A Star Shall Fall

“And with us, it only burnt down most of London. Such a gift to the people of this city! It isn’t just that we failed to stop it sooner; we fed it. With our wars and our magics. Without us, would it even have become a Dragon? Or would it have stayed a simple fire, the kind London has seen before? Consider that, Irrith, before you speak so righteously of what we’ve done: it may be that our very presence in this city, the enchantments that bind the world above to the world below, transform London’s troubles into something more than they can handle alone… or create trouble where none was before.” Carline’s smile was poisonous. “Without us, the comet would be nothing more than a light in the sky.”

Irrith felt as if she’d swallowed fire. Carline was wrong; she had to be. The Onyx Court was important—

To whom? To fae like Irrith—and yes, like Carline—who wanted to be close to mortals, to observe them and talk to them and bask in the reflected glow of their passion. Brief lives, flickering in and out like fireflies, and all the more brilliant because of it. But what benefit did the fireflies gain?

Carline recognised the selfishness of it, as Irrith had not. And far from repenting, she embraced it, revelled in it. But when the music stopped, she would leave the dance.

Would Irrith do the same?

“Think about it, little sprite,” Carline said softly, leaning in uncomfortably close. “Decide whether you believe the Queen, that this place, this court, is so grand as to be worth preserving. Or admit the truth of it—use these mortals while you can—and then move on. You have eternity to live; do you want to risk it for those who would be better off without us?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Perhaps she knew Irrith didn’t have one to give. Without a backward glance, Carline left Irrith standing in the clamour of Covent Garden Market, surrounded and alone.

NEW SPRING GARDENS, VAUXHALL

11 March 1758

Galen paced the deck of the barge with restless strides, staggering occasionally when the river slapped its side and tilted the vessel without warning. It didn’t disturb the consort of viols who entertained the barge’s passengers, seated as they were midway down the deck, but he had taken refuge in the bow, where the small turbulences of the river were felt most strongly.

Better that than to take a carriage. As the barge drew near the western bank and the waiting stair, he could see an unmoving line of conveyances clogging the road to the entrance of the Vauxhall Spring Gardens. Had his family gone that route, he would have spent even more time listening to his parents quarrel about the respectability of the place, with even less opportunity to escape it.

A footstep behind him, coming down unexpectedly hard as the barge juddered in the rough water. It was a windy night, and when Galen turned, he saw Cynthia clapping one hand to her gypsy hat, lest a sudden gust carry it away. He came forward and retied the bow beneath his sister’s chin, and she smiled her thanks. “The barge-men hardly need to row,” she said, brushing one hand over her sarcenet skirts. “They could just get the ladies on deck, and we’d sail all the way upriver.”

Galen offered his arm to steady her. From farther down the boat, he heard his father say to his mother, in a tone that ought to brook no argument, “I don’t give a damn what goes on in the bushes, so long as the father has money to hush it up.”

He winced. Cynthia tightened her hand on his arm, and they stayed where they were as the other passengers crowded the rail in anticipation of arrival. “That’s his sentiment,” she reminded him, rising on her toes to murmur it in his ear. “Not yours.”

As if he could so easily disown his relations. “I’m tarred with it regardless,” Galen said. He tried to summon some enthusiasm for this night, and failed. “I’ve come in search of a fortune, and everyone will know it. What young lady wants to wed such a man?”

Another squeeze of Cynthia’s hand. “I don’t see such a man at all.”

“You’re my sister, and partisan.”

“Yes—but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. I see a man determined to do what’s best for his family, particularly as it concerns the future happiness of his sisters. Young ladies find that sort of thing very touching.”

The barge thudded gently into the lower end of the river stair and was made fast. Passengers began to disembark, gentlemen assisting ladies to solid land once more. “Touching,” Galen said, amused despite himself. “So I’m a charity cause, now.”

“Everything is a charity cause, to a kind-hearted young lady,” Cynthia answered brightly, not so much accompanying as steering him toward the barge’s rail. “It’s our profession, you know, and being touched in the heart is our foremost skill. I myself got very poor marks in it, burdened as I am with too much sense—but then, you aren’t looking to marry me.”