Unthinkable (28 page)

Chapter 46
When Fenella came back
^{into herself, she was still}
holding Dawn. A sliver of moon had risen in the sky above,
and the stars filled the heavens, more numerous and visible
than they could be in the troubled human sky.

She glanced at the queen, who stood with Ryland at
her side. On the queen’s right, a large copse of the tree fey
had appeared. They stood close together, their limbs and
leaves and needles and bark whispering. They were black
oak and willow, ash and chestnut, magnolia and locust,
pine and walnut, birch and hemlock, fir and hawthorne,
maple and alder. They were both young and old intermingled. Their numbers seemed endless.

No other fey were present.

“The child must be returned to her mother,” Fenella said
numbly. “It is my last obligation before I die.”

“It shall be done,” said the queen. “This I swear.”
Then the tree fey seemed to open their arms to Fenella. Her

feet took her to them. She leaned against the strong trunk of
the central, largest fey. An oak leaf brushed her cheek. She felt
old, rough boughs come down and gently encircle her shoulders. Younger boughs touched her waist and lingered there.
More caressed the child, supporting her as well.

“I am sorry,” she said aloud to them. “I made so many
mistakes. I understand that I should have stayed here in
Faerie and continued to learn patience. I could have had a
life here, with you. There would have been no pain for my
family. I was selfish.”

You are and will always be our adopted daughter,
the
oak whispered back to her. It was not an acceptance of her
apology, and it was also not a reproof, and it was also not
an answer, really, but that was the way of the tree fey. A leaf
brushed her skin again, and she remembered the oak leaf that
had been sent to her in the human realm. It had given her
such comfort and reassurance. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“For everything.”

Then, because she knew what she must do, she moved to
stand again on her own. A last question came to her, and
she turned impulsively to the queen.

“I remain confused about the second task. Leo Markowitz is still loved, even if he dies.”

“He won’t die. His injuries were serious, but the surgery
has gone well and he will recover. Perhaps not to full health,
but he will be well enough.”

Fenella caught her breath. “Really?”
“Yes.”
Fenella closed her eyes briefly. This weight had been

even more terrible than she had realized, until this moment
when it was released.

“I’m glad, but . . . very confused. How
did I destroy love
in my family, then? I didn’t think it could be that I destroyed
their love for me.”

Ryland said, “That’s correct. You didn’t destroy love in
that family. You destroyed love in your family, precisely
according to the terms of your contract.”

“But I only have one family,” said Fenella blankly.

At this, the tree fey murmured. Their voices, unified,
calm, without reproach, formed a braid of sound on a sudden warm wind. You are our beloved adopted daughter. We
are your family. And you are ours.

Their warmth filled Fenella. But her confusion did not
lessen. What had their acceptance of her to do with the second task? She hadn’t hit a tree with Walker’s truck. Had she
weakened the tree fey’s love in some other way?

“I still don’t understand.”

Ryland stretched out his back paws deliberately, first the
right, then the left. “Think, Fenella, you stupid girl.”
“She’s not stupid,” said the queen.
“I mean it affectionately. I like her. She’s fond of me too,

whether she realizes it or not. We’re friends. So, Fenella?
You know who stopped loving you the moment you hit Leo
with that truck.”

Fenella did know. She snarled, “Walker is not family! The
destruction had to be aimed at family!”
In her arms, the child stirred. “Shh,” Fenella said. “Shh,
Dawn, I didn’t mean to shout. Sleep.”
The little girl subsided.
Then the tree fey whispered around Fenella again.
Walker’s family has long, long roots in the earth, said the
oak trees. Lineage is complicated, added the willows. He is
human, but he is also ours, said the tree fey, all together. Just
as you are.
Fenella stood quietly then, as she remembered.
Her first drive with Walker in the truck. Walker talking
about his family. My family’s been taking care of trees for
generations. Trees are in our blood.
She had known. For a few moments, she had guessed, but
then she had forgotten.
“I s ee.”
“You have completed the three tasks,” said the queen.
“Yes,” said Fenella absently.
She was still absorbing the information about Walker.
He had really loved her? Though scarcely knowing her?
Apparently he had. Love needed to exist before it could be
destroyed.
She felt the trees sway against her. “I’m sorry,” she murmured to them. To her family. “When one live limb is
chopped off, it hurts the entire tree. In hurting Walker, I
hurt all of you too.”
And yourself, they said.
“And myself,” she acknowledged. Maybe that was what
love was after all. A rootedness beneath the earth.
All along she had thought she was seeking personal
peace. But in reality, she had sought to cut herself away
from the roots that connected her to not only one, but two
families. She understood that now.
But nonetheless, she had destroyed, and destroyed, and
destroyed.
She kept on rocking the little girl gently in her arms.
“Fenella?” Queen Kethalia spoke. “Did you hear me? The
tasks are complete. The life-curse is broken.”
“I am fully human again?”
“You always were human. But now you are . . .” The queen
hesitated. “Reborn.”
“I feel no different.” It wasn’t really true. Fenella had a
terrible ache in her heart, a physical ache.
She had awoken, somehow, she thought.
She leaned her cheek against the soft head of the child.
Was Fenella’s flesh as vulnerable now as any human’s? Truly?
With decision, Fenella straightened. There was no point
in questions or in delay. Her path was the same. She had
done all that was required. Padraig was destroyed, her family was safe, and it was time to act for herself.
“Ryland?”
“Yes?”
“Will you see Dawn returned safely and swiftly home to
Lucy?”
“I promise.”
“Then I am ready to die.”
Fenella felt nothing much. Not relief, not peace. But perhaps that was the way of it, in the final moment of decision,
in the final moment before death.
She placed the child in a cradle again offered by the tree
fey.
She held the queen’s opaque gaze and nodded questioningly at the queen’s ceremonial knife, held as ever in its
sheath on the queen’s forearm. Then she bowed her head,
waiting.
Behind and around her, the oaks and the willows whispered in their own intricate language. Their leaves brushed
against Fenella’s arms, the skin of her legs, and the drooping
of her skirt, as Fenella stood with her hand outstretched for
the knife, her feet firmly planted on the ground, and her red
head bowed.
Impatience rustled in Fenella. Why was it taking the
queen so long to pull the knife from its sheath? She was
tempted to send a message to Ryland with her eyes. Hurry
her up!
But she didn’t. The moment elongated. Finally she felt the
queen move near her. She heard the deep inhalation of
the queen’s breath. At last there came the weight of the knife
as it was placed on Fenella’s palm. The queen’s cool touch
helped Fenella to wrap her fingers around the hilt.
“Look at me.” The queen was close, but it seemed to
Fenella as if she were far away.
Fenella looked.
“I will not help you do this,” said the queen.
Fenella looked to Ryland. He had said he was her friend.
He lifted his manticore paws. “I have no hands.”
“Oh,” said Fenella. “Of course.”
It didn’t matter, she told herself. She wanted this. It was
all she had ever wanted. She had struck at herself with this
very knife before.
The queen released Fenella’s hand. She stepped away.
Fenella adjusted her grip on the knife.
The world shrank around her. The only thing that felt real
was the knife in her hand. She felt outside her own body, up
high in the air, watching a small, slender redheaded girl. A
redheaded girl with trees at her back, and a tall, extraordinary royal creature before her, and a second royal creature
out of myth to one side.
All of them were waiting.
The redheaded girl held the knife out before her. She
reversed it so that the point rested on her stomach. She put
a second hand on the hilt.
With all her strength, she pulled the knife toward her,
and felt the cleanness of its edge as it entered her body.

Chapter 47

_{The knife had only}
just parted her skin when a tremendous weight knocked against Fenella from the side,
tumbling her to the ground and sending the knife flying
through the air.

“Stupid girl.” Ryland was on all four paws, crouched
low, with his face bare inches from Fenella’s and his
breath heavy on her face. “You can’t die. I won’t let you.
I’ve worked too hard.” He paused, eyes narrow. His tone
turned cool. “At least, not until you’ve thanked me for
helping you.”

“Thank you,” said Fenella sourly.

The floating, disembodied feeling had left her the moment Ryland struck. She had landed in the dirt on one
elbow. It hurt. She sat up slowly, painfully, and pulled her
arm around to peer at her elbow. Blood welled there.

“You’re bleeding from your stomach too,” Ryland pointed
out.
Fenella could feel that now also. She put a finger curiously to the second wound, poking it through the hole she’d
created in her shirt with the knife.
The willows all crowded close. They murmured soothing
things. Soft green leaves were used to wipe her wounds. The
blood kept trickling out, though, and after a few minutes
Fenella realized that, unconsciously, she had expected the
pain to fade and the wounded area to knit together before
her eyes, the way her wounds once had.
That was not happening.
She stared at her blood in wonder. “I really am mortal
again.”
“I told you.” Queen Kethalia crouched down a few feet
away. The lily crown that grew from her scalp had gone
askew, and she was shivering even though it was warm. She
drew her wings in close around her shoulders.
“You really did almost kill yourself,” added Ryland
crossly. “Why? You’re eighteen. You’ll be dead soon enough.
You’ve only got another seventy, seventy-five years. What’s
the point of dying now?”
He slid a sideways glance at his sister. “What you were
thinking, Kethalia, I have no idea. Nobody wanted Fenella
dead. Am I correct? I’ve figured it out. You wanted the
opposite. You and the tree fey. You were plotting for her to
win. And live.” He took a long, thoughtful breath and then
added, throwing the words like weapons: “And become an
ally for us, in the human realm.”
“We were waiting to see if you would intervene to save
her,” said the queen coolly. “Rather than one of us doing it.”
She was pale, however.
Ryland froze.
“As indeed you did,” finished the queen.
“You manipulated me! I never meant—I never wanted—”
Ryland paused in his outburst. He glanced at Fenella, and
then at the queen, and then at the ground beneath his front
paws.
“You never wanted to care about her?” The queen’s voice
was neutral.
“I didn’t say that.”
It seemed to Fenella that the queen and Ryland momentarily forgot there was anybody present except themselves.
The queen straightened, and stepped closer to her brother.
His body was so tense that you could see the definition of
his muscles over his shoulders and back.
“Why did you save her?” asked the queen.
Ryland did not respond for a full minute. “I do like her,”
he said, finally, grudgingly. He lifted a paw and then seemed
to forget it, for it hung suspended in midair. “I liked being
with her. I liked seeing her grow stronger and more alive,
even if she didn’t realize that was what was happening. It
has been . . . gratifying—to help her.” He sounded surprised.
He looked up at his sister, and his eyes narrowed. “Have
you grown more insect capabilities while I’ve been gone,
Kethalia? I don’t remember you being able to shoot your
eyes out on stalks.”
The queen retracted her eyes. “I don’t quite have them
under control yet.”
“I knew the tree fey were with you. Now I see the insects
are too. You’ve used this time I’ve been gone, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” said the queen simply. “I have.”
Noticing his extended left forepaw, Ryland put it back
down on the ground. He said reluctantly, “Fenella has made
me think about a few things.”
From her spot on the ground, Fenella blinked.
The queen said, “Such as?”
“For one thing, she thinks we made a mistake. About the
Mud Creature. She thought he should have been cared for,
when he was a child.”
The queen stretched her wings. “And your opinion?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” For a long time Ryland stood, his
entire body tight.
“It changes you,” said Queen Kethalia. “When you care
for someone.”
Ryland raised his tail aggressively high. “Don’t lecture me
on ethics. You are no pattern of tender perfection. You’ve
been playing political games.” He gestured with one paw toward Fenella. “Playing with her life, which you supposedly
think is so important to our future.”
“I trusted you with Fenella,” said the queen. “And you
proved trustworthy.”
Ryland was silent.
“Well, then, brother?” the queen pressed. “You have
guessed my intentions. My hope, I should say. You know
Fenella as well as the tree fey now, and in some ways, better. If she gets over her death wish, could she be the human ally we so desperately need? Can she be our agent of
change?”
It took Ryland another few moments. Fenella watched
him, fascinated. His tail flicked from side to side. His eyes
were hooded, their gaze internal. But finally he spoke,
thoughtfully, temperately.
“Fenella is uniquely rooted in both worlds. She is naturally curious and enthusiastic. And if her family accepts her
again, they too might ally with us. They have a long history
of involvement with Faerie.” He paused, and cast Fenella a
direct, assessing glance. Surprised, she returned his gaze
squarely and fully.
Still looking directly at Fenella, Ryland resumed speaking. But now his voice had a passion and involvement that
Fenella had never heard before.
“If Fenella lives, she will not waste a moment. She will be
one of those who leave a blazing comet trail behind. When
the humans inscribe their history—if they survive to do
so—they will need space for her inventions. Her ideas.”
Fenella was glad she was sitting on the ground. If she had
not been, she would have fallen over.
The queen’s gaze was only for her brother. “You are
poetic.”
“I like her,” he said again. He regarded his front paws.
“The tree fey were right,” said the queen. “Not only about
Fenella. About you.”
Ryland did not look up. “I wanted to rule.”
“You never shall,” said his sister. “Nonetheless, you are
needed.”
“I know,” said Ryland sourly.
Queen Kethalia laughed. Though Ryland did not join her,
he looked up at her, and then at Fenella, and then at the tree
fey. Then he was suddenly standing straighter, as if—even if
he did not fully realize it—he had set down a burden.
Abruptly, he turned to Fenella. “Enough of this. Fenella!
You’ve gotten into a bad habit of leaping too quickly. You
need to take time to process before you make decisions.
Especially a decision like death.” He scowled into her face.
Fenella shook her head. “Wait. I’m confused. I’m not
sure—”
He interrupted. “Forget what my sister and I were discussing. For now, focus on one question. What’s your hurry
to die, human girl? Why would you spurn the precious
years you have been given back?”
“Because I want peace,” Fenella protested automatically.
“I want death—I want . . .”
Her voice faltered. She looked at Ryland, and then past
him at his sister. At this moment, they had an uncanny similarity of expression. Then she looked up at the tree fey, her
newfound kin. “I want,” she said, and heard her voice fade
away into uncertainty.
“What do you want?” The queen slid a quick glance at
her brother. “Take your time.”
“I want,” Fenella tried again. “I want—”
Then all the wanting burst in upon her at once.
She wanted to be the one to return Dawn to Lucy. She
wanted to see Lucy’s face as Fenella placed her daughter
back in her arms.
She wanted to stand before Zach and Lucy and Miranda
and Leo and Soledad and apologize, and fully explain, even
if they could not hear it, even if they could never forgive her.
She wanted to tell Miranda that she had been right, and
that she could trust her own instincts, always, forever.
She wanted to hold Dawn again. She wanted to feed her,
and play with her. She wanted to watch her grow up, safe.
She wanted to sneak Pierre a treat under the table at
dinner.
She wanted to paint walls and scrub floors and put up
a chart of chores on the refrigerator, and help her family
make a new home.
She wanted to raise her voice and harmonize with Leo
and Lucy and Soledad and Miranda, as they sang in the living room at night.
She wanted to eat a Boston cream pie.
She wanted to open the atlas to a random page and go
wherever her finger pointed, just to see what was there.
She wanted to find the place where she had been born and
grown up, and stand on that land, and there say a prayer for
the lost Scarborough girls, and for Robert, and for Bronagh.
She wanted to make a new friend, a woman who was
strong of mind and will, who would grow into her heart
and help fill some of the place that had once belonged to
Minnie.
She wanted to weave ribbons in her hair, and put on a
dress with a skirt that swirled and a bodice that enhanced
everything she had, and dance all night beneath the stars.
She wanted to pull car engines apart, and talk to people
about them, and think about fuel, because she felt quite sure
that there was another way to power engines of all kinds, a
way that would produce waste products that were healthful
and in harmony with the earth, and that she might be the
one to discover it.
She wanted to find out exactly what the queen and Ryland had meant, when they talked about Fenella becoming
their ally.
She wanted . . .
She wanted to drive beside Walker for long miles through
the forest. She wanted to pull the truck over when she was
tired, and have Walker offer her his hand.
She wanted to walk beside him under the canopy of
the trees. She wanted to inhale the scent of the wood and the
moss, and the scent of Walker. She wanted to tell him
about the tree fey, and listen to him talk about his family
and their history. She wanted to find the biggest tree, and
tug Walker down beneath it. She wanted to feel his arms
around her, and she wanted to put hers around him. She
wanted the trees to whisper a blessing around them, while
Walker looked at her again the way he once had, when he
wanted her, when he loved her.
She wanted to pull him into Faerie for a visit, so that he
could meet their tree family. She wanted to visit his human
family.
She wanted to be on his lap again, this time without any
distrust between them. She wanted to press herself into
him, and have him press into her. Then one day, with him,
she wanted—oh, she wanted—
Fenella discovered she was curling her arms into a cradle. She let them drop. She swallowed back the lump in her
throat. She could never have those things, the Walker-things,
for she had destroyed Walker’s love, destroyed it when it was
only a small, hopeful shoot.
But she could still want them.
The wanting filled her. It felt good to want.
It felt—she felt—alive.
She was alive. She was alive and she was mortal, and that
was her elbow that hurt, and her blood staining her clothing. There would be bruises and scabs and scars on her
body as she lived her life. She would wear them proudly, for
scars were evidence of how once you had been broken, but
now were healed.
She was not broken. She had not been destroyed.
She was alive.
And though she could not be with Walker, there were
many things on her list that she could work toward, and
she would add other things too as she lived out her life. Her
seventy, seventy-five years.
Her life belonged to her again. It was waiting to be seized.
And what if Ryland was right about her? What if she could
become the Fenella Scarborough he had described, the one
who might leave a blazing comet trail behind her, full of her
inventions and her ideas?
What if?
“I want to live.” Fenella stared in shock at the queen and
at Ryland and at the tree fey. “I want my life.”
“At last,” said Ryland. “Now, please. Do something. I
really, really want this. Say thank you to me. Just once. Say
thank you like you mean it.”
Fenella looked around at a whole new world, full of color
and light and possibility. She heard the low pleased whispering of the tree fey. She saw a smile growing on Queen
Kethalia’s strange, beautiful, and tired face. She saw how the
queen stepped forward and stood next to her brother.
Her mind was full. Her heart was full. Ryland’s words
penetrated only vaguely.
She sent an abstracted nod in his direction. “You’re welcome.”