A Star Shall Fall

Andrews was whispering something else. Galen bent close to hear.

“I’m sorry,” the older man said, addressing the dust between his hands. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t believe you. But she—her eyes—” He spat bloody saliva into the dirt, and spoke more clearly. “Not human. No one’s eyes are so green…”

Irrith.

Galen straightened with a jerk, staring wildly about as if the sprite would come sauntering up behind Andrews. Irrith, of course, was nowhere in sight. “What did she do to you?”

“Showed me.” Andrews was trying to get to his feet; against his better judgment, Galen helped him. “What she was. Is. I—” His spectacles had been knocked askew; he took them off, then stopped just before he could rub his soiled handkerchief over the lenses. Galen offered him a clean one, which he took with gratitude. “I’m ashamed to say I ran like a child.”

Galen didn’t want to ask further, but he had to know. “What did she do?”

A breath huffed out of Andrews, not quite a laugh, not quite a cough. “Nothing to warrant me running. Oh, a bit of trickery, to make her point. You—you did not send her?”

“Certainly not!” Galen exclaimed. “I would never do anything to frighten you like this.” I’m going to kill her.

Or possibly kiss her.

Because the look Andrews turned upon him held no more doubt. It was eradicated utterly, replaced by hope as fragile as a butterfly’s wing. “She said you spoke the truth. Can they truly help me?”

With the bloody handkerchief in his hand, the possibility took on a sharper edge. Galen didn’t want to foster it falsely. “They may. I cannot be sure. Lest you think them altruists, however—I can promise you they’ll want your aid in return, with a problem they face.” He took in Andrews’s dishevelled appearance, and realised he was being an ass. “Let me fetch you a chair, for returning to your house.” He hated to leave the man here on his own, even for a few short minutes; but conveyances did not make a habit of idling around the New River reservoir, waiting to rescue consumptive gentlemen frightened by faeries. Unless Andrews were to ride a cow home, Galen would have to go in search.

But the doctor stopped him with one hand on his arm. “I am well enough to walk,” Andrews said, “if we go slowly. And you were right; this is something my servants should not hear. Come, Mr. St. Clair, and tell me more.”

THE ONYX HALL, LONDON

16 June 1758

Irrith sat with her back to the wall, eyes trained on the opening that led to Newgate above, waiting for Galen to fall through.

She couldn’t be certain he would come this way—at least not any time soon—but she preferred waiting to facing the Queen with news of the Andrews incident. Galen could do that part. It was his duty anyway.

So why am I waiting for him? He can thank me later. But she wanted a chance to explain herself, before he questioned too much why she’d been following him. Assuming she could think of a believable explanation that wasn’t the truth.

She’d been waiting only a short while when Galen came floating down into the chamber, confirming her guess. Before Irrith could say any of the things she’d thought of, though, the Prince saw her—and flared into sudden fury.

“What were you thinking?” he demanded, with no prelude. “The man could have died, Irrith; he’s a consumptive! And what were you doing out there in the first place?”

Anger made sense, on the face of it—but she’d never seen Galen angry. His mild blue eyes took on a fire she wouldn’t have believed possible; Irrith had to stop herself before she could retreat. Summoning up what she could of her usual confidence, Irrith said, “You needed an example. Something he couldn’t ignore. If you’d told me you were planning such a thing—”

“I didn’t tell you,” Galen said through his teeth, “because I didn’t need your help.”

She confined her doubt to her eyebrows, and tried to make her spoken answer more conciliatory. “It was helpful, though, wasn’t it?”

Galen bit down so hard she swore she could hear his jaw creak. It wasn’t anger, though—or if it was, his eyes were lying. As was his reply. “I’m the Prince of the Stone, damn it. I should be able to do these things without help.”

“And who told you that?” she asked, bewildered.

“Lune trusts me—”

“To do everything yourself?” Irrith snorted. Ash and Thorn, he really is young. “She cares about results, Galen, not methods. So long as you don’t bring half of London down here on a Grand Tour, she doesn’t care how you do it. Or whom you ask for help.”

But he did. That was painfully obvious. The notion that Lune might be more impressed by a few shreds of common sense than some heroic determination to do everything himself was clearly very foreign to him.

Galen asked the floor, “Did she send you to follow me?”

“No,” Irrith said. Now they were both embarrassed. “I, er, was keeping watch over you. For the good of the Onyx Court.” That was close enough to the truth to pass.