A Star Shall Fall

The rattle of wheels stopped the swing of her legs. Peeking through the leaves, Irrith saw a carriage approaching along the rough path that followed the north bank of the Serpentine. Already it was quite close; she had to hurry, throwing on a suitable glamour before dropping light as a leaf onto the ground below. Then she ran out in front of the carriage and flung one hand up in imperious command.

The horses shied very satisfyingly. The man holding their reins swore, then flinched at his own ill manners, which would not be appreciated by the ladies inside. Irrith grinned at him. By all appearances the driver was a servant of Mrs. Vesey’s, but that was as much a lie as her own seeming; beneath the illusion, it was Edward Thorne. Galen thought it better to keep this entire affair in the hands of those who knew what it was about. The only one here today who did not know was Miss Northwood.

Who might or might not be the future Mrs. St. Clair. Right now, that was in Irrith’s hands.

“You, out of the road,” Edward called in a loud voice, and shook the reins. He did a remarkably good job of making it sound like he was trying to goad the horses onward, but it was a great deal of noise for very little effect, and the animals weren’t going anywhere until Irrith told them to. He gave her an uncertain frown, though. Galen had given very specific instructions, and one of those had been that the stranger who stopped them in Hyde Park would be a woman.

Irrith flicked her long coat as she dropped into a grand bow, hat over her heart. Then she stuck her tongue out at Edward, in case he hadn’t yet guessed that she hid under the masculine glamour. But she had to straighten her expression hastily when Miss Northwood’s wide-hooded head poked out one carriage window, looking to see what the problem was.

Her eyes went very wide when she saw Irrith.

The sprite paced with deliberate strides past Edward, who by then had assumed a posture of blank, unseeing trance, as per the Prince’s instructions. Miss Northwood drew back in fear, and murmured something half-audible to her companion in the carriage. A moment later Irrith drew level, and opened the door to find Mrs. Vesey prepared to play her part.

“Ladies,” Irrith said, with a courteous bow, “I apologise for troubling you. But at noon today I am bound to appear in a meadow of this park and face my mortal enemy in a duel, and if I am to have any hope of defeating him, I must bear the good luck of a maiden’s kiss.”

She wished she had a mirror in which to see her own glamour. For this, she had added every detail she could think of: a man’s suit all of green; hair as silver as Lune’s; a fresh hawthorn blossom growing out of her buttonhole, ignoring the December chill.

And a face that, while not her own, was as faerie a face as any in the Onyx Hall.

Miss Northwood appeared to be staring at the exaggerated point of her ear. Mrs. Vesey said, in a tone of artful regret, “Oh, good sir, I would—but I was wed many years ago. Delphia, my dear—”

The young woman startled like a cat, and stared wildly at Mrs. Vesey. “What?”

“A kiss for the gentleman,” her friend reminded her. “So he may win his duel.”

She was supposed to be a woman, begging a pin to keep her tiny faerie cows from straying. This was Hyde Park, though, where men held their illegal duels, and that was far more interesting of a story. Fortunately, Mrs. Vesey adapted quickly. Miss Northwood, on the other hand…

The brief flash of her tongue over her lips betrayed the young woman’s uncertainty. Still, Irrith had to grant the strength of her nerves when she said, “Sir, I fear you are not human.”

“No, I’m not,” Irrith agreed cheerfully.

Even though it was obvious to see, the admission made Miss Northwood’s eyes widen. “How—how am I to know that you deserve to win your duel?”

Delight began to tickle Irrith’s heart. Let Carline collect the beautiful people; Irrith preferred the ones with spirit. “Does it matter?” she asked. “I’ll grant you good luck in return for your kiss, and the outcome of the duel is hardly any concern of yours.”

“It does matter,” Miss Northwood insisted, eyes darting to Mrs. Vesey in a desperate plea for either confirmation or assistance, possibly both. “I should not want to help you win if you don’t deserve to. And to ask a kiss,” she added, warming to her topic. “It’s very inappropriate, sir; I do not know you.”

Perhaps the pin would have been the better course after all. Irrith floundered for a reply. She’d done all she needed to, really; the notion was to have Miss Northwood encounter faeries, and then for Mrs. Vesey to admit calmly to their existence, whereupon the young woman would be advised to speak with Galen, as if he hadn’t arranged it all himself. Far too complicated, in Irrith’s opinion, but he’d learned his lesson too firmly after Dr. Andrews: faeries first, explanations later.