fifteen

“Rhosmari!”

It was little more than a whisper in the darkness, but she recognized Timothy’s voice at once. She threw back the covers and hurried to the window, to find his enormous grey-green eye peering in at her.

“What is it?” she asked, resisting the impulse to cringe. “And who told you where to find me?”

“Linden. She told us your room’s terrible. So Peri sent me to offer you the guest bedroom in the house. And to let you know you’re welcome to sleep there as long as you like.”

Rhosmari looked behind her at the cramped little chamber, bare as a prison cell and no more welcoming. She scratched the place on her shoulder where the straw mattress always pricked her, and thought about Mallow locked up in the storeroom only two floors below.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll get my things.”

Once she had made herself presentable again, it was an easy Leap to the stone veranda behind the house, where Peri was waiting by the glass door to let her in. “You’ll be upstairs at the far end of the corridor, next to the bathroom,” she said. “And you can have breakfast with us in the morning or go back to the Oak, whichever you prefer.”

Rhosmari glanced around for Timothy, but he had disappeared again. “I’m grateful for your hospitality,” she told Peri with a little curtsy, and headed off to her new room.

•••

That night Rhosmari slept as she had not slept in weeks, a deep and dreamless slumber. She woke naturally at daybreak, refreshed but also hungry–so she was glad to accept Peri’s offer of joining the humans for breakfast. Timothy was already at the table, dressed but still sleepy-looking, with his hair sticking up on one side. “Orange juice?” he asked as she came in, then tried to cover an enormous yawn with his elbow.

“Yes, please,” said Rhosmari, as Paul slid a plateful of scrambled eggs onto the table, pivoted the wheelchair expertly and rolled back to Peri for the bacon. The kitchen was pleasantly quiet compared to the clamor of the dining hall at the Oak–almost as quiet as breakfast in her mother’s house would have been, but much more relaxed. For some time there were no sounds but the clink of cutlery and the crunch of buttered toast, until Paul spoke:

“I’ve been curious about something, Rhosmari. At what age do faeries usually get married on the Green Isles? Because Garan looks like he might be old enough, but you seem pretty young to be betrothed.”

“We were betrothed when I was fourteen, actually,” said Rhosmari, watching Timothy pour more juice into his glass. “But we’re not anymore.”

A splash of orange hit the tablecloth. Timothy hastily righted the jug and began dabbing up the spill with his paper napkin. “Really,” he said. “I’m . . .er . . . sorry to hear it.”

Paul and Peri exchanged glances, and both their mouths twitched. But all Paul said was, “Right. Well, I’m going into town this morning. Does anyone need anything?”

•••

Rhosmari spent the rest of that day in the Oak’s library, studying the books Campion had given her. Among other things, she discovered that Queen Snowdrop, Jasmine’s predecessor, had died under suspicious circumstances–so suspicious, in fact, that it was obvious Jasmine had murdered her in order to take the throne. And yet the Empress called Snowdrop her mentor, and was now wearing her face . . . which made Rhosmari more convinced than ever that the woman was not entirely sane.

And yet for everything she had learned about Jasmine, she had not found out what she really needed to know. When would the Empress attack the Oak, and how? Where did she get her remarkable powers, and was there any way to stop her from using them? She was no closer to answering those questions than she had been before.

“You should talk to Rob,” Campion told her, after the two of them had discussed the problem for a while. “He was the Empress’s court musician; he knows her as well as anybody. Maybe he’ll be able to tell you something.”

So Rhosmari decided to join Rob and the others at supper, hoping that would give her a chance to talk to him. But when she came into the dining hall, she immediately noticed that something was wrong. Several faeries were absent from the tables–including Mags, the rebel who had complained about not being allowed to carry the Stone–and those that remained had separated into distinct groups. One corner was made up entirely of Oakenfolk, while their newest allies from the outlying Wylds had gathered along the back of the room. Even the rebels and the Children of Rhys seemed reluctant to mingle.

“The Empress won’t even need to attack the Oak at this rate,” Rob said bitterly, stabbing a piece of squirrel meat off the platter. “Not now that we have traitors and deserters doing her work for her. How can we make an army out of faeries who won’t even eat at the same table?”

Linden sighed. “Mallow must have done even more damage than we thought. I’ve tried to convince the Oakenfolk that we all need to work together, but some of them won’t even look at me anymore, let alone listen to me.”

“And we still don’t know what the Empress is up to,” said Campion, tilting her goblet and swirling the dregs of her honey wine around. Grateful for the opening, Rhosmari spoke up:

“Rob, I’ve been studying Jasmine’s history, trying to find out how her mind works and where she got so much power. What can you tell me about her?”

“Her ways are devious,” Rob said, “and I do not even pretend to understand them. Every time I thought I knew her, she proved me wrong.”

“But you must have learned something from your time with her,” Rhosmari persisted. “Please. Even the smallest detail could make a difference.”

Rob was silent, his fork poised over his plate. Then he laid it down and said in a low, emotionless voice. “The Empress took me into her service when I was only a child, and I was the nearest thing she had to a son. She offered me privileges and power such as she offered to no one else, and I had good reason to believe that if the Empress ever chose an heir, she would choose me.”

There was an audible intake of breath from the other faeries at the table. But Rob continued as though he had not heard: “I travelled with her wherever she went, making music at her command–she had black moods sometimes, and she would call me to play my guitar for her until the shadow passed.” He looked down at his calloused fingers. “Sometimes she would keep me playing all night, and then send me away without a word of praise. But at other times she would speak to me as though I were the only one she had ever loved.”

And then you betrayed her, thought Rhosmari. And made her more unbalanced than ever. Not that she blamed Rob for turning against the Empress, any more than she blamed herself for it. But it seemed that every time one of the Empress’s followers abandoned her, she tightened her grip on the others.

“But in all the time I spent with her,” Rob said, “she gave no hint that her power was less than absolute. If there were Wylds that had escaped her influence, she never spoke of them. If she ever faced resistance, she dealt with it alone. So I cannot tell you what she knows about leading an army against her enemies, or what strategies she might use to assure herself of victory. Nor did she share with me any of the deeper secrets of her power . . . save one, of which I will not speak. But it would not help you to know it.”

Rhosmari was about to ask how he could be sure–but then Rob lifted his gaze to meet hers, cold and dark as an undersea abyss, and she shut her mouth again.

“I have just had news from Telor,” said Garan after a moment, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “He and Lily had success on their latest journey, and freed another twenty faeries with the Stone. They should be back at the Oak tonight, and the others will follow— Ah, there you are, Bluebell.” He craned his neck back as the Chief Housekeeper passed by their table. “How is our prisoner?”

Bluebell looked bleak. “She refuses to eat,” she said, holding up an untouched tray. “Holly told me as much, but I thought perhaps Mallow only wanted attention . . . I was mistaken.”

Rhosmari had not seen Mallow since her arrest, but from what she had heard, the Chief Cook was being treated as fairly as any traitor could expect. She had been imprisoned in the same storeroom where she had once cornered Bluebell, the door reinforced with a stout lock and a warding spell to keep her from getting out. She had regular meals and some simple tasks to keep her occupied, and Llinos and Broch came twice a day to take her for a walk in the fresh air. But first Mallow had ignored the chores, then she had refused to leave the storeroom, and now it seemed she had decided to reject her meals as well.

Was it mere stubbornness that drove Mallow, or did she have some more sinister motive? Rhosmari did not know, but looking at Bluebell’s drawn face she had to wonder who was more unhappy; the faery in the prison, or the one who had put her there.

Garan must have noticed it too, because he reached out to touch Bluebell’s arm. “You did right,” he said. “Don’t be discouraged. She may not be willing to repent now, but in time she may yet realize her fault and ask for pardon.”

Bluebell shifted away from him. “You don’t know Mallow,” she said. Then she hurried back to the kitchen with the tray, her faded gown sweeping the floor behind her.

•••

Over the next few days Rhosmari spoke to everyone she could think of who might be able to tell her more about the Empress, including Lily and several more rebels whose names she barely knew. But none of them had any more ideas about her than Rhosmari did.

Meanwhile the Oak’s preparations for war went on, with faeries stationed at the lookouts night and day, and Timothy bringing over bits of steel and other safe metals from the house to be transformed into swords and daggers. Thorn supervised the making of bowstrings and arrows, and Wink and her helpers sewed arm guards and gloves for the archers. But Garan must have explained to the other faeries that Rhosmari would only shoot for sport, because no one approached her to ask if she would take part in the fighting.

She spent her evenings and nights in the humans’ house, occasionally joining them for supper as well as breakfast, and more than once staying up late into the night talking with Timothy. He told her the whole story of how he and Linden had first encountered the Empress, in more detail than she had ever heard it before–and with a disarming frankness about the impulsive, selfish, even unkind things he had said and done along the way. He obviously had a great deal of respect for Linden for putting up with him–but then, Rhosmari could tell that she had great respect for Timothy, too. And after spending time with both of them, she knew better than to suspect Timothy of being dishonest like Martin. Especially after the night she and Timothy had a long talk about her reverence for Rhys and his own faith in the one the humans called Christ, and discovered that they had even more in common than Rhosmari had suspected.

Yet as much as she appreciated those peaceful evenings, Rhosmari felt certain that they would soon come to an end. And it frustrated her that all the other faeries were doing their part to keep the Oakenwyld safe, and she had not learned anything that would help them. The atmosphere in the Oak grew tenser every moment, nerves and tempers strained with constant expectation of attack–and yet day after day passed without incident, like a form of slow torture. Was the Empress hoping to drive them all mad? Was she waiting until they gave up and relaxed their vigilance, so she could strike when they were least prepared?

No, that was too passive for Jasmine: there had to be more to her plan than that. Surely there must be something Rhosmari had overlooked, or failed to consider. She could not bear to give up her search for answers, and leave the faeries of the Oakenwyld to fight what might well prove to be a losing battle. Especially knowing what the Empress would do to them all if she won . . .

A wave of nausea came over her, as it always did when she thought of losing her name again. To become once more a slave, a pawn, a tool in the Empress’s hand or anyone else’s–it would not happen. It must not. She would throw herself off the top of the Oak, or into the river, first.

Seeing her restlessness, Campion suggested that Rhosmari might find something in the Queen’s personal library, and Valerian readily granted her permission to look there. But when Rhosmari searched the shelves, she could find nothing that might be useful except a small assortment of books on magic. She pulled one out and carried it to the table, but more out of duty than hope. After all, the Oakenfolk had not even used magic for almost two hundred years, so how much could they know about it?

Yet when she began to read, Rhosmari soon realized how wrong her assumptions had been. The Oakenfolk had some fascinating lore regarding the use of magical power, unlike anything she had read before. As a Wyld without any male faeries, they had found ways to cast spells that were normally difficult or even impossible for females–such as healing, or permanent transformation. Could that be how Jasmine had risen to power so quickly? Had her Oakenfolk heritage given her skills that other faeries would never expect her to possess?

“Are you getting along all right?” asked Wink as she came in, carrying a well-laden tray. “I thought you might like something to eat while you study.”

“That’s . . . very thoughtful of you,” said Rhosmari, concealing her surprise with difficulty. From what she had seen, Wink was no one’s servant but the Queen’s, and even Valerian seemed to hold her in high regard. Why was she waiting on Rhosmari? Even in the Green Isles, no one would do such a thing without being asked–or rewarded.

Wink poured her a cup of tea and then sat down beside her, blue eyes bright with curiosity. “Have you found out anything that might help us against Jasmine? That is what you’re looking for, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” said Rhosmari. “But no, I haven’t found anything like that. At least, not yet.” She paused for a bite of honey cake before going on. “I’m impressed by some of the things I’ve been reading about your people’s magic, though. I had no idea you could do such unusual spells.”

“Well, it wasn’t really us,” said Wink. “I mean, usually it was just the Queen who did them, because she was the only one with magic. And even she didn’t do them except when she had to, because it was so exhausting.” Her face clouded with memory. “I remember how after Amaryllis turned Knife into a human, she was weak for days afterward . . . and I don’t think her power was ever quite as strong after that.”

Rhosmari frowned. “But Jasmine used a transformation spell on the Oakenfolk, didn’t she, when she cast what you call the Sundering? Surely that must have been far more difficult, and yet—”

“She wasn’t drained afterward, no,” said Wink. “But that was because she mostly used our magic to cast the spell, instead of just her own. And she did it by moonlight, so of course . . .”

Rhosmari froze, her teacup halfway to her mouth. “What did you say?”

“I said that she mostly used—”

“No, not that. I mean, yes, that too, but the last part. What about moonlight?”

Wink picked up the book Rhosmari had been reading and flipped ahead a few pages. “It’s right here, see? Deep magic–that’s what we call the kinds of spells you’re talking about, the really hard ones–is much more easily performed by moonlight. On the night Amaryllis changed Knife into a human there wasn’t much of a moon at all, so of course the spell took a lot out of her. But when Jasmine cast the Sundering, the moon was full.”

At the full moon. Both Amaryllis and Heather had used those words in their writings, when describing what Jasmine had done to the Oakenfolk. But only now did Rhosmari realize how important that detail might be. She put down her cup so quickly that tea slopped onto the table, and stood up.

“I have to talk to Queen Valerian,” she said. “Right away.”

•••

Within the hour, the Oak was on full alert. Queen Valerian needed no persuasion from Rhosmari to recognize the danger, for tonight would be the first full moon since the Empress’s defeat at Waverley Hall. This was what Jasmine had been waiting for–the time when her powers would be at their height, and she could cast a spell so great and terrible that it would devastate the rebellion completely. It not only fit with her personality and her behavior in the past, it made sense of everything she had done up to now. Rhosmari could only hope that before the Empress could carry out her plan, the faeries of the Oak would find a way to stop her.

Thorn, Rob and Garan assembled their troops by the foot of the Spiral Stair–the largest open space in the Oak–and explained to all the faeries what was expected of them. Those unwilling or unable to fight would be dispatched to reinforce the wards around the great tree, so that it could withstand any assault the Empress and her followers might make against it. Other faeries would cast their most powerful glamours, aversions and silencing spells over the Oakenwyld, so that no unwitting passerby could stumble into the battle. Then the rest would form companies and march outside to defend the Oak, the garden and the surrounding meadows against the enemy.

After the assembly dispersed, Rhosmari joined Campion, Wink and Linden for a private meeting in the library. It had not been easy for Rhosmari to decide how to help the faeries of the Oak, and harder still to volunteer to do it. But now, with Queen Valerian’s blessing on her venture and an empty loreseed sitting on the table between them, she explained to the other faeries what she meant to do.

“Whether we win or lose,” she said, “someone needs to be a witness to what really happened in this battle. The Empress and her followers can say whatever they like, but if you have this—” She touched the loreseed gently— “then you will always have a record of the truth.”

“Like Heather’s diaries!” Wink exclaimed, and Campion added, “Only better.”

“Lorecasting takes concentration,” Rhosmari went on, “and unless you’ve viewed a lot of loreseeds yourself, it’s hard to know what goes into making a good one. That’s why I’ve offered to make this one for you–but I’ll need all of your help in order to do it.”

Briefly she sketched out the plan that she and Queen Valerian had agreed upon. They would all go out upon the West Knot Branch, which was the best vantage point from which to view the battle. Campion would stand with Rhosmari while she cast the loreseed, so she could learn how to do it herself. Wink, who had a special talent for invisibility, would keep them all safely hidden; and Linden would keep her eyes open for any details–or potential threats–that Rhosmari might otherwise miss.

Rhosmari explained all of this in the calm, clear voice she used with her students, but her insides writhed with every word. She knew her father would be proud of her for carrying on his legacy, but he was also the one who had taught her what death looked like, and what it meant to grieve. Could she really stand outside the Oak for hours on end, watching people she knew being hurt or even killed, and not break down or turn away? And if she could, what would that say about the kind of person she had become?

“Lorecasting,” Linden repeated wonderingly, as the two of them walked out of the library after the meeting. “I’d never heard of such a thing. Did your people invent it, or—”

“Watch out!” screamed a voice from the passage behind them, and the two girls jumped back as a comet of blazing light scorched past. Dazzled, Rhosmari flung up an arm to shield her eyes as the spell exploded—

A hand clamped down on her shoulder, spinning her around and shoving her back into the shadows. “Don’t move,” Rob said tersely. “Don’t let her see you. Stay with her, Linden.” Then he transformed himself into a fox and took off running, dodging one spell after another as he raced toward the danger.

“He said her,” whispered Linden, clutching Rhosmari’s arm. “It couldn’t be—?”

Several more faeries sprinted past and plunged into the corridor, Broch and Llinos among them. Shouts and cries echoed in the distance, followed by a muffled explosion and several more blinding flashes. Then, at last, silence.

Rob was the first to emerge from the smoke. He looked tired, his face streaked with dirt and his mouth a bitter line. “She got away,” he said.

“Who did?” asked Linden, rushing to him. “Who was it?”

He gathered her into the circle of his arm, dropping his face against her hair. “Mallow. Who else?”

Rhosmari drew a sharp breath. “But her cell was locked and warded. Wasn’t it?”

“It was.” Rob straightened up, letting go of Linden with obvious reluctance. “Or it should have been, unless someone was careless. Where’s Garan? He was in charge of making sure the wards were maintained–he should know whose responsibility it was today.”

“I’ll find him,” said Rhosmari, and hurried up the Stair.

•••

“Garan?”

Rhosmari knocked several times upon his door, but there was no answer. She tried the handle, expecting to find it locked–but it swung wide, to reveal a tousle-haired Garan struggling to his feet. His eyelids were heavy, his expression dazed.

“Are you all right?” she asked, catching him as he swayed.

“I . . . yes, I believe so,” he murmured. “I only sat down for a moment . . . at least I thought I did . . . I must have fallen asleep.”

No harm had come to him then, just simple exhaustion. And no wonder, after all the pressure he had been under. “Mallow has escaped,” she said. “Rob needs to know who was responsible for warding her cell today.”

“Escaped?” Garan stood up, instantly alert. “But that cannot be. Lily renewed those wards this morning; I watched her do it myself. Mallow could never have broken out of her cell, unless . . .”

His face drained of color, and he clutched at his belt pouch. Rhosmari tensed, but then Garan sighed and held up the white pebble they both recognized as the Stone of Naming. “For a moment I feared . . . but it must have been a dream. What was I saying?”

“Mallow could never have escaped alone,” said Rhosmari. “You think someone helped her?”

“I fear as much,” said Garan. “Perhaps one of the kitchen workers, someone foolish enough to be bullied or bribed into letting her out. But there is no time to look into that now. I must go and tell Queen Valerian at once.” He stepped away from her, then hesitated and turned back.

“What is it?” asked Rhosmari.

Garan took her hands. “I know how you feel about violence,” he said in a low voice. “But you are one of the best archers we have. If you could think of yourself as fighting to save lives, and not of killing . . . I would be honored to have you in my company.”

He had his mother’s eyes, and Rhosmari felt a lump rise in her throat as she remembered how Lady Arianllys had wept when they parted. Garan had left his family and his homeland behind to fight the Empress, and now he would never see either of them again.

But if Rhosmari did as he asked, she would never be able to return to the Green Isles either. “I can’t,” she replied softly. “I’m sorry.”

Garan nodded, resigned. Rubbing his temples, he walked toward the door.

“Garan,” said Rhosmari. “Are you sure you’re well?”

“Well enough,” he replied in a distracted tone, and vanished.

•••

After hearing of Mallow’s escape, Queen Valerian sent out a search party, but they returned empty-handed. Finally Thorn, Rob and Garan dismissed all the faeries to their rooms and ordered them to rest until nightfall.

Rhosmari went back to her old room and lay down, but she could not sleep. Her mind churned with worries and unanswered questions. Why had Mallow fought so hard to escape? What was her plan? Had she struck out on her own, or had she gone over to the Empress?

And why was it so hot? Rhosmari shifted restlessly on the crunching mattress, flinging the covers away from her. A breeze stirred the curtain at her window, but its coolness barely touched the stagnant air inside. She longed for the sea winds that freshened the Green Isles.

But that was not all she longed for. She missed the smells of sand and seaweed, the slap of waves upon rock, the distant cries of kittiwakes and gannets. She wondered what Lord Gwylan was doing now that he was no longer among the Elders, and if Lady Arianllys had seen any more visions, and whether Fioled would still get to visit the mainland. She wished she could have said goodbye to her students before she left.

She missed her mother.

Until now Rhosmari had not allowed herself the luxury of weeping for her homeland. She had been afraid that if she started she might never stop. Once her initial shock and anger at being trapped in the Oak had passed, she had forced herself to accept her fate, and reject the temptation to run away. Even though a treacherous little part of her whispered that it might be worth giving herself up to the Empress, just to see the Green Isles again . . .

And now the tears came, soaking hot into her pillow. Despite all Rhosmari’s efforts to make herself a part of the Oak, it was not her home, and these were not her people. Even Garan had become a stranger to her; he was occupied with other things. And the last person who had taken her in his arms and comforted her was Martin.

Yet just as her grief threatened to overwhelm her, Rhosmari was distracted by the sound of music. The shivering notes of plucked strings, lifted and borne to her on the wind from somewhere not close, but not very far away.

She sat up, wiping her eyes on the sheet. Was that Rob playing? But though she knew he was a skilled musician, he had not touched an instrument in all the time she had known him. In fact, she had seen no musical instruments anywhere in the Oak.

Rhosmari slipped off the bed and went to the window. It was hard to see with so many branches in the way, but she could just make out the back of the house and the slim young man seated on the veranda, cradling a guitar.

Timothy. Of course. How could she have forgotten?

He played well and fluidly, pausing only now and then to alter a note or repeat a phrase. And the music itself was unlike any she had heard before–melancholy one moment and quickening to hopefulness the next, slipping into a confident rhythm that made her fingers twitch before slowing to a hesitant and almost questioning pace. At times it seemed more like a speech than a song, the words of some foreign tongue that she had no way to interpret. And yet it soothed her, reassuring her that she was not alone.

The afternoon light was fading, the blue sky deepening to marine. Soon it would be nightfall, and who knew what would happen then? Rhosmari took her hair out of its clasp, combed it with her fingers, and twisted it back again. She ran her hands over her rumpled blouse and skirt, tightened her belt, straightened her shoulders. Then she Leaped to the veranda, where Timothy was sitting.

As soon as she became solid she staggered and almost fell, weakness rushing over her. Someone had planted cold iron all around the house. Bars of it lay beneath every threshold, nails were hammered into every window sash and sill. To keep the Empress from attacking Oakhaven with magic, Peri had turned the house into a place that no faery, Rhosmari included, would find it easy to go near. And when Timothy exclaimed and jumped up to help her, she could feel the numbing power of the iron cross radiating from beneath his shirt. She flinched and jerked away.

“Sorry about that,” said Timothy, pulling the necklace off and tossing it onto the chair. “Thorn told us what you’d found out about the Empress, and Peri thought we should be prepared. We didn’t expect to see you again today.”

“I understand,” said Rhosmari, breathing slowly to quell her dizziness. “I just . . . I wanted to talk to you and the others. Before anything happens.”

“Well, we probably shouldn’t talk here,” said Timothy, with a wary glance at the sky. He reached under the threshold of the glass door, pulled out an iron poker and cast it aside. “Do you think it’ll be any better if you come in?”

“I . . . I’m not sure.” Mustering her courage, Rhosmari stepped over the threshold–and immediately felt better. The iron was meant to keep hostile faeries out, but she was here by invitation, and inside the house the effect was much less unpleasant.

“Right,” said Timothy. “I’ll just fix up the door again, and then we’ll go and find Peri.”