A Star Shall Fall

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 centre 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.”