Faery Rebels (15 page)

Knife’s heart stuttered; she backed over to the sofa and sank down onto it, no longer trusting her legs to hold her up. “What do you want from me?” she said. “If you want me to bargain for your silence—”

Thorn snorted. “You think I’m going to report you unless you pay me off? I’ve already got more furs and skins than I can use in a lifetime.” Her face sobered. “No, there’s only one thing I need from you—and I don’t think you’ll refuse, once you know what I’ve got to offer in return.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Heather’s next two diaries.”

Knife’s breath clotted in her throat. Her unknown benefactor, so mysteriously aware of her interest in humans and her desire to learn more about the Oakenfolk’s past—
Thorn
?

“I thought you’d be interested,” said Thorn with satisfaction. “Wink wasn’t sure at first, but—”

“Wink?” Knife exclaimed, feeling as though her head were about to burst like a seed pod. “Wink knows about all this?”

“Of course she does. She started it.”

“Wink?”

“The little redheaded one with the attention span of a gnat? That would be Wink, yes.” Thorn propped her feet up on the stool, clearly enjoying herself. “She found Heather’s diaries hidden in the bottom of a sewing chest
that old Bryony, your egg-mother, had given her. It took her a while to get around to reading the first one, but as soon as she did, she knew she’d found something important. So she came to me.”

“When was this?” said Knife.

“Oh, a few years ago.” Thorn crossed one leg over the other and leaned back. “Anyway, reading that first diary turned us both upside down, let me tell you. Wink wanted to go to the Queen with it and I convinced her to wait until we’d found out more. But the second diary was in a human place where neither of us could go, and we couldn’t figure out how to open the third one. So we ended up just sitting about like a pair of broody pigeons, wondering if we’d ever find someone brave or mad enough to help us out.”

“And all this time you’ve been waiting…for me?” said Knife.

“Not exactly. We knew you were brave—or mad—but after all I’d done to put you off humans myself, it didn’t seem likely you’d be interested in helping us. Once you started flashing around that metal knife of yours, though, and I realized you must have gone right into the House to get it—well, I know a ripe berry when I see one.”

“So…why didn’t you come to me then?” asked Knife, her head swimming with all this new information.

“I wanted to, but Wink thought it was too soon. She
had some silly notion about how it ought to be your choice to get involved, not ours. So I had to wait, and I don’t mind telling you I nearly chewed my leg off with impatience. But when that young human arrived with his fancy chair, and I heard the Gardeners wittering about how you’d walked right up to him and weren’t afraid…well, even Wink had to agree you were ready.”

It was finally starting to make sense, thought Knife. Thorn’s short-tempered reaction when the other faeries complained about humans, the way Heather’s diary had turned up at her door only a few hours after she’d met Paul in the garden…

“Wait,” Knife said, sitting up. “When I came back to the Oak, after I’d been gone those two days…you convinced Tansy she was wrong about seeing me fall close to the House, and then you told me to take a bath.”

“You reeked of human,” said Thorn. “I was pretty sure nobody else would recognize the scent, but I thought it best not to take chances.”

“So you knew, even then…”

“Well, I knew you’d been in the House, of course. But it wasn’t until I saw you go back there that I realized you hadn’t just been a prisoner—that you and that young one had struck some kind of bargain.” Thorn tipped her head to one side, regarding her shrewdly. “What is all that about, anyway? Do you owe him, or does he owe you?”

“I’m not sure I know anymore,” said Knife tiredly. “Does it matter?”

“It might,” said Thorn. She picked up Knife’s abandoned mug and sniffed at it. “I wouldn’t say no to a cup myself, you know. I hear it’s called
being hospitable
.”

Knife rose and put the kettle on. She was glad to have Thorn on her side, but she wished the other faery would not keep talking about Paul; every reminder of him smarted like a nettle sting. “Where is this second diary you couldn’t get to, then?” she asked, to change the subject. “You said it was in a human place.”

“That’s right. Heather wrote her second diary while she was still Outside, and that’s where she left it.” Thorn glanced at the door, then lowered her voice and said, “We need you to get it back.”

“But if you have the third one—”

“We do, but it’s spell-bound, so it won’t open without a password. Whatever’s in there has to be either very private or very dangerous. Maybe both.”

“You mean—it might tell how we lost our magic?”

Thorn nodded.

“And you think the password is somewhere in the second diary.”

“We can hope,” said Thorn.

“All right,” said Knife. “Where is it?”

“It’s far. Too far for you to go on your own.”

“You mean you’d come with me?”

Thorn scowled at her. “Are you cracked? No, I mean you can’t fly there without getting eaten or dropping dead of exhaustion. You’ll need some kind of transportation.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, nab a passing owl!” barked Thorn. “The question is, if I tell you where to find Heather’s second diary,
will you go
?”

Knife gazed down at the kettle, watching the steam coil and rise into the air. At last she said, “Yes.”

Thorn relaxed. “Good. I’ll give you the map tomorrow.”

“But I can’t do this alone,” Knife warned her. “Wink will have to look after Linden, and you might need to hunt while I’m gone—”

“We’ve time enough to work all that out,” said Thorn with a wave of her hand. “The weather’s too cold and it’s only going to get worse, so you won’t be leaving for a couple of months at least. The important thing is that we’re all agreed on what we’re going to do, even if we don’t know yet how we’re going to do it.”

“Don’t you mean how
I’m
going to do it?” said Knife.

“I said
we
, and I meant it,” Thorn retorted. “Do you really think you’re the only one risking your neck here? Just because we don’t all zoom about the countryside teasing crows and hobnobbing with humans doesn’t mean we’ve got nothing to lose.”

To hide her surprise, Knife busied herself with the teapot, filling Thorn’s cup and handing it to her before refilling her own and sitting down again. It sounded as though Thorn did not trust Queen Amaryllis nearly as much as Wink did—but how much did she really suspect? For a moment they sipped in silence, until Knife said cautiously, “So you think the Queen will be angry if we’re caught?”

“I don’t know,” said Thorn. “But I’m not in a hurry to find out. There’s got to be a reason she hasn’t told us about our past—and for all I know, she’s right. Maybe, when we finally find out the truth, we’ll wish we hadn’t. But since we’re halfway up that tree already, we may as well see what it’s like at the top.”

“And once we know, what then?” Knife laced her fingers around her teacup, holding in its warmth. “It can’t be enough just to find out how we lost our magic; we need some way to get it back.”

“True,” said Thorn. “But you can’t eat a walnut before you’ve cracked the shell. First things first, don’t you think?” She rose, brushing irritably at the wrinkles in her velvety gown. “Stupid thing—I don’t know why I let Wink talk me into it.”

“The dress, or the conspiracy?” said Knife, and then as the other woman moved toward the door: “Are you leaving?”

“I should. I’ll tell the Queen I delivered her message,
spent a while arguing with you—she’ll have no trouble believing that—and that you’ll be back at the Feast by midnight.”

Knife set down her empty cup. “I’ll do better than that,” she said. “I’ll come back with you.”

“F
or her faithful care of the Oak’s precious books and artifacts,” said Queen Amaryllis in her clear voice, “I call Campion.”

Applause rippled up and down the tables as the Librarian walked to the front of the Dining Hall to receive her gift from the Queen. She turned and held it up for the others to see: a heavy-looking volume bound in dark leather, its pages edged with gilt. Such a prize could only have come from the Queen’s own private collection, and Campion ought to have been delighted. But her expression remained grim, and watching her, Knife felt a flicker of unease.

“For her prudence in ensuring the safety of her fellow Gatherers, I call Holly,” said Amaryllis, and the dark-haired
faery scrambled forward, nearly tripping over her skirts with excitement.

Knife helped herself to a slice of cold leveret and began cutting it up, too distracted to pay much attention to the ceremony. Incredible to think that she was not alone in her quest after all and that all along Wink and Thorn had been secretly on her side. When she was a child they had done everything they could to keep her away from the humans; now they seemed just as intent on pushing her toward them. Obviously Heather’s diary had convinced them that humans were not monsters after all—yet they still had no idea of what the human world was really like. Should she try to explain it to them? Would they even be able to understand?

“And now,” said the Queen, “I have a special gift to bestow. Knife, come forward.”

Knife choked, and had to take a swig from her goblet. Hastily wiping her lips, she rose and began the long walk to the dais where the Queen awaited her.

“Over the past year,” Amaryllis began, “Knife has proven herself remarkably courageous and resourceful for one so young. As Queen’s Hunter she has not only kept the kitchens well supplied with meat, but acted far beyond her duty to ensure that the Oakenwyld remains secure and our people safe. Even the crows have learned to be wary of her presence, and for this we all owe her our thanks. But two nights ago she performed an even greater service to the Oak
than this, when she saved my life.”

Gasps and exclamations filled the hall, for this was the first time most of the Oakenfolk had heard the story. “On that night I went out into the garden alone,” the Queen continued, “so that I might cast certain spells necessary to the Oak’s survival. I believed that I could do my work quickly, and return without need of assistance. But the wind was against me, and when I turned back, I came face-to-face with a hungry fox.”

She looked down at her audience, all leaning forward in their eagerness not to miss a word, and gave a twitch of a smile. “My magic proved sufficient to frighten the beast away,” she told them, “but the effort of casting such a powerful spell weakened me, and I fainted. I might well have perished then, had Knife not come to help me. She ventured out in the icy wind and darkness, risking her own life, to find and carry me back to the Oak. Such loyalty has more than earned her this token of her Queen’s gratitude.”

She beckoned to Bluebell, who stepped forward carrying a small chest of polished yew. Opening it, the Queen took out a pendant like a drop of blood, suspended on a delicate gold chain. She held it high for the others to see.

“This jewel is the Queen’s Heart, the highest accolade the Oak has to offer. From now until the next Midwinter’s Day, Knife will wear this stone as a witness of my favor. Furthermore,” she continued, raising her voice above the
envious murmurs of the crowd, “the one who wears the Queen’s Heart is entitled to a special privilege. At any time during the year to come, she may make of me one request, whatever her heart may desire. So long as it does not violate our Oak’s sacred laws or imperil her fellow Oakenfolk, it shall be granted.”

She paused as though expecting Knife to respond, but the young Hunter could only stand speechless, eyes fixed on the slowly twirling gem. Dazed, she bent her head to receive the gift, then curtsied and left the platform, the applause of her fellow Oakenfolk ringing in her ears.

“Oh, Knife, how wonderful!” said Wink as she sat back down. “What do you think you’ll ask for?”

“I don’t know yet,” Knife said, fingering the crimson jewel. Linden, who had been nestling half asleep against Wink’s shoulder, roused at the sight of the pretty thing and leaned toward it with one small hand outstretched. “But I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

“You’d almost think she was trying to help us, wouldn’t you?” said Wink the next morning. “Now all you have to do is ask for a day or two off to go exploring, and she’ll
have
to give it to you.” Then, catching Knife’s eye, she added hastily, “If you want to, that is. I mean, it’s your Midwinter’s Gift, so it’s not really fair for us to—”

“No,” said Knife, “you’re right. It’s the only way. But what if the Queen asks what I plan to do with my time? I’ll
need to have some excuse ready.”

“I have one,” said Thorn’s voice unexpectedly, and Knife looked up to see her standing just inside the door, looking smug. Despite the way she usually clumped around, it seemed she had lost none of her old Hunter’s skill of moving silently when she chose. “Tell her you’re going to look for other faeries. It’s even true—in a way.”

“What other faeries?” said Knife.

“The ones the Queen herself has been looking for all these years. Only, she can’t leave the Oak, and her magic can only reach so far—why do you think she spends so much time in her library, going over her books again and again? She’s trying to find some clue to tell her where the rest of our people might be, the ones who still have all their magic.”

“So that we can bargain with them to help us get ours back,” said Knife, as comprehension dawned. Now she understood why Wink and Thorn trusted the Queen: In their minds, how could Amaryllis be responsible for the Sundering when she’d been working so hard to undo it?

Wink nodded. “But it’s been terribly hard on her. I overheard Bluebell telling Valerian that the Queen spends all day and half the night studying, and that she’ll never live to see three hundred and fifty at this rate. She sounded so worried—and she sees Her Majesty more than anyone, so she should know.”

“I know what you’re going to say,” said Thorn before
Knife could speak. “You think the Queen might have had something to do with the Sundering, and now she’s just trying to make amends. But before you say anything against her, you should have a look at this.” She pulled a roll of parchment from her sleeve and held it out to Knife.

“What is this?” Knife asked as she took it.

“Just read,” said Thorn shortly.

Gingerly Knife unrolled the note and laid it across her knee. In spidery, faded handwriting, it read:

The letters grew shakier and shakier as the letter went on, and finally ended in an almost illegible scrawl. Still, Knife was just able to make out the signature:
Bryony.

“My egg-mother,” she whispered in disbelief. “She took her own life, to give me mine. And all this time, I thought…”

“That she was a silly old woman who’d lost her wits and blundered out into the cold by accident?” said Thorn. “That’s what I thought, too, when Wink came to tell me she’d gone missing. It was a foul night, too, I don’t mind telling you—I’d nearly given up when I tripped over the egg with you in it. And then when I picked it up, I found this letter underneath.”

“That’s really how it started,” said Wink. “Thorn and me wondering what had gone wrong with us, I mean. Because I was there when she got back with your egg, and I saw the letter, too, and, well—”

…
Queen Amaryllis
, Bryony’s words repeated in Knife’s mind,
has done all she could to help us
…

“I understand,” said Knife quietly.

Over the next few weeks the snow came and went, but the cold remained, and the earth lay lifeless beneath a shroud of dead grass. Prey became scarce, and hunting a dismal chore. Late one morning Knife was crouched at the foot of the humans’ bird feeder, blowing on cold fingers and hoping for a sparrow to come by, when she heard the low growl of an approaching car.

At first she paid it little mind: A thick tangle of hedge stood between her and the road, and these metal wagons always moved too quickly for their drivers to notice her, in any case. But when the car slowed in front of the House and began to turn into the drive, she realized that this one was about to become a dangerous exception.

Pulling up the hood of her jacket, she crouched down and flattened her wings against her back, trying to look as much like a bird as possible. The car rumbled to a stop a few crow-lengths away, and when its doors opened, she was startled to see a stranger unfold himself from the passenger seat and reveal Paul sitting behind the wheel.

“Good driving,” the man called as he rounded the car and pulled Paul’s wheelchair out of the backseat. “A bit more practice with those hand controls, and you’ll be ready for the motorway.”

Knife caught her breath. For weeks now she had agonized over the map Thorn had given her, wondering how she could possibly get from the Oak to the place where
Heather’s diary was hidden. But if Paul was learning how to drive…

I have to talk to him,
thought Knife, watching Paul as he hauled himself into the chair and began wheeling toward the House. Seeing him after so long apart, she felt a desperate urge to fly to him at once; but the strange man stood in her way, and she dared not move.

“I’ll manage the chair from now on, thanks,” Paul said to the man. “See you next week.”

“Right then,” the stranger replied, hopped into the car, and drove away. As soon as he was gone, Knife leaped up and flew after Paul. If she could catch him before he reached the House—

“Wait!” she called, but Paul did not hear her. With a vigorous push he cleared the threshold, and Knife could only watch helplessly as the door swung shut in her face.

When Knife returned to the Oak she was cold, windblown, and empty-handed. She wrapped a rabbit-wool blanket about her shoulders and sat on the sofa shivering until Wink thrust a cup of hot chicory into her hands.

“I don’t know what to do,” Knife mumbled.

“Oh, I shouldn’t worry,” said Wink absently, tickling Linden with a strand of her hair until the baby chuckled. “We’re not starving yet, and you can always hunt again tomorrow.”

Knife was tempted to correct her, but then she realized
that she might be better to let the misunderstanding pass. If Wink did not know that Knife planned to see Paul again, then she would not be blamed even if Knife were caught.

And yet, was it really fair not to tell her?

Knife sipped the chicory until its hot bitterness revived her, then set the mug down and held out her hands for Linden. “I’ll take her now,” she said, but Wink’s face was averted, and she did not respond.

“What is it?” Knife asked.

Wink lowered her head, her cheeks coloring. “It’s just…I know it can’t be very nice being a Hunter, and I really wouldn’t want to do it myself. But you can go out whenever you like, and even if it’s cold and miserable you at least get to see and do new things every day, and, well…” She picked a loose thread from Linden’s smock and rolled it distractedly between her fingers. “I’ve spent my whole life in this room sewing the same patterns over and over, and sometimes I envy you, just a little.”

Knife watched her for a moment in silence. Then she set down her cup and rose to fetch a stick of charcoal and a piece of paper. “What are you doing?” asked Wink, but Knife only shook her head, sat down at the table, and began to draw.

She meant to sketch some of the clothing she had seen the humans wear, much as Jasmine had done for Heather. But though she concentrated with all her might, the figure
she traced was a crude one, barely recognizable as human. She was attempting to clothe it in one of Mrs. McCormick’s pleated skirts when the charcoal broke in her hand; she threw it down and crumpled up the paper in frustration.

“Knife,” Wink said in a hushed tone, “was that really…a picture? But where did you learn—”

“From Paul,” said Knife, too miserable to guard her tongue anymore. “But I haven’t talked to him in so long, and I’m starting to forget everything he taught me.” She slumped forward. “I miss him, Wink.”

Wink untangled Linden from her curls and put the baby down hastily. “A human,” she breathed. “Thorn said you’d been to the House, but I never guessed you’d been
that
close.”

Knife sat up, the color easing back into her face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. If the Queen finds out that you know, we’ll both be in trouble—”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Wink quickly. “Just tell me. Tell me everything.”

When Knife had finished, Wink did not move for a long time. Then she raised her head, her face white except for two spots of color on her cheeks, and said, “You have to go back.”