obvious relief. “Well,” she said, “you may look like you’ve crawled through a molehill and been worried by a fox, but you seem to be in one piece.”
Of course she was glad, thought Knife: She must have been dreading the thought of having to become Queen’s Hunter again. “What happened to Linden and Tansy?” she asked. “Did they get back all right?”
“Linden died soon after she was brought to me.” The quiet response came from above, and Knife looked up to see Valerian rounding the last bend of the Spiral Stair. “But Tansy was unharmed, and we were able to save Linden’s egg. Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” said Knife.
“But I saw you fall.” The quavering voice was Tansy’s. “I thought the crow had got you for sure, or that human-”
“If he had, would she be here?” Thorn interrupted scornfully before Knife could reply. “Don’t talk nonsense. She only dove, to throw the crow off her track-it’s an old Hunter’s trick.”
“That’s as it may be,” said Mallow’s harsh tones from the back of the crowd. “But if there’s nothing wrong with her, where’s she been? We’ve had no meat in two days.”
“What you mean is, you’ve had no chance to gorge yourself on scraps,” retorted Thorn, “and I don’t see why anyone should shed a tear over that.” She caught Knife by the elbow, steering her through the crowd. “Besides, it’s the Queen’s privilege to talk to Knife before any of you lot, so clear off.”
Grumbling, the rest of the Oakenfolk dispersed. Thorn let go of Knife and said in a low voice, “But if I were you, I’d have a long soak and a spot of hard scrubbing before you report to the Queen. You stink.”
“She is certainly dirty,” agreed Valerian mildly from beside them, “although I hadn’t noticed the smell. Come, Knife. I can look you over while you’re having your bath, to save time. We shouldn’t keep Her Majesty waiting.”
“I believed we had lost you,” said Queen Amaryllis. “For all our sakes, I am glad that I was mistaken. Are you well?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Knife.
“And yet”-the Queen’s eyes narrowed as they swept over Knife-“you appear…changed.”
My wings, thought Knife with a flash of panic. She’s noticed my wings. What do I tell her?
“Bluebell, bring our visitor a chair,” ordered the Queen, and her attendant hurried to obey. Knife did not feel much like sitting, especially with the Queen looking down at her, but when Bluebell nudged the chair against the backs of her knees, she had no choice.
“Tell me, then,” continued Amaryllis when Knife was seated. “What became of you, after you fought the crow? I sent Thorn out to search for you, but she could find no trace.”
Was this a trap, or genuine concern? It was impossible to tell. Knife decided to keep her story as close to the truth as she could. “I was flying ahead of Old Wormwood, trying to lead him away from Linden and Tansy,” she began, “when he struck at me and ripped my wing. I fell to the ground unconscious, and when I woke I found myself lying in a dark place, where the crow couldn’t reach me.
“At first I was weak, and needed to rest. After a while I found food and water, and my strength began to return, but I was still a long way from the Oak. I couldn’t fly, so I started out on foot, but then I met a cat. It could have killed me, but…”
This was it, the giant leap. She could only pray that the Queen didn’t guess how much of the story she was leaving out. “At the last moment I managed to make myself bigger-even bigger than the cat. I didn’t know how I’d done it, but I knew it had to be magic.” Forcing herself to be bold, she looked straight up at the Queen. “How could that be?”
“It has happened before,” said Amaryllis. “But rarely, and only at times of great need. The Great Gardener was merciful.”
Knife nodded. “Anyway, it saved me. When the spell wore off I tried my injured wing again, and it worked-the magic had healed it somehow. So I flew back to the Oak, and here I am.”
The Queen regarded Knife, one finger crooked thoughtfully against her chin. Then she said, “I confess I am relieved to hear your story. Tansy’s report led me to believe that you had fallen into the garden, not far from the Oak. When Thorn could not find you, I feared that you had been taken by the humans, and that we might all be in danger.”
An icy hand closed around Knife’s throat. The Queen’s guess had come so perilously close to the truth-did she sense, even now, that Knife was deceiving her? Perhaps it was a test, and this was Knife’s last chance to prove herself a loyal subject. Perhaps she should throw herself on the Queen’s mercy, and tell her everything.
And yet Knife was no longer sure she could trust Amaryllis. If the Queen had been willing to burn a shelf’s worth of precious books just to keep her people from taking too much interest in humans, what would she do if she found out her Hunter had actually befriended one? Of course she could hardly execute Knife for treason, not with so few faeries left in the Oak. But she might harm Paul, if her magic could reach him-and Knife didn’t like that thought at all.
“In any case,” the Queen went on in a brisker tone, “you showed great courage in rescuing Linden from the crow, especially at such risk to yourself. It is evident that you have been through a grave ordeal, and it is to your credit that you returned to the Oak as quickly as you did. Valerian, you have examined her and found her well?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” came a quiet voice from the back of the room, and Knife started. She had forgotten the Healer was there. “All she needs is a chance to rest.”
“Then I relieve you of your duties until tomorrow,” said the Queen to Knife. “You are dismissed.”
Knife stumbled into her room and threw herself down on the sofa, exhausted. After her interview with the Queen she felt as though all her bones had been taken out one by one and examined, but she seemed to have made it through all right.
So why did she still have the disquieting feeling that Amaryllis had not believed her?
She swung her legs around and sat up. After spending so long in the House, her room now seemed more cramped than ever, with naked walls and furnishings so crude it hurt to look at them. She longed for a few pictures to brighten up the place-but no, that was impossible. Nearly everything beautiful the Oak had to offer had been sent to the archives; even the Queen’s walls were bare. Art was too rare and precious now to be entrusted to a single person.
But why should it be that way? Before the Sundering the Oak had been full of artists and writers and craftswomen of all kinds. What had happened to their creativity? And was there any way of getting it back?
She might find some clues in Heather’s diary, if it had not gone missing in her absence-ah, there it was. Knife lit a candle, sat down on the bed, and eased the book open at the place she had last marked. Jasmine’s temper has improved greatly since the others stopped slighting her, and I am glad to see that my words on her behalf did not go unheeded. She has certainly begun to greet me with more warmth, especially once she saw the work I did on her gown, which I flatter myself was as subtle a mending as I have ever effected. One would hardly know that it had arrived in such poor state, and she looks very well in it…
Several entries of little interest followed, but a few pages later Knife found this: If my own dear friend Lavender had not brought me the news herself, I should hardly have believed it: The Queen has appointed Jasmine to her Council! It is a great honor, to be sure, and for Jasmine’s sake I am glad. Still, I cannot be fully at ease about the Queen’s decision. I have no doubt of Jasmine’s cleverness, but she has a passionate nature, and is sometimes too quick to act when wiser heads would urge caution.
Which was all very well if you were interested in politics, thought Knife, but she was tired of hearing about life in the Oak. When would Heather stop talking about Jasmine and tell her something that really mattered? Impatient, she began flipping pages, until finally- I was taking tea with Lavender this morning when the news came that Queen Snowdrop wished me to attend her. With so many other able faeries in the Oak, I scarcely dared hope that she would choose me; but my prayers were not in vain, Great Gardener be blest. In six months’ time I shall pass the title of Seamstress to my apprentice, Bryony, and take up a greater commission. I must prepare myself carefully for the task ahead, and I know it will not be easy, for I still have much to learn. Yet at this moment I can find no room in my heart for worry, or dread, or anything but glorious anticipation-I shall go Outside, among the wondrous folk of humanity!
Knife started, and the book tumbled from her fingers to land facedown upon the floor. She picked it up and smoothed out the crumpled pages, reading the last line of Heather’s entry again, and again, and again, while the bedside candle sputtered in its puddle of wax.
