Wayfarer

her throat she could not speak again. There was a painful pause, until Valerian spoke instead:

“Let me try to explain. By now, Linden, you must know about the Sundering, the reason we Oakenfolk can no longer work magic. Wink has told you the story, I am sure?”

Wink was the other of Linden’s two foster mothers, a little redheaded faery full of affection and good intentions, but unfortunately bad at getting to the point. “Some of it,” said Linden cautiously. “I know it happened a long time ago, and that it was the fault of a faery named Jasmine.” Knife had shown her a portrait of Jasmine once, painted by the human artist who had once been Jasmine’s lover: a strong-featured beauty with black hair and a mocking smile curving her lips. She’d looked proud and very determined-the sort of woman who might do anything. “And I know she was trying to keep our people away from humans.”

“Yes,” said Valerian. “Jasmine’s experience of humans had been bitter, and she came to believe that faeries were better off without them. She thought that our reliance on human contact to give us new ideas and creative skills was mere laziness and habit, and if she could give us a way to maintain our population we would soon learn to thrive independently. So she cast a spell that would enable us to replace ourselves with eggs when we died, instead of having to take human mates or adopt unwanted human children as our own-but she used up nearly all our magic in order to do it. And though Jasmine believed the ultimate benefit to our people would be far greater than the cost, she was wrong.”

Wrong was an understatement, Linden knew. In Jasmine’s day there had been more than two hundred faeries living in the Oak, but after the Sundering so many had been killed by predators and other misfortunes, and so few of their precious eggs had survived long enough to hatch, that only forty-five Oakenfolk now remained.

“I understand,” she said. “But what does this have to do with me?”

“We need our magic back,” Valerian said simply. “Queen Amaryllis cannot endure much longer, and once she is gone, the rest of us will soon perish unless we find a way to undo Jasmine’s spell. Our only hope is to seek out other faeries who still have all their magic, and beg them to lend us some of their power. But how could any of us undertake such a long and dangerous journey, when we have so little idea of where to go, and still less chance of getting there?”

It was a good question: At their small size and with no magic to protect them, none of their people could possibly survive long outside the Oak. Linden frowned-then her face cleared as she realized what the Healer must have in mind. “You want me to talk to Knife for you?” she said. “Of course I will-but surely there’s no need. She’d do it if you asked her, I know she would.”

But the Queen looked pained, and Valerian shook her head. “We have no doubt of your foster mother’s loyalty, or her courage. But she is human now, no longer one of us, and it is unlikely that any faeries outside our own Wyld would speak to her. Besides, it is Knife’s duty to guard the Oakenwyld against crows and foxes, and provide food for our people. She cannot go.”

No, of course not, thought Linden regretfully. Especially not with Queen Amaryllis so close to dying, and the Oak more vulnerable than ever.

“But Knife has already done much to help,” Valerian continued. “The time you have spent with her in the House, learning of humans and their ways, has given you a unique understanding of the world beyond the Oak. If the opportunity arises for one of our people to venture out in search of other faeries, no one is better equipped for the task than you are.”

Shock froze Linden’s blood in her veins, then set her whole body afire. “Me? But I’m so…”

So small. So weak. So frightened. She wasn’t like Knife, who even as a faery had been tough enough to take down a crow with a single arrow and fight off rats bare-handed. Linden had no fighting skills, and no magic, either: How could she possibly do what they were asking of her?

The Healer’s face softened. “This is difficult for you, I know. But rest assured, we have not made this decision lightly. Nor does Her Majesty intend to send you out into the world without first giving you all the help she can.” She bent toward the Queen and said in a low voice, “Do you wish to do it now? Are you sure you will not rest a little first, and gather your strength?”

Amaryllis’s reply was barely audible, exhaled on a ragged breath. “Yes…it must be now.”

Valerian bowed her head. “Then I will not oppose you. I only pray that Linden and I will prove worthy of such a sacrifice.”

Sacrifice? What in the Great Gardener’s name was Queen Amaryllis planning to do? Linden’s anxiety must have shown on her face, because the Queen’s fingers tightened around her own, reassuring. Then she whispered: “Do you give me your service?”

Linden’s eyes welled up, but she bit her lips and nodded. Fearful or not, she still trusted the Queen, believed in her-even though what she was asking seemed impossible.

“Dear child,” Amaryllis murmured, “you have been the joy of my old age. I wish I could go with you, when the time comes. But since I cannot…”

And with those words a silvery glow kindled above her heart and began to radiate outward. Dim at first, but growing brighter as it spread, it rippled down the Queen’s outstretched arms to her fingertips-and before Linden could so much as gasp, the light enveloped her as well.

She could feel the magic all around her, dancing sparks against her skin: When she looked wide-eyed at Valerian, she saw the Healer surrounded by the same eerie glow. Linden started, but Amaryllis held her fast, and the light expanded until the three of them were contained in a swirling, incandescent bubble.

“Half my magic I give to you, my ambassador,” the Queen’s voice echoed in Linden’s mind, clear as only thoughts could be. “Yours are the glamours, the spells of illusion and temporary change. At need, they will conceal you from your enemies and confound those who would do you harm. But use them wisely and in good conscience, not for selfish gain.”

“Your Majesty-” protested Linden, but the Queen had already turned to Valerian.

“And you, my chosen successor…You have always had the heart of a Healer; soon you must bear the burdens of a Queen as well. To you I give the Sight, to counsel you when your own wisdom is not enough, and I give you also the deep magics of protection and preservation, that the Oak might not wither before help is found. I only regret that I cannot give you more….”

And with that the light around her died away, and her arms fell limply to the mattress.

“Your Majesty!” cried Linden in distress, but Valerian held a finger to her lips.

“She is not dead, only exhausted. But she has given us all the magic she had-look.”

She lifted the coverlet, and grief stabbed Linden as she saw that the Queen’s wings, once the most bright and beautiful of all the faeries’, had completely disappeared.

“How long will she…” Linden could not bring herself to finish the sentence.

“It will not be long now,” replied Valerian, drawing the blankets back up around the Queen’s shoulders.

Linden rubbed her arms, which still tingled from the Queen’s magic-no, it was her magic now; she could feel it glowing deep inside her, like a banked fire. But how to use it? She knew so little about spell-craft, she was afraid even to try.

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

“I do not know,” Valerian admitted. “You are still too young to undertake your quest, and even if you were not, you would need human help to travel any great distance.”

“You think they’re far away, then? The other faeries?”

“I believe so,” said Valerian. “If they were nearby, we would surely have found them by now. Queen Amaryllis thinks that some may live among the humans, even passing for human themselves, as we Oakenfolk used to do before the Sundering. Perhaps in the great city they call London…”

London. It sounded almost like her name. A sign, perhaps? Could this be the Great Gardener’s way of showing her where to go?

“But as I said,” Valerian added with more firmness, “you are young. The Queen’s gift of magic has bought us time, and there is no need to send you away, not yet.”

Linden looked down at her bare feet, brown against the white fur of the carpet. Valerian might think they could afford to wait, but she had no such confidence. Already the glamours that wrapped the Oak were weakening, exposing its doors and windows to human sight, and the wards that kept the tree safe from predators would soon fail as well.

By working together she and Valerian could perhaps renew the faltering spells, and Knife would surely do her