fourteen

“Knife, oh, Knife, wake up, please—”

Her eyes cracked open, to see a white blob, which gradually resolved itself into Wink’s face. “Oh, merciful Gardener,” the other faery breathed. “Drink this,” and she tipped something into Knife’s mouth.

Knife spluttered, but forced herself to swallow. “What does Valerian put in that stuff?” she gasped as the medicine seared its way down her throat. “Pine needles and fish oil?”

“Probably,” said Wink, wavering between laughter and tears. “Oh, Knife, I’m so glad you’re all right. For a little while, I thought—”

“Linden,” said Knife, struggling to sit up. “Where is she? And the Queen?”

“Sleeping. Both of them. Valerian says they’ll be fine. Knife, do lie down, you’re making me nervous.”

Reluctantly Knife lay back, as Wink plumped her pillow and pulled the blankets up about her shoulders. “You do know you aren’t my Mother any more?” she said.

She had meant it as a joke, but Wink’s face fell. “No one ever asked me if I was ready to stop being your Mother,” she said. “I just woke up, and they’d taken you away from me, and there was nothing I could do about it. So  . . . no.” She lifted her head, eyes brimming. “No, I don’t know that. I don’t think I ever will.”

Knife felt as though a tree branch had clubbed her in the stomach. “I didn’t know,” she said lamely.

“Oh, I don’t blame you,” sniffled Wink. “You were only a child. You probably thought they were punishing you.”

This was true, but Knife had also assumed that Wink had been glad to see her go. She had never imagined that Wink had actually missed her – why would she, when Knife had never given her anything but trouble?

“Anyway,” Wink went on, taking out a handkerchief and blowing her nose, “none of that matters now. What I want to know is what you and Linden and the Queen were doing Outside in the first place.”

“I’m not sure,” said Knife slowly. “The Queen took Linden out into the moonlight and started casting some kind of spell. I managed to stop her, but—”

Wink’s mouth fell open. “You stopped the Queen?”

“She was hurting Linden. What else could I do?”

“Oh,” said Wink, looking stricken. “Oh, dear. So that was why the Queen wouldn’t let me come with her, the night she took you.”

“Took me?” Knife sat up again, ignoring the pounding in her head. “When?”

“You can’t have been much older than Linden is now. The Queen just turned up at my door one night and took you away for a while. She never would tell me why, but you seemed to be all right when she brought you back, so  . . .” Her voice faltered. “I’m sorry, Knife.”

“It’s all right, I don’t remember it,” Knife said, but her hand slid to her belly as she spoke, and for a moment she felt an echo of last night’s brief, wrenching pain. “Is Linden here?”

“Knife, you can’t just – oh, do get back in bed!” Wink fluttered about her, trying to drape the blanket around her shoulders, but she was too short to reach. “It’s too cold, it’s too soon, Valerian said you weren’t to get up until tomorrow—”

“I’m fine,” said Knife shortly. In truth she felt as though she had fallen down all nine flights of the Spiral Stair, but she managed to shuffle over to Linden’s cradle.

Studying the baby’s face, Knife had to admit that she appeared none the worse for her ordeal. Her cheeks looked redder than usual, the points of her ears were chapped and flaking, but otherwise – Knife folded back the blankets to be sure – there was not a mark on her.

“You don’t see anything, do you?” said Wink.

“No,” said Knife. “But I know the Queen did something to her.” And whatever it was, she finished silently, I’m going to find out.

•••

After a day’s rest and two more doses of Valerian’s noxious medicine, Knife felt almost well again. It helped, of course, that Wink stayed with her the whole time, keeping her and Linden warm, well fed and almost undisturbed – but for Thorn, who showed up in the middle of the day to give Knife a hard, questioning look and mutter a few words to Wink before leaving again with ill-concealed impatience. Wink, surprisingly, seemed to take this in her stride, and when Knife asked what was going on, she only shook her head and said that it would wait until Knife was better.

•••

Then came Midwinter’s Day, and the Oak itself seemed to vibrate with excitement as faeries rushed up and down the Spiral Stair, preparing for the Feast. Some dashed about the corridors hanging garlands of beads and dried berries, while others lit the brass lamps and set them in place. Campion and her helpers draped the Dining Hall with tapestries and linens from the archives. At Amaryllis’s command Wink opened the wardrobes where the prettiest gowns from the Days of Magic were kept, and began helping the eager Oakenfolk into them.

Knife, however, spent most of the day in her room, distracting Linden as best she could while she leafed through a book called On the Nature and Uses of Magical Power. She had found it in the library–albeit with no help from Campion, who had made a point of ignoring her–and though she could not say exactly what kind of spell the Queen had been trying to cast on Linden, she was learning more about magic than she ever knew before.

Late in the afternoon Wink burst in with her arms full of yellow silk, breathless and triumphant. “I’ve been wanting to try this one for years!” she announced, shaking out the gown and holding it up to her shoulders. “Do you think it will look well on me?”

“I suppose,” said Knife, without much interest.

“It’s such a shame.” Wink sighed. “Everyone tries to take good care of these gowns, but they can’t last forever. And when they’re gone, no one will even remember what they looked like.” She folded the dress over her arm. “What are you going to wear to the Feast, then? The same thing as last year?”

“Of course.” Knife had grown even taller since she was first presented to the Queen, and nothing in the old wardrobes would fit her. Besides, she found her own simple tunic and skirt more comfortable than corsets and layers of petticoats. “But never mind that,” she said. “Listen to this: The light magics or glamors may be wrought at any time; but to effect a permanent alteration requires great power, and is best done by moonlight.”

“Moonlight?” said Wink. “You mean that’s why the Queen had to take Linden Outside? But that would mean—”

“A permanent change,” Knife finished for her. “The only question is, what kind?” And what will it mean for Linden that I stopped it?

Wink draped the gown over the table and hurried across. “What else does the book say?”

“There are two kinds of magic,” said Knife. “The first kind is light magic or glamor, which is easy to do but doesn’t last – growing or shrinking, turning invisible, that kind of thing. The second kind is deep magic, which takes more effort but is permanent: you can use it to turn wood to metal, or change a crow into a mouse. You can even use it to heal wounds and such – but if you want to work deep magic on another person, you’ve got to get their permission first.”

“Why?” asked Wink.

“I’m not sure,” said Knife, turning pages. “Maybe it just makes the spell easier, or  . . . no, I’ve found it.” She bent over the book, her finger running down the paragraphs. “Because,” she said slowly, “if you use deep magic on someone against their will it becomes dark magic. Which the book describes as  . . .” She paused, then read out in a low voice, “ . . . forbidden by the Great Gardener’s decree, an evil of which it is better not to speak.”

Wink let out a little gasp. “You mean – you think the Queen was doing that to Linden?”

“Maybe,” said Knife. “Maybe that’s why she had to do it now, before Linden was old enough to refuse.”

“But that’s horrible!” Wink jumped to her feet. “No, I can’t believe it. I know the Queen can be cold sometimes, but she isn’t evil.”

For a moment Knife had been tempted to tell Wink everything she had learned – about Heather, about Jasmine, even about the humans. But hearing Wink defend the Queen in spite of all the suspicious things she had done, Knife realized what a mistake confiding in her might be.

“No,” she said, “you’re right. There must be some other explanation.” She closed the book and put it aside. “Anyway, it’s nearly time for the Feast. Do you need me to help you get dressed?”

•••

The clack of goblets meeting in toast resounded through the Dining Hall, and drops of berry wine darkened the tablecloths as the Midwinter Feast began. Knife watched Amaryllis closely as she swept up the aisle to her seat, and thought that the Queen still looked a little pale. But her poise never faltered, and she wore her elaborate gown as though it were weightless – which, since it looked too new to be anything but a glamor, it probably was.

Knife stood at the head of her table, slicing the roast hare and passing platters to the faeries waiting at the other end. Plates rattled, cutlery scraped, and hands reached for bowls heaped high with roots, nuts and berries.

“Do you want me to hold Linden while you eat?” asked Wink, at Knife’s elbow.

“No,” said Knife, “I’ll take her.” She laid down the carving knife and sat. “I’m not especially hungry.”

Wink handed Linden over, and Knife settled the baby on her knee. Now that she was used to it, she rather liked holding Linden: touch was rare among the Oakenfolk, and there was a simple honesty in that little form nestled against her that Knife found comforting. Linden had not learned to bargain or scheme, and her wants were easily satisfied. And that, thought Knife wryly, probably made her a better person than anyone else in the Oak.

Meanwhile the faeries at her table seemed bent on proving her right, shoveling food into their mouths with greedy abandon. Now and then they paused to finger the embroidered tablecloth, or admire the reflection of the torchlight on their silver cutlery. But they paid no attention to each other’s finery, only to their own; and they made no conversation, except to demand more food and drink. If each of them had been alone at her own private feast it would hardly have made a difference.

Inwardly, Knife sighed. Already she longed for the Feast to be over – but that would take hours. After the meal there would be more toasts; then they would play some silly games, leading to the inevitable quarrels about who should get the prizes; the Queen would make a speech about duty and co-operation while everyone else tried not to fall asleep, and then—

She stood up, her fork clattering onto her plate. “I have to go,” she said to Wink. “Would you keep Linden for me?”

“But Knife, you can’t! The Queen—”

“Tell the Queen,” said Knife, “that I am unwell.” She held the baby out, and reluctantly Wink took her.

“Perhaps you’ll feel better if you lie down?” she said.

Knife gave a half-hearted nod. Ignoring the disapproving glances of the Oakenfolk around her, she threaded her way between the tables and hurried out into the corridor, heading for the Spiral Stair.

•••

Later, her formal skirt traded for breeches and her hands clasped around a steaming cup of chamomile tea, Knife sat beside her bedroom window and gazed at the distant House. From here she could see the humans only as shadows. But as she watched, two of those dark shapes rose and moved about, while the third never stirred from his chair.

“Merry Midwinter, Paul McCormick,” she murmured.

Their gathering looked so peaceful, just father and mother and son. Now and then Paul gestured as though he were talking, and the familiarity of the motion made her ache; she wished she could be there to hear him, and share his company.

“Why?” she demanded of the silence. “Why do we have to be so ignorant and petty and – and selfish? Why can’t we be more like them?” She set her cup down with a thump.

“Like who?” said a familiar voice.

Knife froze. Behind her the door clicked shut, and measured footsteps approached. “You left the door open,” said her visitor. “And you were shouting.”

Knife spun around. “Thorn, what are you doing here?”

“The Queen sent me.”

“Why?”

“Another why. You’re full of them, aren’t you?”

Knife stared into the older faery’s face, trying to read the expressionless features.

“As it happens,” said Thorn, “Her Majesty asks that you return to the Feast as soon as you are able, because she has need of you.”

“Oh,” said Knife, and there was a long pause.

“So,” Thorn said, “you’re asking questions.”

“No harm in that, surely?” Knife tried to keep her voice light, but she did not like the look in Thorn’s eye.

“Well,” Thorn said, “it depends on the questions, doesn’t it?”

Several heartbeats passed while the two faeries eyed each other. Then Thorn threw up her hands and said, “I can’t stand all this dancing around the toadstool. Listen, midge-wit – you’re not the only one who wonders what’s wrong with us. I’ve been wondering for years. But as for whether the humans are better off than we are, you’d know more about that than anyone, wouldn’t you?”

Knife ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth, unsure of whether it still worked. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, stop pretending you don’t know,” said Thorn crossly. She walked to the far side of the room and plopped onto a chair. “The Queen summoned me a few days after you got back from your ordeal in the woods,”–she gave the words a sarcastic twist–“and told me she’d noticed you sneaking out of the Oak at night. She asked me to keep an eye on you, find out what you were up to.”

“And did you?”

Thorn rolled her eyes. “Well, since you’d been stupid enough to let her see you in the first place, I couldn’t very well say no, could I?”

Knife’s lips flattened. “So,” she said. “That’s why she punished me by making me Linden’s Mother. Because of what you told her.”

“I could have told her a lot more!” snapped Thorn. “Yes, I told her I’d seen you hanging about the House, gawking in the windows. What I didn’t tell her was that I’d seen you go inside it, and that a while later I’d seen a human open the window and let you out again.”

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 was about to burst like a seed-pod. “Wink knows about all this?”

“Of course she does. She started it.”

“Wink?”

“The little red-headed 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, but 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.”

“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 Gatherers twittering 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 Knife shrewdly. “What is all that about, anyway? Do you owe him, or does he owe you?”

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

“It might,” said Thorn. She picked up Knife’s abandoned cup and sniffed at it. “I wouldn’t say no to some 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 cup, 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 return to the Feast by midnight.”

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