A Star Shall Fall

She was not the only one to hold that view, it seemed, for she and Galen were far from alone in St. James’ Park. They had even seen the Duchess of Portland walking with a friend, despite the dreary weather. The months of gray had worn on everyone’s mind, until everyone was desperate for light, however weak. And truth be told, he was something grateful for the fog; it meant Mrs. Northwood fell back and wrapped herself in her cloak, muttering peevishly to herself, leaving the two of them with freedom to speak more frankly—so long as they were careful.

Such freedom was hard to come by these days. With Delphia about to leave her natal household, her liberty to spend time at Mrs. Vesey’s was much curtailed; and now there lay the great weight of a secret between them, a joy to share, but not one they could often indulge. Delphia had tithed some bread to the Onyx Hall, and in exchange Lady Yfaen came calling upon her when possible. It was her primary source of contact with the fae.

Delphia said, “I hear you’ve made some great philosophical discovery.”

He blushed and looked down—never a wise idea, in St. James’ Park, where it was easier to ignore the things one might step in than to try and avoid them all. Cows and deer roamed the park freely, with inevitable consequences. “Not so great; there are still a number of things we’re uncertain of. Though we needn’t try to answer them all in the next month, thank Mab.”

A smile darted across her features at the name. “They have you well trained, don’t they? I have an advantage in that respect, I suppose; gently reared maidens are not supposed to take the Lord’s name in vain, and my mother reared me as gently as she could.” They walked in silence for a while, nodding to those they passed, and when they were once more safe from being overheard she asked, “How long have you been among them?”

Irrith had asked him the same question, nearly a year ago. Galen could not help but feel a pang at the thought of the sprite. He’d hurt her when he drew back, much to his surprise; he’d thought himself nothing but a toy for her, that she would tire of soon enough. But with Delphia brought into the world of the fae, he could not in good conscience go on sharing Irrith’s bed.

“Four years or so,” he said, straightening his gloves to hide the discomfort of his thoughts. “Though I had my first sight of them some months before that.”

“And how long have you been struggling with the problem of this comet?”

Against his will, his gaze went upward. The clouds were as thick as ever, and he thanked God and Mab alike for that, depressing as they were. “Myself? Four years or so. For them, however, it’s been more than fifty years.”

Delphia shivered. He doubted it was from the chill. “That long. I can’t imagine living that way—not for decades on end.”

“They don’t see time as we do,” Galen said. While true, it wasn’t the whole of the truth. The long wait had worn on the fae, he thought. They were accustomed to passing eternity with little attention to the years, counting few things in any increment smaller than “an age.” For half a century now, however, they’d lived with one eye on the calendar. The strain showed. Podder, who had been servant to seven Princes of the Stone, had vanished last week. He wasn’t the only one to go.

“I confess,” Delphia said, “I did not expect them to have philosophers and scholars. When I thought of such creatures at all, I associated them with—oh, I don’t know. Flowers and butter churns, I suppose.”

“Those things have their place; I should introduce you to the Goodemeades. But the fae copy anything they like, and ignore whatever they don’t. They’re very curious creatures, Delphia,” Galen said. The name had grown more comfortable over the months, though he took care never to use it around anyone who might find the familiarity inappropriate. “You would like Lady Feidelm, I think; she, too, is very interested in learning.”

Delphia smiled, tugging her cloak more firmly around herself. “Never mind the faerie court beneath London’s feet; you have a university down there.”

His laugh was too loud; a guilty glance over his shoulder told him Mrs. Northwood had overheard. But what, he asked himself, would she do? Call off the wedding? The marriage settlement was signed, and the ceremony planned for a month hence; she would not undo it all just because her daughter and future son-in-law seemed to be sharing a private joke. “With tedious lectures and the granting of empty degrees? I think not.”

“An academy, then, such as Plato had in Athens. After all, you said yourself that there are unanswered questions yet. Surely you won’t abandon them just because a star is no longer about to fall on your head.”

Now it was his turn to shiver, and she placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I should not jest about something that worries you so much.”