not resist the urge to draw, and night by night the pile of sketches hidden beneath her mattress grew. But what was the use of making art that no one but herself would ever see?
The faery in her warned that she must not take advantage of Paul’s generosity, or she would end up indebted to him again. Besides, he had begun speaking to his parents now, so he might not even need to talk to her anymore. But when for the next three nights Paul’s room remained lit long after the rest of the House had gone dark, it was too clear an invitation for Knife to refuse. Soon she was tapping on his window again.
On her first few visits she was all business, showing him her latest drawings and asking his advice. But eventually she dropped even that pretense and came by simply to see him. By the time the Oak’s leaves turned to autumn gold, she was visiting the House every night.
Now at last she understood why humans liked to talk to each other so much, for even if Paul could not solve her difficulties, it eased her spirit just to tell him about them. He seemed fascinated by her accounts of daily life in the Oak, even finding humor in people and situations that Knife found merely exasperating. Before long it was all she could do not to smile at Mallow’s blustering or Bluebell’s fussy ways, just imagining how funny Paul would think them.
Meanwhile Paul himself seemed to be growing healthier, and taking more interest in the world around him. He had even pulled out his box of art supplies and begun painting. His days were mostly spent on schoolwork, and mealtimes with his parents; but the evenings he kept for art-and Knife.
She had never felt so content, and yet deep down she knew that this happiness could never last. More than once when leaving the Oak at night she had the crawling sensation of being watched, and she knew that if she kept on seeing Paul this way, it would only be a matter of time before she was caught.
The wisest thing would be to stop visiting the House, at least for a while. She had managed by herself before; surely she could do so again. But staying away from Paul proved harder than she had expected. Her research into the Oakenfolk’s past had come to a standstill; there was no sign of Old Wormwood and little else worth hunting; and Mallow’s latest amusement was to ruin Knife’s meals whenever she could, giving her the stalest knobs of bread and lacing her stew with bits of bone and gristle. Knife tried to take all these frustrations calmly, but it was not long before she felt she would burst if she didn’t talk to someone -so she went winging off to Paul again.
Soon the last ragged leaves of autumn fell, and the Oakenwyld lay dank and lifeless beneath the shrouded sky. Knife was coming back from a successful hunt, her pack heavy with meat, when a cry rang out from the roots of the Oak: “Knife! Come inside! Hurry!”
“What is it?” asked Knife. She dropped her pack in front of the root-sheltered door and peered into the darkness, but could not see who had spoken. Knife knocked the mud off her boots and ducked in, only to be swept up in an unexpected tide of Oakenfolk rushing through the corridor.
“What’s going on?” she shouted to the faery beside her, who turned out to be a rather red-faced Dandelion.
“Linden’s egg is hatching,” came the breathless reply.
“Oh,” said Knife.
The heat in the Hatching Room was oppressive, and Knife slipped off her cloak, careful not to let it brush the lighted brazier behind her. Of course, if everyone didn’t stop pushing her back in their eagerness to see the egg, she’d end up burning herself anyway. She turned out her elbows and shoved until she had bought herself some more space. Now if only the lot of them would stop squeaking and chattering like so many squirrels Amaryllis, draped in crimson and crowned with holly, stepped to the head of the room and lifted one hand for silence. Immediately the clamor ceased, and the only sound was the shuffling of restless feet.
“We have gathered here,” the Queen’s clear voice rang out, “to witness a miracle, the beginning of a new life. Now let us watch and wonder, for behold”-she flung out one arm toward the table, light scattering from her fingertips and splashing against the egg-“the moment has come!”
The egg quivered, and scarlet streaks swam and writhed across its surface. All the Oakenfolk held their breath as the shell began to dissolve in a hissing shower of sparks. A shout went up from the crowd as a curly head appeared. White, dimpled arms emerged, hands clasped beneath the lowered chin; two plump legs shone through the swirling light, and the child fell wailing onto the cushions as the last of the eggshell sparkled into dust.
“Her name is Linden,” announced Amaryllis, “in honor of the one who went before her.”
“Her name is Linden,” echoed the Oakenfolk.
“Every child must be Mothered,” the Queen continued, her gaze sweeping the crowd. “This is a task that requires courage, determination, and tireless vigilance. It is a work of paramount importance to our survival, and cannot be taken lightly…”
She went on for some time in this manner, indifferent to the child’s piercing cries, while Knife shifted her weight from one foot to the other and tried not to yawn. Why did the Queen have to choose this time to make a speech? Especially when it was so hot. Great Gardener, you could roast nuts in here…
“Knife.”
“What?” she said automatically, before she realized who had spoken.
“Step forward,” said Queen Amaryllis, a dangerous edge in her voice. “Now.”
All the Oakenfolk were staring at her. Wondering what she had missed, Knife began to walk slowly toward the Queen as the crowd parted with disapproving murmurs to let her pass.
Amaryllis strode to the table and swept up the naked, squirming Linden. Then she turned and thrust her into Knife’s arms.
“By the Oak and by the Great Gardener, I charge you,” she said. “Take this child, for you are now her Mother.”
Thirteen
Knife stared down at the wriggling, red-faced baby. “What?” she said. Then the full meaning of the Queen’s words sank in, and panic swarmed through her. “I can’t!”
The Oakenfolk’s whispers turned into gasps. “Refuse the Queen?”
“Treason,” said Mallow in a satisfied voice, and Knife rounded on her. “You! If you had something to do with this, I swear I’ll-”
“Silence!” snapped the Queen. She stalked back to the head of the chamber, then turned to glare at Knife. “You will accept this task,” she said, “for it is sacred, and cannot be refused. But do not think that I am relieving you of your position as Queen’s Hunter. That duty will also remain yours-unless you prove unable to fulfill it.”
Knife knew she ought to be relieved: Even a little freedom was better than none. But it would be impossible to hunt and carry Linden at the same time-how was she to manage? Trying to keep her voice steady, she said, “Your Majesty, may I speak with you in private?”
“You may,” said Amaryllis. She turned to the crowd. “You are dismissed.”
Muttering, the Oakenfolk filed out, while Knife whipped one of the moleskins off the table and bundled the shrilling baby up in it. “I don’t understand,” she said to Amaryllis when the room was empty. “Why this? Why me?”
“Because,” said the Queen coolly, “it has become clear to me that your present responsibilities are not enough to occupy you. And since you appear to have an interest in helpless things…” She turned to leave.
“But I can’t,” protested Knife. “How can I hunt and look after a child at the same time? And you need me to hunt even more than you need…this.” She looked down at Linden, who had stopped crying and begun sucking noisily on her shoulder.
“You have always proven yourself resourceful at getting what you want, Knife,” said Amaryllis. “If you wish to continue as my Hunter, I am sure that you will find a way. And if you find yourself with no time for any of your… other interests, then you have only your own folly to blame.” And with that, she swept out.
Knife closed her eyes, feeling sick. So that was the answer: She had been found out, and the Queen was punishing her for it. What was she going to do?
Numbly she pulled another moleskin off the table and wrapped it around her new foster daughter. Then with dragging feet she left the Hatching Room, and began the long climb up the Spiral Stair.
