A Star Shall Fall

He met Mayhew’s accusation with a shrug. “As they merit, my friend.”

“Every marriage is a compromise,” Hurst said—a declaration so authoritative, it could almost make one forget he was still unmarried himself.

“I’ll compromise on beauty,” Galen said; none could meet the standard of Lune, anyway. “But not upon fortune, nor upon respect. If that means there end up being lapdogs, then Byrd, you’ll just have to endure.” He drew a small book and pencil from his pocket. Opening it to a blank page, he asked Hurst, “Which names did you suggest, again?”

THE ONYX HALL, LONDON

11 March 1758

Irrith didn’t have the temperament for spying and intrigue, nor the inclination to publish her thoughts in either of the Onyx Hall’s newspapers. But reading The Ash and Thorn for a few weeks vexed her enough that she did the one thing she was good at, which was to go after the source of her problem.

Carline.

Not Lady Carline, not anymore; she’d lost her position in Lune’s bedchamber after her ill-fated attempt to trick Irrith. She still occupied the same rooms as always, though, and that was where Irrith sought her out, pounding on the door with an impatient fist.

A mortal servant opened the door, a wrinkled old woman quite unlike the beautiful youths that had waited on the elf-lady before. The woman eyed her dubiously. “What do you want?”

“Carline. And my business with her is serious, so don’t even—”

“Irrith?” The surprised call was unmistakably Carline’s velvety tone.

The woman scowled and let Irrith pass. The chamber beyond was embarrasingly luxurious, with red-cushioned benches in some Oriental style; Carline lounged upon one of these, wine in hand. She rose as Irrith entered. “Why, it is you. I’d heard you were in London once more, but I confess, I never thought you would come to me.”

The fallen lady’s lush body showed to great advantage even in the relatively plain gown she was wearing, and she towered nearly a head over Irrith. Undaunted, the sprite put her hands on her hips and glared upward. “I wouldn’t have, except that I have something to say to you.”

The black eyebrows rose. “I see you haven’t changed. Or rather, you’ve changed back to what you were before I tried to refine you. Very well, be blunt: say what you have come for.”

“Stop trying to overthrow the Queen.”

The previous rise had been an elegant affectation; this time, Carline’s brows shot upward like startled crows. “I beg your pardon?”

Irrith dug a folded copy of the most recent Ash and Thorn out of her pocket and waved it. “You didn’t stop, did you, even after Lune found out. I told you fifty years ago, Carline: you don’t just vote your monarch out.”

“The mortals did,” Carline said. She’d recovered from her surprise, and set her wineglass down with a clink. “Seventy years ago. And now the Jacobite pretenders try to regain the throne through the votes of swords—which is better? But I have no wish to debate political philosophy with you, Irrith, as entertaining as it would be to watch the result. Since I have somewhere I must be, let me say this instead: come with me. I’d like to show you something.”

Irrith recoiled, sensing a trap. “No.”

“What do you expect—that I’ll knife you and leave you in an alley? I promise, I mean no harm.”

Carline might be taller, but she’d never be able to kill Irrith, especially not when Irrith had a pistol in her other pocket. “I’ve learned my lesson about trusting you.”

The former lady sighed in disappointment. “I confess, that was an error on my part. I didn’t think you clever enough to realise what I was doing. Well, I have learned my lesson; no more tricks.” She tilted her head and looked down at Irrith with an expression that might almost be called fond. “You had a certain charm, though. Unlettered, uncultured—I enjoyed introducing you to the beau monde and watching you scandalise them. Consider this a favour, in repayment for that diversion. I’ll even give you bread. And when it’s over, I’ll answer the demand you came to make.”

That Carline was dangerous, Irrith had no doubt. But it was danger of a sort that could be avoided, so long as she kept her eyes open. And the offer, she had to admit, had aroused her curiosity. “Very well. But if you’re deceiving me after all, you’ll find out just how uncultured I can be.”

COVENT GARDEN, WESTMINSTER

11 March 1758

Carline led her above and west. At first Irrith thought this more of her usual beau monde business, entertaining herself with society’s high-born and beautiful people. But their destination lay in a warren of narrow streets just north of the Strand, where a crowd of people both fine and not waited outside a large building. “Three shillings for a floor seat,” Carline said. “I will find you afterward.”

It was a theatre. “Where will you be?” Irrith asked, but her companion had already vanished into the crowd.