"I thought we dealt with that that matter already." matter already."

"I cannot give myself to three women at once!"

The adjoining room was far far too silent. Irrith hoped Edward Thorne was entertained. "You aren't giving all of yourself-just pieces. Lune has your love. Miss Northwood has your promise. I don't ask for either of those things; your body is enough for me." too silent. Irrith hoped Edward Thorne was entertained. "You aren't giving all of yourself-just pieces. Lune has your love. Miss Northwood has your promise. I don't ask for either of those things; your body is enough for me."

He turned very very red, and shot up out of his chair like a jack-in-the-box. "You would treat me like some kind of male prost.i.tute?" red, and shot up out of his chair like a jack-in-the-box. "You would treat me like some kind of male prost.i.tute?"

Where had this anger come from? Irrith rose to her own feet, letting her own hurt show. "Did I say that? Did I imply it? What have I paid you, that gives you the right to accuse me like that? I'm only acting on what I saw in you. When you look at me, you see something you wish you could be: a person who doesn't care what's proper, who does what she likes and smiles at it all, a person without any chains. And it attracts you. But you're too scared, too worried about what Lune thinks, and your father, and everyone else, to do what you you want, and so I did it for you. How is that wrong?" want, and so I did it for you. How is that wrong?"

All the anger had gone out of him while she worked herself up to a shout. He wasn't really mad, she realized-not at her. At himself, yes, for letting his father sell him in marriage, and for wanting what he thought he shouldn't. Irrith had listened to farmers in Berks.h.i.+re complain about the bad behavior of the so-called polite folk, keeping mistresses under the same roof as their wives, and had thought it common; and maybe it was, but not with Galen.

At least, he didn't want want it to be. it to be.

He'd retreated behind his chair; now she followed him, standing so close their b.u.t.tons touched. "I'll go away when you marry," Irrith whispered, realizing only after it came out that for the first time in her timeless life, she was willing to let go of a mortal before she tired of him, for his his sake. Because otherwise it would hurt him too much. "Let me enjoy this now, Galen. You love the Queen, and you want to hold faith with Miss Northwood, and you want to honor your father and help your sisters and learn great things and save the Onyx Hall-you want sake. Because otherwise it would hurt him too much. "Let me enjoy this now, Galen. You love the Queen, and you want to hold faith with Miss Northwood, and you want to honor your father and help your sisters and learn great things and save the Onyx Hall-you want so much so much, and so intensely, and there's nothing like that for us, don't you understand? Nothing except you."

By the end she wasn't even sure she was making sense. It didn't matter, though, because this time Galen was the one to move; his arms lifted her onto her toes so he could more easily reach her mouth, and for a few moments Irrith forgot to think about the listening Edward Thorne at all.

But the servant must have been waiting, for when Irrith lost her balance and staggered, breaking Galen's embrace, he coughed politely from the doorway. "Lord Galen," Thorne said, for all the world as if he'd seen nothing at all, "you asked me to remind you of Dr. Andrews."

He might have been speaking Greek. "Yes, thank you," Galen said distractedly, then came to himself with a jump. "Oh, yes. Irrith, I'm sorry-I'm to meet with Dr. Andrews, now that we've made a place for him in the Onyx Hall, and to introduce him to a few scholars who have volunteered their a.s.sistance. We must get him started on his work."

She could hardly begrudge it. If they didn't save the palace, there would be no more Galens for her to play with. "May I come?"

"If you wish to-though I fear it will be terribly boring. We cannot expect to solve our problems on the first day." Galen accepted Thorne's ministrations, straightening what Irrith had disarranged.

"If I grow bored, I'll leave." Andrews was a consumptive, after all. She wasn't hoping for him to drop dead in front of her-that wouldn't help Galen at all-but it was interesting to watch a man die by degrees. "Until then, I should like to hear what he has to say."

Following on his Midsummer thought, Galen had a.s.sembled a small group of faerie scholars to work with Dr. Andrews. Lady Feidelm; a lesser courtier named Savennis; Wrain, a sticklike sprite who looked to be half again Irrith's height but no more than her slight weight. The von das Tickens said they would look in from time to time, or rather Wilhas did; Niklas, being his usual unsociable self, declined. Ktistes would follow their efforts from his garden pavilion.

They met in the chamber Galen had arranged for Dr. Andrews's use, and settled into chairs near the hearth. "How do you like your laboratory?" he asked, gesturing toward the other end of the room. Servants had brought in suitable furniture, and he'd tried to equip the place with things he thought Dr. Andrews might need: bookshelves, a writing desk, a large table for experimentation. Proper equipment would have to wait until the doctor made more specific requests.

"This place is incredible," Dr. Andrews admitted. "The palace, that is-though I do appreciate the laboratory. To think that all this lies beneath the feet of unsuspecting Londoners..." He shook his head, lost for anything else to say.

"And they will stay stay unsuspecting, won't they?" unsuspecting, won't they?"

Galen glared at Irrith. Andrews might not hear the threat shading that question, but he did. Fortunately, Andrews hastened to rea.s.sure her. "Oh, yes, my dear. I've been given a miraculous opportunity here; I would not squander it so easily."

She bristled at the condescending address. Andrews had lost his fear of Irrith on Midsummer's Eve, but it seemed Galen had not made it sufficiently clear that for all her youthful appearance, Irrith was both a lady knight of the court, and a hundred times older than Andrews could ever hope to be. An old man's tendency to call every young woman "my dear" would not please her.

Hurrying to smooth over that ripple, Galen said, "I imagine you have a great many questions-indeed, I know know you have them, as you've already shared several with me." you have them, as you've already shared several with me."

Andrews began to count them off on his fingers. "Why are certain aspects of religion disquieting to the fae? Why can I say 'Heaven' without troubling anyone, but not other words? Why is iron anathema? How are glamours created? What are they composed of? Why can the mad see through them? Why does t.i.thed food protect, and what would happen if someone were to t.i.the stuffs other than bread or milk-ale, perhaps, or meat? How was this palace created, and how is it both here and not here in the s.p.a.ce below London?" Having run out of fingers somewhere in his count, he stopped and, with a shrug both sheepish and helpless, he said, "What is is a faerie in the first place?" a faerie in the first place?"

Irrith gaped at him. "I thought you were a doctor, not some windy old philosopher."

"Philosophy is the root of knowledge," Wrain told her, having listened quietly to Andrews's litany. "And the mortal belief is that one cannot truly answer final questions without first understanding the foundational ones."

"Mortal belief?" Andrews repeated. belief?" Andrews repeated.

Lady Feidelm smiled at him. She was an imposing creature, as tall as Andrews himself, but friendly in her way. "We do not work by reason, as you do, Dr. Andrews. Though from time to time we craft some new design, as Dame Irrith is doing to conceal our land from the comet, we do not experiment for the improvement of our charms. What you see as a craft is not so to us; it is instinct, and our very being."

He had a notebook out, and was bracing it against the arm of his chair as he scribbled notes with a small pencil. "Yes-but so, too, is gravity a kind of instinct; objects do not reason how they fall to earth. Yet it can be investigated by determined minds. Mr. St. Clair, I believe I will need to work both here and at my house; though you have been very generous in providing this chamber, there are some experiments I will have to conduct elsewhere, lest I make myself very unwelcome here."

The astonishment was near universal. Galen said, "Surely you don't mean to experiment with iron, or the divine name."

Andrews looked up from his notes. He took in the various reactions, ranging from Irrith's appalled gape to the wary consideration of the scholars. "Mr. St. Clair," the doctor said, laying his pencil down, "you've asked my a.s.sistance in defeating a faerie creature. To do so, I will need to understand the weaknesses of the fae-what their effect is, and on what basis they operate. I will be glad to hear the opinions of these gentlemen, and this lady, but without judicious experimentation, I fear I will not be able to add much to what they already know." He paused, then added, "I a.s.sure you, I mean no harm."

"I will work with the doctor." That was Savennis, who had said nothing since his introduction to Dr. Andrews. The quiet courtier grimaced. "It may not be pleasant, but I believe he's right: it is is necessary." necessary."

Galen had seen what happened when unprepared fae were struck with holy force. And even now, the wound in Lune's shoulder pained her, legacy of an iron knife a century before. Savennis's courage in even facing that bane awed him. "Her Grace and I will reward you for your service," he promised the pale, bookish faerie. "And Dr. Andrews, you will inform me of everything you intend to do with Savennis, before before you attempt it. If I say something goes too far, you you attempt it. If I say something goes too far, you will will heed me." heed me."

"Of course," Andrews murmured, and relief shone in Savennis's eyes.

The exchange cast a nervous pall over the room, which Galen did his best to lighten. "I've arranged for a servant, a hob named Podder, to see to your needs here, and to bring your reports to me and the Queen. Beyond that, I think I've done what I can for now; I will leave the rest of you to your philosophizing. Dame Irrith, do you wish to stay?"

The sprite was perched on the edge of her chair, toes turned inward like a young girl's, but a pensive look on her face that no young girl had ever worn. She shook her head slowly, then brightened as a thought came to her. "You, Lord Galen, have business elsewhere, I think-telling the Queen your happy news."

He cursed her even as Andrews said, "Happy news? Are you perhaps betrothed, Mr. St. Clair?"

"I am," he said, masking his dread with a smile. She's right, and you know it. You must tell Lune. She's right, and you know it. You must tell Lune. "To Miss Northwood, whom I have told you of. We're to be married in the spring." "To Miss Northwood, whom I have told you of. We're to be married in the spring."

Andrews shook his hand vigorously, pouring out good wishes for them both, which the fae echoed as if speaking phrases in a foreign language. Irrith watched all of this with good-natured malice. "I will return when I can," Galen said, retrieving his hand from the doctor. "In the meantime, may all the powers of Heaven and Faerie both speed you in your work."

Galen sank to his knee on the carpet before Lune and said, "Your Grace, I have come to inform you that I am betrothed."

Silence answered him. She couldn't have been taken entirely by surprise; she knew he was seeking a wife, and the formality of his posture made this more than an ordinary visit. But Lune said nothing.

At first. Just as Galen bit his lip, though, Lune spoke. "My congratulations, Lord Galen. Is your future bride the Miss Northwood I've been hearing of?"

"Yes, madam." She'd probably sent her spies to examine the lady more directly; Lune liked to be well informed.

He hesitated, then lifted his head, away from contemplation of the carpet's plush surface. Lune's thoughts were impossible to read. "Madam," he said, distress roughening it, "please, believe me when I say this will change nothing. The Onyx Court is and shall remain the priority of my life." You will remain the priority of my life. You will remain the priority of my life.

Every movement she made was flawlessly graceful. Lune extended one hand, drew him to his feet. Even through the layers of his coat and s.h.i.+rt, the touch made him s.h.i.+ver. Her shoes brought him to very near his height; Lune was a tall woman, and he was not a tall man. It seemed fitting. He would not have felt right, looking down upon her.

I love you.

Words he could never say.

Lune smiled, her hand rising to his shoulder. "You needn't worry, Galen. No one doubts your dedication to this court, least of all myself. Nor should you doubt your contributions; you have brought us Dr. Andrews, who I'm very sure will be a great help to us in our struggle. I do not thank you often enough, except as rote courtesy, so let me say it now: you have my grat.i.tude, for all you have done, and all you will do. And that will not change when you wed."

n.o.bility came so easily to her. He fancied it a relic of the past, preserved in this world out of time; in this fallen age, when even the highest descended to the riots of the theater and tavern, debauching themselves with drinking and smoking, whoring and fisticuffs, Lune seemed the living memory of true n.o.ble grace. Or perhaps only fae ever attained that ideal, and mortals merely aspired to it, falling short of the true glory.

"So thoughtful." Lune put one finger under his chin and tilted it up. His breath stopped. "There is always so much behind your eyes, Galen. Most of it melancholy, I think. I'm sorry you came to this court in such a troubled time. I fear you've seen little of its gaiety, and much of its tragedy."

He wanted so badly to catch her hand in his. "Your tragedy," he managed to say, "is more precious to me than the best the mortal world has to offer."

Lune stilled. More soberly, she said, "Be cautious of that feeling, Galen. You've drunk a cup of faerie wine; your body and soul will always crave more. But if you discard your world to live wholly in mine, it will break you. You'll become a shadow of yourself, desperate and mad, destroyed by the very thing you desire, and what's more-cruel as it is-you will no longer serve this court. I need you mortal, Galen. Even though I know the price it bears."

Death. But how could he say to her that it wasn't faerie wine he craved, it was her her? They had kissed once, when she raised him to the rank of Prince, sealing the bond between them. He still dreamt of that kiss. And now she stood so close, mere inches away, so that all he would have to do was lean forward...

Galen stepped back. Unsteadily, he said, "I would die a hundred times for you. And for this court. I know you will live forever, and another man might envy it; but I will be what you need, do do what you need, and count my life well spent when it ends." what you need, and count my life well spent when it ends."

"I know," Lune whispered, and sorrow filled her eyes. No doubt he wasn't the first man to say that to her. The obelisk in the garden bore the names of those who had gone before. And she bore enough of a human touch to mourn them.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and made himself lighten his tone. "The wedding will be in the spring. By then, I'm sure, we'll have disposed of this threat, and I can enjoy the gaiety you spoke of with a free heart."

Lune accepted his diversion, crossing the carpet to study the small orrery the von das Tickens had put in this, her private closet. "I shall have to consider what gift to give you, and your bride. Not faerie gold, I promise you: something that will last."

"I treasure it already," Galen said. He meant the response to be light, but did not quite succeed. Bowing, he added, "I should go. Lady Feidelm and the others are with Dr. Andrews, to answer his questions about faerie matters, but I would like to aid them."

She nodded, not turning to face him. "Let me know what comes of it."

"I will." Hand over his heart, Galen bowed again, and retreated from her chamber.

Once well away, he collapsed against the cool stone, breathing fast. "You're mad," he whispered to himself, hearing it echo into the darkness. "Desperate and mad, and you know she does not love you."

But if he saved the Onyx Hall, then he might at least be worthy of her.

Even a fancy as strong as his could not sustain the image of himself in armor, riding a brave steed, facing down the Dragon like a knight of old. He would find a way, though. He would save the palace, and the Queen, and then, perhaps...

A hopeless dream. But he could not let it go.

The Onyx Hall, London: August 3, 1758 Lune stopped her pacing when the usher entered and bowed. "The Lord Keeper is here as you requested, madam."

She waved for him to be escorted in, and made herself breathe slowly, however much frustration tried to speed it. Once Aspell had made his greetings and the usher departed, she said, "Hairy How reported to me this morning that another delivery of t.i.thed bread has been stolen."

"That will disturb your subjects, your Grace."

"I don't need you to tell me that," she snapped, and he promptly bowed an apology. Lune made herself moderate her voice. "I have no intention of letting this become common knowledge, Valentin. The Hall has enough troubles already. But it does mean I'll have to reduce the allowance to your spies."

He frowned. "Madam, they'll be less effective-"

Another thing she didn't need him to tell her. "I'm afraid it's necessary, at least in the short term. The treaty I've arranged with the Greeks-presuming I can get their final agreement-requires some work above, and the fae who carry it out will need protection."

"As you wish, madam."

Lune almost dismissed him, but paused before saying the words. There were many causes that could explain the disappearance of the t.i.the; indeed, it was a pattern that fed on itself. Less bread coming into the Onyx Hall meant less available to her subjects, which caused them to h.o.a.rd it, which caused its value to rise; some fae were in debt to a staggering degree. Which could, in turn, cause a few clever souls to think of waylaying her messengers.

That was one of the less sinister explanations. Others were not so innocent. "Valentin... give me your opinion. Could this be a Sanist plot?"