darted from one male faery to another, taking in their strong features and close-trimmed beards, the swords at their belts and the bows slung across their shoulders. Then she sat down slowly, her eyes glassy with disbelief, and for once she didn’t say anything at all.
“If we restore the magic Jasmine took from you,” said Garan as he and his followers stood before the Oakenfolk gathered in the Great Hall, “the task will cost us dearly of our own magical strength, and we will need several days to recover. We will never be as powerful as we once were, nor will your own magic be as great as that of the Empress and her followers-but yes, it can be done.”
Linden threw her arms around Wink and hugged her, and Thorn actually whooped before turning it into a cough. “We would be glad,” Valerian began-but Bluebell’s voice cut in:
“You forget yourself, Healer! We are not humans, to take from one another without giving in return: We are faeries, to whom a bargain is sacred. How dare we accept help from these strangers, when we have no means to repay them?”
The pleasure faded from Valerian’s face, and her gray eyes became downcast. “Bluebell is right,” she said. “Forgive me, I beg of you-I spoke too soon.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” said Garan, with a swift glance at Bluebell. “We did not come to you seeking wealth or goods that we could take back to our own land; rather, it is our hope that you will accept us as your subjects, and allow us to dwell among you. For by leaving the
Valerian’s smile returned, wavering with emotion. She stepped forward and held out her hand to Garan.
“There is ample room for you all here,” she said. “And as Queen of the Oakenfolk I welcome you, with all my heart.”
Garan took Valerian’s hand and kissed it, then bent on one knee before her with head bowed and both arms spread wide. Immediately all the other men in his company did likewise, although Broch’s mouth gave a self- mocking twist as he went down.
Valerian looked back at the crowd of Oakenfolk behind her. No one moved, until Wink hurried forward and knelt as the Children of Rhys had done. Thorn joined her, and Campion quickly followed. One by one, and then in pairs and clusters, all the Oakenfolk knelt until only Bluebell and Mallow were left standing. And when after an uncomfortable pause the Chief Cook shrugged and bent her knee as well, Bluebell let out a little sob and collapsed to the floor beside her, defeated.
The Oakenfolk had acknowledged their rightful Queen at last.
The moon hung high over the Oakenwyld, bathing the garden in silvery light. Timothy stood on the veranda with Peri and Paul, watching as a line of tiny, winged figures emerged from the roots of the Oak and joined the waiting Children of Rhys on the lawn. Even from this distance it was easy to recognize Linden by her brown curls and the eager spring in her step; he waved to her, and she waved back.
He turned to Peri, wanting to ask her if they couldn’t go a little closer-but then he saw the wistful look on her face and swallowed the question.
Paul must have noticed his wife’s expression as well, because a moment later he said quietly, “You could ask them, you know.”
Peri did not take her gaze from the Oakenfolk. “Ask what?”
“To make you a faery again.”
That got her attention; she swung around to look at him, frowning. “What makes you think-”
“I don’t think,” said Paul, “I know. Of course you miss it sometimes; why wouldn’t you? I’m just saying that if the Children of Rhys have enough power to undo Jasmine’s spell on the Oakenfolk, maybe they have some to spare for you, too.” Then, as Peri looked troubled, he added gently, “It’s not as though I’m asking you to leave me. You’re still my wife, whether you can change size and do magic or not. But they’re your people.”
For a moment Peri did not reply; then her lips firmed, and she shook her head. “No,” she said. “If the Oakenfolk are going to survive, they’ll need every bit of power that Garan and his people can give them. Besides”- she took a deep breath-“I made my choice to become human fourteen years ago. I wouldn’t go back on it now, even if I could.”
“Not even if it meant you could fly again?” Paul asked.
Timothy held his breath, but to his surprise, Peri smiled. “Who says I can’t fly? The moment this business with the Empress is over, I’m buying an airplane ticket.” Then her face grew serious again and she said, “But truly, I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself. I was feeling sorry for them. Look at their faces.”
Timothy studied each of the faeries in turn, and he could see what Peri meant. Linden and Wink were both glowing with excitement, and even Thorn looked grudgingly pleased; but many of the other Oakenfolk seemed nervous, and a few-like Bluebell, and the hard-faced faery next to her, who had to be Mallow-appeared wary and even resentful about what was taking place.
“I’m afraid Valerian’s going to have her work cut out for her,” Peri said. “A lot of the Oakenfolk don’t like change…and now everything about their lives is changing at once.”
“But having the Children of Rhys join them, and getting their magic back again-it’s so obviously for the better,” said Timothy. “How can they object to that?”
“Because it’s new,” said Peri. “It’s different. It’s frightening. And no matter what happens now, there’s no way any of them can go back to the way things used to be.”
Timothy was silent, digesting her words. Then Paul said, “It looks like they’re about to start. Come on, let’s move a bit closer.”
By now Garan had shepherded all the faeries into a rough circle, arranging it so that all the Oakenfolk had at least one of the Children of Rhys beside them. As the last thin veil of cloud slid from the moon’s luminous face, he turned and addressed them:
“The time has come.” He stepped back beside Linden, holding out his hand to her; she took it, and stretched out her own hand to Wink on the other side. The other faeries hesitantly did likewise, and in a moment the whole circle was joined.
Linden’s heart pounded, and her breath came shallowly between her parted lips. She’d received magic from another faery before, but Amaryllis had been just one dying woman, and the Children of Rhys were strong and many. Would it hurt? What if one of the Oakenfolk panicked, or changed her mind at the last moment, and broke the circle?
“Linden,” murmured Wink in a pained tone, “you’re squeezing my fingers.”
“Sorry,” Linden whispered, and forced herself to relax.
Beside her Garan stood with eyes closed, his brow furrowed in concentration. For a long moment no one moved, and the Oakenwyld was eerily silent. Then Linden saw it: A glimmer of light on the far side of the circle, a slowly expanding radiance that spread from Broch to Thorn and Campion, from Llinos to Mallow and Bluebell…and now the magic was glowing around her too, tingling hot and cold as it swept over her skin and swirled into her muscles and bones. Amaryllis’s dying gift of glamour had thrilled her, but that had been a scant half share of a magic already weak with use and age. To compare it to the power flowing through her now…It was like comparing water to wine.
Still the energy built, until every pore in her body sang with it, and the circle of faeries blazed so bright she had to shut her eyes. The magic was too strong now, too much-any more, and she would faint, or explode-
Garan’s hand slackened in hers, and the light died abruptly as the circle wavered and broke. One after another, the Children of Rhys sagged to their knees and toppled onto the grass, unconscious.
The Oakenfolk all looked at one another, and Linden saw an apprehension on Valerian’s face that mirrored her own. Had the magic transfer worked, or not?
“Look!” came a hysterical-sounding voice from beside her, and she turned to see Wink spreading a length of shimmering, gold-toned silk between her outstretched hands-cloth that seemed to have spun itself out of nowhere. On the other side of the circle Campion had grown to human size and was regarding her far-off toes in amazement, while Thorn rubbed her hands at a bonfire she had kindled on the grass. Faery lights danced through the air; a cluster of violets pushed their way out of the cold ground and stood nodding in the midnight breeze; a roast fit for the Midwinter Feast floated by, so real-looking that Linden could almost smell it.
Jasmine’s curse was undone, and the Oakenfolk had their magic again.
