Faery Rebels (22 page)

For a moment Paul went absolutely still; then he shook his head. “I told you,” he said, “I don’t want your pity.”

Knife’s fist slammed down on the window frame. “And I’m not trying to give it to you! What kind of stubborn—” She broke off in frustration as Paul pivoted the chair and began pushing himself away. How could she make him believe her?

Then her eyes fell upon Heather’s second diary, sitting quietly on the bedside table, and she knew.

Knife snapped out her wings and leaped into the air, gliding across to Paul’s shoulder. She sat down with one foot
braced against his collarbone and slid her arm as far as it would go around his neck; then she whispered into his ear, “Paul McCormick. My name—my true name—is Perianth.”

P
aul did not reply, but Knife could feel his pulse quicken, see his throat move as he swallowed. She launched herself off his shoulder and lighted on his knee, looking up into his face.

“Now do you believe me?” she said.

Paul squeezed his eyes shut, his fists clenching on the arms of the chair. “I want to hold you,” he said. “But I can’t. You’re—”

“Too small. I know.” She curled her own fingers against her palm, resisting the urge to run to him, to be caught up in his hand and cradled to his heart. “And now that I’ve used up what little magic I had, I always will be. Which is why I have to leave you now…and why I can’t come back.”

“Then why did you give me your name? I could order you
not to go. I could call you from anywhere, and you’d have to come, no matter what your Queen or anyone said—”

“But you won’t,” said Knife. She reached up and laid her small hand on his. “That’s why.”

Paul’s defiance melted, and he slumped in his chair. “There has to be another way,” he said. “It can’t just…end, not like this.”

Knife watched him with aching heart, unable to speak. What could she say to comfort him, when they both knew the situation was impossible?

“You made yourself human before,” Paul persisted.

“Yes, but only by accident. And you saw for yourself—it’s just a glamour, it doesn’t last.”

“I know.” He leaned forward urgently. “But if you could become really human, and stay that way…would you?”

Become human.
The thought was both tempting and terrifying. To be with Paul always—it was what she longed for. And yet to do so, she would have to leave behind the only home she had ever known, and begin a new life in a world she barely understood; she would be vulnerable, dependent, uncertain—all the things she hated.

And worst of all, she would never fly again.

Knife shifted restlessly. “Yes. No. I don’t know…. But why are you even asking me? What good is it talking about something that can never happen?”

“Because,” said Paul, “I’m thinking that maybe, if we
could strike the right bargain…it could.”

“You mean—ask the Queen to change me?”

Paul nodded.

I transformed her into a human,
said Amaryllis’s voice in her memory,
and banished her from the Oak forever….
He was right, Knife realized with a tingling chill. If the Queen had been able to cast such a spell once, she could do it again.

And yet, why should she? The advantage would all be on Knife’s side; she had nothing to offer in return. And though she still had the right to ask for one favor, the Queen had specifically said that the request must not put anyone else at risk. It was hard for Knife to see how the loss of their Hunter could do the Oakenfolk anything but harm, and she knew the Queen would see it the same way.

“I’m sorry,” she said heavily. “If I thought there was even the slightest chance, I’d ask…but it’s no use. She’d never agree.”

“So that’s it?” Paul demanded. “You go back to the Oak, I stay here—and we both die?”

She looked away, unable to bear the anguish in his gaze. “I don’t see that we have any other choice.”
Unless the Queen is wrong.
But that seemed too much to hope.

“And when you tell your Queen you didn’t obey her orders?”

Knife spread her wings and rose into the air. “I’ll be all right,” she lied, and darted forward to brush her lips
against his cheek. “Good-bye, Paul—”

And before he could reach out to her, she was gone.

Never had the journey from the House to the Oak seemed so long. A crow circled overhead, its wings carving black slices from the moon. From the other side of the box hedge came a rustle and a shriek, as a stoat undulated through the grass with a struggling mouse in its jaws. Even the air currents felt treacherous, ready to toss Knife skyward or dash her to the ground the moment her concentration faltered. It took all her strength to make it across the lawn, and by the time she had struggled her way up into the topmost branches of the Oak she felt almost painfully alert, as though her nerves were crawling through her skin.

Even so, she was not prepared for the shadow that dropped down from above, seizing her about the waist and clamping a hand over her mouth. Wings whirred into motion, and before she could even find voice to shout she was yanked backward into the air, plummeting through thirty crow-lengths of leaves and branches to land winded at the foot of the Oak.

“I did it,” said a voice in tones of astonished pride, and then as an afterthought, “Ouch.”

Knife whirled around to see Thorn standing behind her, massaging her shoulder and wincing. “What do you think you’re—” she began hotly, but the other faery cut her off.
“I’ve already spent half the night out here, waiting for you to stop squawking at that human of yours and get back to the Oak. You’re not going back to the Queen without hearing what I have to say first.”

“You followed me to the House?” asked Knife, incredulous.

“Well, I had to know if you were going to kill him or not, didn’t I?”

Knife put a hand to her forehead. “Wait. How do you know about all this—any of this? I haven’t seen you since I left Campion’s room.”

“You didn’t
see
me, no,” said Thorn with grim satisfaction. “But I was listening outside the Queen’s window the whole time the two of you were talking. I didn’t catch all of it, but I heard enough.” She eyed Knife’s faded wings disapprovingly. “So that’s what she was talking about, when she said she’d have to restore your wings. Did you really use up all your magic on that human? Of all the gnat-witted things to do—”

“I love you, too, Thorn,” said Knife, and as the other faery spluttered she went on more seriously: “But you have something to tell me, you said. What is it?”

“Campion’s getting better,” said Thorn, her voice still a little strangled. “Valerian and I weren’t sure at first, but when she sat up and asked for something to eat—we knew.”

Knife went still, feeling her heartbeat pound through her
whole body. This was it: proof that despite all Jasmine’s efforts and the Queen’s fears, the Oakenfolk still needed knowledge of the human world to survive. Tragic though it was, Heather’s story had spoken to Campion, awakening her mind and reviving her spirits, in a way that all her knowledge of the faery lore had not.

And that meant…

“I have something to bargain with,” Knife whispered.

“To get your wings back? I hope so,” said Thorn. “Believe me, I’m in no hurry to be Queen’s Hunter again, but the way you’ve been floundering about is a disgrace: It’s a wonder Old Wormwood hasn’t eaten you already.”

Knife’s mind flashed back to the crow’s body, lying stiff and lifeless by the road. She had been so distracted with other things, she had forgotten to share the news. “Old Wormwood is dead. The humans—” Then she stopped short, her breath catching in her throat.

“What?” asked Thorn.

Knife seized her by the shoulders. “Thorn, I need you to do something for me right away, while I go and talk to the Queen. You won’t like it, but I swear to you, it’s important.”

“Enough,” said Thorn irritably. “Just tell me what you want.”

Knife told her.

Thorn’s face went so white that even her lips turned pale.
But then she drew herself up and said stiffly, “All right.”

“Thorn, I can’t tell you how grateful—”

“Oh, none of that,” said Thorn, with a snort that sounded suspiciously like a sniff. “Now stop blathering and get up there. The Queen’s waiting.”

“I had almost lost hope of your return,” said Amaryllis. “What kept you so long?”

Knife folded herself through the window and dropped to the floor, dusting off her hands. “My apologies, Your Majesty,” she said. “It took longer than I had expected.”

“It is done, then,” said the Queen, and then to Knife’s surprise she sighed, and put a hand to her eyes. “I could almost wish that you had passed the test,” she continued, almost too softly for Knife to hear. “But it is better so.”

“Test?” said Knife. “If you mean killing Paul—”

“He will not die,” Amaryllis told her. “If he sleeps, it is only to awake refreshed tomorrow. But in your heart you will know that you meant to kill him, and the shame of that betrayal will taint every thought of him hereafter.” Knife stared at her aghast as she went on. “Did I not warn you that your friendship with this young human had no future? Now you have proven it for yourself.”

“Wait,” said Knife. “What if I
didn’t
try to kill him?”

“If the bond between you was true,” said Amaryllis impatiently, “no threat or persuasion could have made you
do him harm. Yet when you took the potion from my hand, I knew that what I had long feared had come to pass, and my people were no longer capable of love.”

“Not capable—” Knife’s outrage left her speechless. But the Queen had already turned away.

“I do not blame you for the choice you made,” she said, her gaze on the window and the rising moon. “You had no power to do otherwise. Ever since the Sundering cut us off from the human world, our people have grown more shallow in their affections, more petty and self-serving. Though I have done what I could to encourage kindness and to reward those few who appeared to possess it, I knew all along that such efforts were in vain. The evil Jasmine did has poisoned the Oak to its very root.”

“No,” said Knife. “You’re wrong. Do you really think that just because we can’t go back to the way we used to be, that proves we can never be any better than we are? Besides, you weren’t listening when I told you—
I didn’t do it
.”

The Queen gave her a sharp look. “Are you telling me that you failed in your mission? That you were unable to carry out my command?”

“I had the opportunity,” said Knife, defiant. “I chose not to.”

“I warned you that you would die if you did not obey—that only by doing this could you win back your wings and ensure your future as my Hunter. You believed, yet you still
held back?” Amaryllis leaned heavily on the table, her face haggard with disbelief. “How can this be?”

All at once Knife understood, and the icy dread inside her dissolved in a hot rush of anger. “You mean that what you said would happen to me, and Paul, was just a test—you
lied
?”

But the Queen did not seem to hear. She went on distractedly: “A true bond. So much better than I dreamed possible…and yet so much worse. Has it come to this? And yet what choice do I have left?”

She straightened as she spoke, and Knife stepped back, wary—but too late. Already Amaryllis was reaching out to her, fingers kindling with power even as her red-rimmed eyes silently pleaded forgiveness for it. “You are the only hope I have of saving our people,” she said, “yet I cannot trust you so long as your heart is divided. If you cannot forsake this human, Knife…then I must make you forget him.”

“Wait!” shouted Knife, flinging both arms in front of her face in a futile attempt to shield herself. “You haven’t heard—I have to tell you—”

A rushing noise filled her ears, and her thoughts swirled and bled as a ruthless brush swept across the canvas of her mind. Knife staggered backward, cracked her head against the wall and slid to the floor, stunned. The tide of the Queen’s magic surged over her, and the image of Paul’s face in her memory began to crumble and wash away….

Suddenly her mind snapped like a bowstring, and she felt the spell fly away from her, arrow-clean. The Queen cried out and gripped her head in her hands. “You resisted my spell,” she gasped. “How?”

“The same way Heather resisted Jasmine,” Knife replied, struggling to her feet. “You can’t make me forget Paul, any more than she could forget Philip—because
I gave him my name
.”

“And it is well that she did,” came an unexpected voice, “or else Your Majesty would have done a great evil, and all in vain.”

They both looked around to see Valerian standing in the doorway, with Wink and a sleepy Linden by her side. Then another shuffled out of the shadows to join them—Campion.

The Queen drew herself up. “What trickery is this?” she said.

“No trickery at all,” said Valerian, helping Campion into a chair. “You were told she was dying of the Silence, and rightly so; but thanks to Knife, she is dying no longer.” She walked toward the Queen, her stern expression softening. “You are weary,” she said, “for you have borne a great burden for many years alone. But to allow despair to lead you into the same path Jasmine took—this is folly, and it does not become you.”

“And besides,” said Wink, pale and earnest, “if you make
Knife forget, then you’ll have to make the rest of us forget, too. I was the one who gave her Heather’s diaries in the first place, so it’s my fault she read them, and Knife wanting to be with Paul is my fault, too, because I let them meet each other when they were little, and—oh, please don’t hurt her anymore. If you have to punish someone, please—” She looked at Knife, and her eyes filled up. “Punish me instead.”

Knife moved forward and put her arm around Wink’s shoulders. “And you say our people know nothing of love?” she said to Amaryllis. “I don’t blame you for thinking me selfish, but Wink deserves more credit than that.” She looked down at the Seamstress’s bent red head and added softly, “She always has.”

The Queen regarded them with amazement. “I underestimated you,” she said at last. “All of you, it would seem. Nevertheless—” She broke off as the shutters rattled and Thorn thumped onto the windowsill, her hair windblown and her cheeks red.

“I’ve done it,” she panted at Knife. “He’s coming.”

Quickly Knife stepped forward, unclasping the ruby pendant from her neck and pressing it into Amaryllis’s hand. “I’m asking you this favor,” she said. “Come out to the garden with me now, and listen to what Paul and I have to say.”

The Queen’s fingers closed about the stone. “This is madness,” she said. “What use are words now, with
the future of the Oak in jeopardy?” But then she caught Valerian’s eye, and color tinged her cheeks as she went on, “Yet it is true that I have wronged you, and that you have a right to ask. Very well.”