And that’s right about when Lambert comes along, fresh from some Summer court redecorating of his own. Strands of cloth, ribbon and chain have been bound around his horns, concealing their sharp new forms; half of his tail has received the same treatment, the rest of its ugly shape hidden under generous folds of cloth. Overall, it’s a festive air— more carnival-like than he ever looked even in the Carnival.

Someone’s seen fit to sew a few cheap golden coins into his clothing, too; he tinkles as he walks, approaching them with purpose and a shitty grin.

“Are you the Starlight?”

They’ve never actually met, but he’s asked around. She’s just the fae he wanted to see, he explains, nodding to Childermass in acknowledgement. He wants to know if he got her last letter and if she’s willing to perform the service he asked for for Childermass — concealment from the eyes of Nightshade, the Rose Queen, and the Count of Crows unless he chooses to reveal himself.