A Star Shall Fall

Galen sank wearily into a chair. It was true; he hadn’t been home much of late. Too much time in the Onyx Hall—maybe more than was good for him—but what else could he do, with their time running out? If it weren’t for the eleven days that would elapse, he would have long since taken his chances with the Calendar Room. Abd ar-Rashid was in there right now. It should be Dr. Andrews, who had proposed this matter of the philosopher’s stone in the first place, but his health wouldn’t permit it. When the genie emerged, Galen hoped, they would have a way to translate Andrews’s mad alchemical dream into reality.

None of which he could tell Cynthia. “Your friends came by yesterday,” she said. “Mr. Hurst, Mr. Byrd, and Mr. Mayhew. They said you haven’t been to your club in weeks—nor have you answered their letters.” She nodded at his writing desk, which held an entire pile of unopened envelopes he hadn’t noticed. “I’d thought you might be carousing with them, one last bit of bachelor wildness before you settle down with Miss Northwood… it wouldn’t be like you, no matter what Father thinks, but perhaps you decided to try. Apparently not, though. Galen, where have you been?”

That was twice she’d asked. A third time, and I’ll have to answer, he thought vaguely. Like a faerie. Not that it was true for faeries, not that he’d noticed. But perhaps some of them were bound in that way. Stranger things had happened.

“God,” he moaned, and buried his face in his hands. “I can’t even think straight. Cynthia, my dear… I’m sorry.”

She sank to her knees on the carpet in front of him and took him by the wrists, in a gentler grip than she’d used before. “You don’t have to apologise! Mother all but jumped over the moon after you offered for Delphia; you could light her boudoir on fire and she’d forgive you. Even Father hardly cares what you do, so long as you march down the aisle and collect a bank note from Mr. Northwood at the other end. But I’m worried for you. When was the last time you slept?”

He couldn’t have answered that if he wanted to; it was in the Onyx Hall, and he didn’t often check his pocket-watch while there. “I was intending to go to bed now,” he said, lifting his head so he could nod toward his pillow. Edward had gotten halfway through the task of turning down the sheets, and a pan of coals was warming for him in the hearth.

“I won’t keep you long,” Cynthia promised. “But don’t think I haven’t noticed you avoiding my question.”

Fortunately, she didn’t ask it a third time. Faerie weakness or no, he wasn’t sure he’d have the wit to give her a safe answer. “Attending to affairs,” Galen said after a moment.

“Gaming debts?”

“No!” He stared at her, appalled, and she smiled an apology, stroking his arm. Galen wished she’d chosen the other arm; his still-healing bruise ached under her hand. He controlled his wince, though, lest he get her thinking about his supposed encounter in Covent Garden, and whether that might have something to do with his “affairs.”

Taking her hands in his own, Galen said, “Cyn… I’ll be like this a while longer, I fear. It’s all right, though. I need to get more sleep—you’re right about that—and I promise I will try.” His stomach rumbled embarrassingly, and he laughed. “Also more food. I forget to eat, sometimes.”

“By the time you wed, you’ll be a stick,” she said chidingly. “You’ll be half the man Delphia said she would marry.”

Delphia. Galen’s grin slipped. “I’ll fatten up for the wedding. Fat and gouty, just like Father.” She smacked him on the knee. “In all seriousness… thank you.”

“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 favourite 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 favour 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.

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: 9 November 1756