A Star Shall Fall

She followed the Queen out of Aspell’s cell, listening as the heavy bronze door clanged shut behind them, and shivered at the sound. Will there be an Onyx Hall waiting for him in a hundred years?

ROSE HOUSE, ISLINGTON

4 April 1759

Galen was surprised to receive a message at Sothings Park, summoning him to Islington. True, he hadn’t been to see the Goodemeades in quite some time, but it hardly seemed to matter. He’d been so occupied with the refinement of the alchemical plan that he’d had little time to spare for political lessons from the brownies.

Could I have prevented Aspell’s treason, if I hadn’t been distracted? Instead of wasting his time on Andrews’s mad scheme. He would never know, and doubting did no one any good.

At least he could take a carriage. The Northwoods kept one at Sothings Park, and it was his to use as he pleased. On a sudden inspiration, he sought out Delphia, who was deep in discussion with the housekeeper, and looked more than happy to be rescued. “I must go to Islington on business, and I thought you might like to accompany me, to visit with some friends.”

He laid faint stress on that final word. It had almost become a code between them, a way of referring to the faerie court when others were around. Delphia had met the Goodemeades in the Onyx Hall, but never seen their home; she smiled at the suggestion. “Let me change into a dress suitable for visiting, and I shall.”

Let the servants think him besotted with his new wife, eager to spend absurd amounts of time in her company. Galen didn’t care. Once Delphia knew the way into Rose House, she could visit on her own.

He assisted her up into the carriage, waving the footman away, then followed her in. Delphia waited until they were rolling down the drive before she said, “The clouds are breaking up.”

So she’d noticed him looking upward. An ordinary person would still call the days cloudy; Galen heard no end of complaints from family and friends about the relentlessly gray weather. But the clouds were bunching up now, rather than forming an unbroken ceiling; sometimes there was even a patch of clear blue. Galen said, “We might have another month left. If we’re lucky.” Lune was attempting to contact the Greeks again, but Galen doubted it would do much good. Sooner or later, the clouds would fail.

Delphia fiddled with her gloves. She’d been in the Onyx Hall long enough for the fear to infect her, as it did all the rest of the court. “What will you do?”

Galen stared out the window, trying not to pay attention to the sky. “Fight. It’s all we can do, now.”

Country lanes brought them to Islington, and to the busy Angel Inn. Delphia made no comment, but only watched with interest, as Galen led her to the rosebush and spoke to it. He bowed her down the uncovered staircase, then followed her into the house below.

“Lady Delphia!” The brownies were all smiles and curtsies and offers of refreshment; in return, his wife was all admiration of their comfortable home. Gertrude in particular warmed to the compliments, and soon offered to show her guest the other rooms, leaving Galen alone with Rosamund.

The instant they were gone, the smile fell off the little hob’s face as if it had never been. “Quickly,” Rosamund said, “while Gertrude has her occupied. Oh, Galen—I fear this was not the time to bring her here.”

She gestured, and the worn carpet obediently folded itself out of the way, revealing floorboards polished by centuries of feet. “I’m sorry,” Galen said, nonplussed. He could not imagine what Rosamund might be doing. “I—I merely thought to show her your home—”

“On any other day, yes, of course. But the Queen needs to speak with you privately. Go on; I’ll find something to tell your lady wife.”

As Rosamund spoke, the worn planks of the floor flexed aside much as the carpet had, disclosing a second staircase. Galen didn’t have long to wonder at it; the brownie gestured impatiently—not to say commandingly—and so he went down, into a small chamber whose existence he’d never suspected.

The floorboards sealed above him so rapidly they almost knocked his hat off, and he heard the soft rustle of the carpet sliding back into place. A murmur of voices told him Gertrude and Delphia had returned, and then he had no thoughts for the people above, for he found others waiting below.

Lune sat with her Lady Chamberlain in front of a small hearth. “We can speak,” she said, though she kept her voice low. “This room protects the secrets of those within it.”

He followed the wave of her hand upward, and saw that a network of roots spread across the ceiling, except at the top of the staircase. Their rough surface was studded with tiny flowers—roses. The same yellow as those on the bush above. “Sub rosa,” Galen breathed, understanding. An ancient emblem of secrecy. No doubt among fae, it was more than a mere symbol.