Faery Rebels (24 page)

“You won’t have to,” said Knife. “I’ll be seeing you and Linden—and the others, too—nearly every day. Ask the Queen, when you get back to the Oak; she’ll explain.”

“Speaking of explanations,” began Paul from behind her, but Knife shook her head. “Just a moment,” she told
him. “I have one last thing to say to my friends.” Bending as near to Wink and Thorn as she dared, she said softly, “
Thank you.
I promise you, I will never forget what you have done for me.”

Wink hiccupped and flung herself sobbing into Thorn’s arms, nearly squashing Linden in the process. Thorn rolled her eyes and thumped the Seamstress on the back, but it was clear that she, too, was touched. “Remember what I told you, human,” she said gruffly to Paul. “Take care of her—or you’ll answer to me.”

“I hear you,” said Paul. He laid his hands on Knife’s shoulders, and together they watched as the faeries made their way back across the darkened lawn. When they had vanished among the shadows of the Oak, he pulled Knife against him and put his lips to her ear. She closed her eyes, expecting a kiss, but heard instead:

“We have a problem. I haven’t the faintest idea what I’m going to tell my parents.”

“Oh, Great Gardener,” said Knife, twisting around to face him. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t have expected you to, with all the other things on your mind. But somehow I think introducing you at the breakfast table tomorrow is going to be awkward.” He looked down at her, and even in the fading moonlight she could see his color rise. “Particularly as you’ll be wearing my clothes.”

Knife brushed back the pale hair from his eyes, then leaned forward and kissed him. “I’m serious!” he objected, when she let him speak. “What am I supposed to say—‘I found her lying naked on the lawn at midnight, can I keep her?’” He stopped. “You’re shivering. Did I frighten you? Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be all right.”

“I’m just a little cold,” said Knife, pulling the blanket closer about her shoulders.

Paul wrapped his free arm around her. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

“Yes,” said Knife, smiling up at him. “You have.”

T
his story would never have existed without the help of my many friends on the FidoNet Writing echo, including Dennis Havens, who asked all the right questions about faery biology; the late R. Veraa and Joe Chamberlain, who shared their experiences of living with a spinal cord injury; and my mentors, Patricia C. Wrede and Pamela Dean, who taught me what it means to be a professional author and gave me hope that someday I could be one too.

I am also indebted to Jim, Matt, and Angela, whose demand for new chapters kept me writing steadily until the first draft was finished; to Claire Eddy at Tor for taking an early interest in the manuscript; to Cheryl Klein at Arthur A. Levine for broadening my perspective on readership and teaching me invaluable lessons about revision; to my agents,
Josh and Tracey Adams, for believing in this book and in me as a writer; to my wonderful editor, Catherine Onder at HarperCollins, for showing me how to take Knife’s story to the next level—and the next—and the next; to Alec Dossetor for tirelessly reading draft after draft and giving me comments on every one; to Liz Barr, Brittany Harrison, Teri Krenek, and Sylvia Thomas, whose steadfast support helped keep me sane; to Emily Bytheway, Erin Fitzgerald, Claudia Gray, Kerrie Mills, Meg Burden, Seema G., Lisa Inman, Jerie Wills, and Paula Berman, who offered shrewd critiques and encouraging praise; to Emily Friedman and Saundra Mitchell for the delightful fan art; to Laurie R. King for fifteen years of kindness, generosity, and Mary Russell; and to my fellow 2009 Debs on LiveJournal, who are truly a never-ending Feast of Awesome.

Finally, I want to thank my husband for being a wonderful partner; my children and my extended family for putting up with my lunacy; and most of all the One who is both Author and Word, the Beginning and the End, my Lord and my God. As the hymnist Josiah Conder wrote:

Jacket art © 2009 by Mélanie Delon

Jacket design by Amy Ryan