It would be better if she waited for Galen, though. Not only did she wish to avoid undermining his authority as Prince, he was friendly with Dr. Andrews, more than any of the fae were; that might make this less cruel. In the meantime—
Feidelm straightened her shoulders under Lune’s gaze. “I know. Wrain and I will go into the Calendar Room. We won’t give up. If this can be made safe, we’ll find a way; or we’ll find something else.”
They still had the clouds. They still had time.
Sothings Park, Highgate: March 13, 1759
At the wedding breakfast after the ceremony, the loudest talk was of the St. Clair estate in Essex, and how it would be opened for the first time in years so that Galen and the new Mrs. St. Clair could reside there. His father and Mr. Northwood were already discussing investments, which would multiply Delphia’s dowry for such renovations while still keeping portions safe for Galen’s sisters, and Irene was telling anyone who would listen that her brother should breed horses once he had his own estate; but Aldgrange was the subject of immediate interest, for it was agreed upon by both families that the happy pair should remove from London at the first opportunity, and enjoy themselves in the countryside.
Fortunately, “the first opportunity” was months off yet. Aldgrange needed a good deal of cleaning and repair before it would be suitable to inhabit. Galen and Delphia would be going nowhere before the end of the Season.
In the interim, they would reside at Sothings Park, with Mr. Northwood paying for their keep there. Galen had to admit it would be both easier and more pleasant than living under his father’s eye. Strange as it sounded, he was master of his own household now; if he devoted his hours to the Onyx Hall, he need answer to no one other than Delphia. And she understood.
I made the right decision, telling her.
Tension might grip his heart as they walked through the gardens after breakfast, but at least none of it arose from secrecy.
As if thinking of that tension, Delphia tilted her head back and shaded her eyes with one hand, searching the clouded heavens. “Even if the skies were clear,” Galen said, “you wouldn’t be able to see it. It’s too near the sun.”
She lowered her hand. “Perihelion—am I right?”
“Yes.” Today, the comet stood at its closest approach to the sun. In the following days, it would draw toward the Earth. Pamphlet writers and half-literate preachers had been prophesying a resulting doom for years; Galen wondered sometimes whether they had somehow divined the faerie threat. Or perhaps some Sanist had told them, in order to undermine the Queen. A fiery conflagration, destroying all life upon the Earth . . . he prayed it would not come to that.
This was a miserable topic to consider on his wedding day. “We’re quite safe at the moment,” Galen said. “Even telescopes cannot find the comet, even in clear skies. Let us turn to happier topics—ones, perhaps, that do not touch on the world below.”
They rounded a hedge, and found Lune waiting for them.
The faerie Queen stood unmasked in the center of the path, silver hair shining despite the cloudy light. The sight of her sent a lance through Galen’s heart: today of all days, to face the creature he adored, with his new wife upon his arm.
His pain was all the worse because Lune had obviously caused it unthinking. “I came to deliver my good wishes to you both,” she said, inclining her head toward Galen and Delphia in turn.
If she was here, showing her true self, there must be half a dozen fae elsewhere in the gardens, keeping watch to ensure no one else wandered by. And more keeping her secret back in the Onyx Hall, so the Sanists would not know she’d gone. All that effort, just for good wishes. Lune truly considered it that important, to come and congratulate them on their wedding day?
Congratulations, and something more. “I have gifts to bestow upon you,” Lune said. Her hands were empty; did some lady or hob lurk in the hedge, ready to hand her things as needed? No, her gifts were of an intangible sort. “For the two of you together, a promise of blessing. You need not fear losing children to illness; they will never want for good health.”
Gertrude had once said the Queen did that for all her Princes’ children. Fae almost never had any of their own, so the offspring of mortals were priceless wonders in their eyes. Galen bowed, murmuring thanks, and Delphia echoed him.
The Queen looked next to the new bride. “For Mrs. St. Clair, a position in my household as lady of the bedchamber—the first mortal ever to be offered such a place.”
Delphia’s eyes widened. Galen doubted she had expected anything at all, not for herself in particular; certainly she hadn’t expected this. Ladies of the bedchamber were few in number, and close to the Queen. Even Irrith was not counted among them. Delphia sank into a belated curtsy, this one deeper than the last, and stammered new thanks.
Then it was Galen’s turn. He knew Lune had promised a wedding gift, but what she might choose to give him, he could not begin to guess.
“I considered many things for you, Lord Galen,” she said softly. Sorrow touched the edges of her mouth, so faintly that one who had not studied her face for years would not have seen it. “In the end, I could think of no thing better than this: to say that you may have one boon of me. Whatever you ask—whatever might please you on this day—I will grant it to you.”
His heart ached so fiercely he thought it might stop. Galen was perversely glad of the pain; it kept him from speaking the words that leapt into his mind.
Give me one more kiss from your lips, as I had when you made me Prince.
He would rather have died than said it, with Delphia standing at his side. By the time his throat had opened enough to speak, he’d conquered the impulse—but that left him with nothing to say. What could he ask of her, that he wanted badly enough to spend her boon upon it? Everything he could think of was too trivial, or else would cause Delphia grief.
I want to choose something neither will despise me for. Something they can be proud of.
Both of them, Delphia as well as Lune. While there was no romance between him and his new wife, there
was
friendship, and he wanted to be worthy of it.
Those thoughts, here in the garden of Sothings Park where he had made certain promises to Delphia, gave him the inspiration he needed. “Your Grace,” Galen said formally, “I would like to form an academy in the Onyx Hall.”
Now all three of them had been surprised this day. “An academy?”
He heard the soft breath of Delphia’s delighted laugh, and took heart. “Yes. A society of those who take interest in the nature of your world. An institution that might draw to it learned minds from all lands, mortals and fae alike, for the purpose of understanding the sort of questions we’ve begun to ponder this last year.”
Baffled though she was, Lune nodded. “If that is what you desire—then certainly.” Her expression turned speculative. “In fact, it might be of some help to Ktistes, whose efforts have been sadly neglected while we addressed the problem of the comet. I wonder—”
Then she broke off with a laugh. “No. The academy, yes; but I will not trap you here discussing troubles. Not on such a happy occasion.” Lune approached, holding out her slender hands; Galen took one, and Delphia the other. “My felicitations to you both, Lord Galen, Lady Delphia. Enjoy your wedding day, and may many more days of joy follow it.”
Despite the myriad of good reasons he had to refrain—his wife’s presence; the formality of the moment—Galen murmured what he had never dared voice before, not to the Queen’s face. “Thank you . . . Lune.”
The Turk’s Head, Bow Street: March 15, 1759
Irrith was not at all sure of the directions she’d been given. Bow Street was easy enough to find, and a carved Turk’s head hung above the lintel of one well-lit door, but the interior looked like a coffeehouse—not the place she sought. London had plenty of Turk’s Heads, most of them selling coffee; perhaps she’d been directed to the wrong place.
Still, she went inside, and was accosted before she’d gone three steps. “How can I be of service, my fine young sir?”
Irrith transferred her suspicion to the smiling man at her elbow. “I don’t think you can. I’m looking for a bath-house.”
His smile only broadened. “Why, it’s here, good sir!” One hand swept an inviting arc toward a door in the far wall. “The bagnio is right this way. Though I regret to say that this evening it is occupied by a party of illustrious gentlemen and their companions. I would be happy, though, to serve you an excellent supper, and some—”
Her glare stopped him before he could say “coffee.”
Gentlemen and their “companions”? I’m in the right place, sure enough.
But not well-enough dressed to pretend she belonged with illustrious folk. And she wasn’t good enough to lie her way past, even if she changed her glamour.
A simple faerie charm did just as well. Irrith dug around in her pocket and produced a golden guinea. The man’s eyes bid fair to pop out of his head at the sight of it; she wondered wryly if they would sink back into his skull when he found a dead leaf tomorrow. “I bear a gift for one of the ladies,” Irrith said, patting her other pocket. “On behalf of my master. I won’t impose on them long.”
The man made the coin vanish so fast he might have been a faerie himself, and laid a sly finger along his nose. “For Kitty Fisher, perhaps? She made quite a name for herself by that riding accident in the Mall—I’ve heard two songs about it already. Quite the beauty they say she is, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so. Your master will have to strive against some important men to win her charms, though.” And so saying, he opened the door to the bagnio.
Now it was Irrith’s eyes that threatened to fall out of her head. Oh, she’d heard of these places, but had been so occupied with other matters that she never found the time to visit one. She found herself in the midst of an Oriental dream. Tiled pools, coyly separated by carved screens, sent steam wreathing through the air—a wholly inadequate veil to cover the many half-clad or altogether naked people lounging about the space.
Not so many, she realized once her initial startlement passed. Perhaps a dozen in all: three ladies, and the rest men, all enjoying a thorough debauch. One fellow floated blissfully in a pool; two others sprawled with wine and candied fruit, conversing upon some topic with much laughter. A blonde woman sat on the back of a fourth, kneading his shoulders while she whispered in his ear. The other two ladies—to grant them a title they did not deserve—were dallying upon cushions with the remaining men. And it was there, of course, that Irrith found her target.
Once again, Carline had made no particular effort to disguise herself, aside from a thin veneer of mortality. No reason she should; her lush beauty was perfectly suited for this kind of pastime. Seduction had always been her favorite game, and she played it very well. Irrith was not surprised that her last farewell to London should be a night in a bagnio with as many handsome and wealthy men as she could manage.
Her dark-haired friend was devoting her attention to a rather unhandsome fellow, with a wide mouth and unfortunately bulbous eyes.
He must have a great deal of wealth,
Irrith thought cynically. Carline had taken the finest of the set, a strong-jawed man with shoulders that would look well in a tight coat and looked even better out of one. He so occupied her that she didn’t look up as Irrith approached.
The unhandsome one did, though, and frowned. His companion wrinkled her upturned nose. “A friend of yours, George?”
He shook his head. Irrith offered a deep bow to them all and thought fast. The “gift” had just been an idea to get her past the owner of the bagnio, but now she had more attention than she wanted, and no good way out of it. “Good evening, my most excellent lords,” she said, delaying while she scrambled for a fresh idea. Sweat was already soaking through her shirt into her coat, and nervousness did not help. “I’ve come in search of a, er, a lady—”
Derisive laughter greeted her stammering statement. “Miss Fisher,” one of the men said in cool tones, “is not available this evening. As you can no doubt see.” He gestured at the woman with the upturned nose.
“Not her,” Irrith said, and pointed at Carline. “That’s the one I seek. My master sent me with a gift for her.”
Carline still had not looked up from her giggling play with the broad-shouldered man. “Tom,” the ugly George called, and Kitty Fisher jabbed the fellow with her toe. “Competition for your Caroline’s charms.”
The two broke apart, and Carline, pouting, finally turned to face Irrith. The sprite watched as understanding came to her, stage by stage: she saw first a gentleman, then someone under a glamour, and then apprehension settled in. Not knowing who lay beneath the disguise, she would be fearing the worst—as if Lune had the attention to spare for one turncoat faerie lady on her way out of London.
But Irrith could use that fear. Her hand brushed her pocket, and a dreadful notion came to her. Bowing to the broad-shouldered Tom, she said, “May I present the gift to her?”
He scowled, but Kitty jabbed him again. “Go on, Tom. Or are you afraid your, ah,
purse
isn’t deep enough to keep her?”
His scowl shifted targets, but George lifted a quelling hand, and Tom slid backward with ill grace, leaving Carline alone on her couch.
Irrith knelt before the faerie lady and pulled the box from her pocket. Then cupping it in her hands so no one but Carline could see, she cracked the lid upward.
All the blood drained from Carline’s face. While Kitty and the others hooted and began speculating about the gift, Irrith murmured, “Five minutes of your time—and a bit of information. Then you can go wherever you please.”
For a moment it seemed Carline would be unable to move. Then she shoved herself off the couch so fast Irrith almost fell onto her rump. “Five minutes,” she said in a strangled voice. “No more.” And she stalked into the far corner of the bagnio, bare feet thudding hard against the floor.
The laughter faded, and Tom regarded Irrith with undisguised suspicion. “Pardon me,” she said, and went hastily after Carline before anyone could decide to interfere.