Amaryllis’s brows rose. “Very well: Speak.”
Knife stood up straighter, gathering courage. “I didn’t go looking for other faeries today.”
“So you lied to me.” The Queen’s face darkened. “Why?”
Quickly Knife explained about Heather’s diaries and what she had learned from them, taking care not to mention Wink and Thorn, but to make it sound as though she had made all these discoveries alone.
“And once I knew Heather’s story,” she continued, “I was able to piece together Jasmine’s as well. She too had loved a human, an artist named Alfred Wrenfield-but one day he became angry and struck her, betraying her trust and shattering the bond between them. She left him and returned to the Oak, but all the while her bitterness grew, until she had convinced herself that all humans were just as brutal and unworthy as her lover had been. She tried to persuade the other faeries to stop going Outside, telling them they should be content with the skills and knowledge they already had. But no one listened to her, and in the end she decided the only way to free the Oakenfolk from their dependence on humans was by force.
“She murdered Snowdrop and took her place as Queen, then ordered all the faeries who had gone Outside to return to the Oak. They obeyed her without question, and once Heather’s child was born, she had only to wait for the next full moon to carry out her plan.
“On that night Jasmine stepped out of the Oak and cast a terrible dark magic spell, tapping into the power of all the other Oakenfolk and twisting it against them. First she changed their bodies, so that they could replace themselves with eggs instead of needing human mates. Then she confused their memories, so that they wouldn’t be able to remember what the Outside world was like; and finally she planted in them a powerful fear of humans, so that they would never be tempted to go near one again. The Sundering used up nearly all the power the Oakenfolk had, but Jasmine believed her actions would be worth the cost, for now her people would be free of human influence forever.
“Since then Jasmine and nearly all the faeries she changed have disappeared or died out,” Knife finished. “The new generation of Oakenfolk aren’t confused like the old ones were, and we’re not as frightened either. But still the belief that humans are monsters lives on-and now I know it’s killing us.”
Throughout this speech, Amaryllis had kept her eyes lowered and her face impassive. Now her head snapped up, and her voice took on a cutting edge as she replied:
“ That is killing us, you say? The simple belief that humans are a threat to our people? How can they be anything less, when they are so large and powerful, and we have so little magic with which to defend ourselves? And what of the other dangers that have claimed so many lives-the crows, the foxes, the electrical wires? What of the Silence, which has been responsible for nearly every death among us since the Sundering?”
The Queen rose from her chair, her face stony. “Have a care, Knife. You may well take pride in your own cleverness for discovering the truth-and yes, it is the truth, I do not deny it. But if you mean to tell me that after a few nights of skulking at windows and reading books you have learned more about humans than I knew after eighty years of living in their midst…”
“Eighty years?” said Knife, taken aback.
“A ‘scholarly venture,’ the historians called it,” said Amaryllis, her lips pursing with contempt. “In those days students of humanity such as myself were often overlooked, our work taken for granted. But without the information we passed back to the Oak, faeries like Heather would have been ill-prepared for their missions; they would have been unlikely even to meet gifted humans such as Alfred Wrenfield and Philip Waverley, let alone have opportunity to bond with them.”
Knife blinked at this, and the Queen’s mouth curled in a mirthless smile. “You look surprised: Did you think that all faeries who left the Oak were seeking human mates? No doubt Heather and Jasmine’s stories made you think so, but in truth such unions were rare. The rest of us made acquaintances among humans both male and female, but seldom became their close friends; in this way we could spread our influence more widely among them, and encourage them to greater creativity even if we could not inspire them to genius.”
“But…we couldn’t make eggs before Jasmine changed us,” said Knife slowly. “So if only a few faeries ever married humans, and only their daughters came back to the Oak…shouldn’t we have died out long before the Sundering?”
“In times of need,” said Amaryllis, “there were other ways of finding children. The stories about changelings are not wholly fables; though in truth it was not loved and wanted children that we took from the humans, but the orphaned, abused, and neglected. Jasmine herself was one such, though she would have scorned to admit it.”
“All right,” said Knife. “That makes sense-but there’s still something I don’t understand. If Jasmine cast her spell on everyone in the Oak, how did you escape?”
“I ignored her summons,” the Queen replied. “I was busy at the time, and it seemed unreasonable that I should return to the Oak on such short notice. Besides, the news of the call had come to me secondhand, so I had reason to believe that Jasmine had forgotten my existence-I told you already that scholars of my kind were often overlooked.”
“But you came back anyway, in the end,” said Knife. “Why?”
“The night Jasmine cast her spell, I dreamed of faery voices crying out for help, and knew that something was wrong. I cast off my human guise and returned to the Oak; but I was too late to undo what Jasmine had done.
“I could not even save Heather,” she went on bitterly, “for Jasmine had already caught her and two others trying to escape, and pronounced them traitors. Whether she was enraged by their disobedience or merely her own failure to bend them to her will, I do not know; but she lost no time in carrying out the execution, and by the time I reached the throne room, there was nothing left of them but eggs.” Her face contorted with disgust. “By the Gardener, how I loathed those eggs when I first saw them-”
“Was it then that you challenged her?” Knife asked.
“It was. Though I feared to lose,” said Amaryllis, “for her magic had always been the stronger. But the effort of casting the Sundering had weakened her, and in the end I was victorious. I stripped her of her remaining powers, and executed the most fitting punishment I could devise.” She gave a tight smile. “I transformed her into a human and banished her from the Oak forever.”
Knife stared at her, appalled.
“And yet the shadow she had cast over the Oak remained, for all I sought to dispel it. I could not persuade the faeries she had altered to look favorably on humans again, and once I saw how weak and vulnerable they had become, I realized that it would be dangerous to try. And when the first eggs hatched, I found to my dismay that the new faeries had no magic at all-so I was forced to make them capable of creating eggs as well, for I could see no other way to prevent our people from dying out.”
“So that’s what you were doing to Linden,” said Knife. “And I stopped you.”
“Yes,” said the Queen. “But understand that I only altered the new faeries’ bodies; I did not touch their minds. And before all else, I gave back to each of them a small portion of the magic I had taken from Jasmine.” She looked down at her hands. “Small recompense for a great wrong, I know; but it was all the power I could spare without putting the Oak itself in jeopardy.”
Now at last Knife understood what old Bryony had meant in her letter: To Queen Amaryllis, who has done all she could…“Your Majesty,” Knife said, “I misjudged you. I apologize.”
“And well you might,” said Amaryllis with sudden harshness, “for you have done me a great wrong.” She walked toward Knife and looked up into her face. “When you saved me from the fox even after seeing me cast my spell on Linden, I believed that your loyalty had proven stronger than your doubts, and that I could trust you. And when you told me of your plan to leave the Oak and search for other faeries, I rejoiced to think that my con
fidence in you had been so well repaid…but I see now that this was nothing but deceit.”
She seized Knife’s chin in her hand, forcing her not to look away. “Do you think I cannot tell that you have been with a human? The scent of him is all over you. And did you think I had not noticed the state of your wings?” Her eyes bored into Knife’s, accusing. “You have not only endangered yourself and the Oak, you have made yourself useless as my Hunter. For the sake of your own selfish curiosity you have rebelled against my commands, you have deceived me at every turn, and now you have robbed me of the last hope I had for saving our people-how dare you come here and boast of your discoveries, when it is I and your sisters who must pay the price?”
“Your Majesty,” said Knife in desperation, “you don’t understand-”
Her words ended in a gasp as Amaryllis brought both hands down in a sweeping gesture and a sheet of white flame sprang up around their feet. “I have given you the truth,” said the Queen coldly, the pale fire reflected in her eyes. “Now it is time for you to repay in kind.”
Knife struggled, but her feet were fastened to the floor, her hands too heavy to move. “You don’t need to do this!” she pleaded with the Queen. “I’ll answer your questions-just ask!”
“I cannot trust your words,” Amaryllis said. “And I am weary of talking. The choice is yours, Knife. If you willingly recall for me your dealings with the humans, I will look at those memories and nothing else; but if you force me to search your mind-”
“No,” said Knife quickly. “That won’t be necessary.” She closed her eyes, still seeing the dazzling imprint of the Queen’s magic behind them. “I’ll give you what you want.”
Cool fingertips brushed her temples, rested there. Knife stiffened, but there was no pain, only a slight probing, until- Paul climbing the Oak, his child’s face alight with wonder…His rich voice explaining art to her, and the sure movements of his hands as he sketched her for the first time…His muscles taut with fury as he flung the book of photographs to the floor, then slack beneath her hands as she dragged him from the pool…His friendship, his generosity, his readiness to help her…His excitement at driving her to Waverley, his disappointment when she told him good-bye, and then…
Amaryllis snatched her fingers back; the flames around them died. Still dizzy from the onslaught of memories, Knife lifted her head and looked into the Queen’s shocked face.
“I know,” said Knife. Her lips still tingled with the memory of Paul’s kiss; she bit them self-consciously. “But you heard what I told him-it’s over. We’ll never see each other again.”
Amaryllis did not reply. She turned and walked slowly back to her seat, sank down upon it, and folded her hands in her lap. Then at last she said in a voice drained of emotion, “It is too late for that.”
“What do you mean?” asked Knife.
“I mean,” said the Queen in the same flat tone, “that you have no idea what you have done-to him, to yourself, and to all of us. I had not believed it possible, not with so little magic left to you, but you have bonded to this human boy, heart and soul-and if you remain apart, it can only end in misery and despair for you both.”
“But we can’t-”
“No,” Amaryllis agreed bleakly, “you cannot be together. In your folly you have doomed both him and yourself. You will languish here in the Oak, flightless and powerless; while he suffers the same torment as Alfred Wrenfield and Philip Waverley did before him, a hopeless longing that can be ended only by death.”
Tremors of horror ran all over Knife’s body, and she leaned back against the wall. “I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I never meant-”
“Indeed,” said the Queen. “Which is why I am prepared to grant you mercy-on one condition. For all your recklessness and disobedience, you are the greatest Hunter the Oak has ever known; and you are still, I fear, the only chance we have of finding other faeries before it is too late. If you do this one thing for me, then I will give back to you the magic you have lost, and your power of flight will be fully restored.”
Knife searched the Queen’s face, disbelieving, but Amaryllis’s gaze remained steady. “And the condition?” she asked.
“It is this,” said Amaryllis. “As soon as night falls, you will leave the Oak, armed with the deadliest poison I can give you. You will return to this Paul of yours…and you will kill him.”
Twenty-one
“No!”
Knife spun away from Amaryllis and dashed for the door. She had to find Paul, warn him-But the archway had vanished, as had all the windows, and she could see no exit.
It’s a trick, she thought frantically, just a glamour, it must be. But when she pushed at the place where the door had stood, her outstretched hands found only solid oak. She hammered against its unyielding surface, shouting for help. But no one answered her except the Queen herself:
“Even if I were to let you go, you could not save him. There is only one choice…but first, there is something I want to show you.” Amaryllis waved her hand, and the door sprang open. “Come with me,” she said. “And Knife, I would not do that, if I were you.”
With a hiss Knife snatched her fingers back from the hilt of her dagger, her hand smarting as though she had clutched a thistle. Robbed of her last defense, she could only follow Amaryllis down the corridor and into the Queen’s study, with its desk buried in parchments and dark bookshelves looming on every side.
“I know you mourned the loss of those books about humans,” said the Queen. “As did poor Campion. Had I known how much she would suffer, I would have taken her into my confidence. But even if this comes too late to console her, it is not too late for you.” She made a sweeping gesture toward the shelves. “Look up, Knife, and tell me what you see.”
Grudgingly Knife raised her eyes-and gasped. There stood Laurel’s Human Conventions and Courtesies with its well-creased spine, the two fat volumes by Juniper entitled On the Ways of Men, and all the other books about humans she had thought lost forever. “But how?” she asked. “Campion said they’d been burned-”
“Things are not always as they seem,” said Amaryllis. “I ordered the library cupboard emptied, it is true; and at the same time I told Mallow to light the kitchen fire and burn all the fuel I sent her. But the books that Campion saw taken away were mere glamour, more illusion than substance; the originals had already been gathered up by Bluebell at my command and brought safely here.” She ran her fingers along the spines in a lingering caress. “Even though I had given up hope that they would ever be needed again, I could not bring myself to destroy them.”
“And yet you ask me to murder Paul McCormick.” The words were bitter in Knife’s mouth. “How can any number of books about humans be worth more than a human life?”
“You forget, Knife, he is dying already. In truth he was doomed even as a child, for by meeting him face-to-face you awakened in him a restless need to create-and then you vanished from his life, your work with him unfinished.” She walked slowly around Knife as she spoke. “Still, he might have lived, though never quite happily, had you not sought him out again. You rekindled the spark between you; you fanned it with your friendship and fueled it with a kiss; and now it has become a fire that will surely consume you both…unless you do as I bid, and quench it.”
Knife turned away, sick at heart. The Queen is lying, she tried to tell herself, she’s mistaken, she’s wrong… And yet she could not help but remember Paul’s words to her just before they parted: There’s a reason I told you that story about Alfred Wrenfield. What Jane Nesmith gave to him…that’s what you’ve given me.
Wrenfield had drugged himself into an early grave after Jasmine left him; and Philip Waverley also had died young, his potential as a poet unfulfilled. Had she saved Paul from drowning only to condemn him to another, even more hopeless death?
“Your actions forged this bond,” the Queen continued, soft but relentless, “so only your hand can break it. And if you refuse to cut the thread that binds your lives t
ogether, then you too will wither away and die, as surely as if the Silence had taken you. The crows will return to the Oakenwyld, and we shall all suffer for it; for Thorn has not your strength, your speed, or your courage. There will be no one to seek out other faeries, and in the end we shall all perish-”
“Stop!” Knife clapped her hands over her ears. A teardrop seared her cheek as she whispered, “Enough.”
Amaryllis said nothing, only watched her steadily. Knife swallowed back a shard of pain and went on: “You said-you would give me something to-”
“Yes,” said the Queen. “I have in my keeping a certain potion, brewed by magic long ago. A single drop in his drink, or in his food, will send him into a sleep from which he cannot wake. He will feel no pain, sense no wrong, never be aware that his heart has stopped. To his parents, it will seem a natural death; and for him, it will be a mercy.”
“You swear it?” faltered Knife, and then passionately, “Swear!”
“I do.”
“And then…when I come back…”
“You will be free.” Amaryllis laid a hand on her shoulder. “You will mourn him, of course; but like all sorrows, it will pass. I shall restore your wings, and then you shall serve me and your sisters as the Queen’s Hunter once more.” Her fingers tightened briefly, consoling. “I know your heart cries out against this thing. But I assure you, Knife, it is the only way.”
Knife bowed her head. Then she said very quietly, “Yes.”
Outside the Oak, twilight had stained the sky indigo, littering it with crumpled rags of cloud and a smudge of vermilion along the horizon where the sun had slipped away. Deep in the forest an owl questioned the night, but received no answer.
Knife slid out the window and walked to the end of the branch, staring blindly out across the Oakenwyld. Then she spread her wings and launched herself into the gathering darkness. In three long glides she crossed the lawn and landed at the back of the House, trembling with the effort of flight. She paused to catch her breath, then thrashed her way up to the kitchen window and crouched there, waiting.
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