Knife groaned and pulled the pillow over her head as Linden woke for the third time that night, her sleepy whimpers rising rapidly into a full-throated scream. The first time Linden had been wet, and after Knife had changed her it took a small eternity of bouncing and rocking to get her back to sleep. The next she had been thirsty, and spent a long time sucking at her bottle while Knife stared bleary-eyed into the darkness. Knife had only just got her settled, and here she was up again-what now?
Knife stumbled out of bed and over to the cushions where Linden lay, screeching as though she’d fallen into a nest of hornets. “Shush,” she mumbled, picking up the child and rocking her back and forth. “None of that.” A brief check confirmed that the diaper was still dry, and an offer of the bottle met with head-turning refusal. Knife began to walk about the room in circles, bouncing the baby as she went, but Linden’s screams never abated.
Minute after minute crept by, while Knife rocked and swayed and made shushing noises until her throat was sore, but to no avail. She wiped her brow with her forearm. This was torture. She wasn’t meant for this. She’d never get it right, never, and she felt hopeless and angry and frustrated nearly to the point of tears, and still the baby wouldn’t stop Knife snatched up a blanket and threw it over her shoulder, muffling Linden’s cries. Then, still clutching the baby, she flung herself out the door and down two flights of the Spiral Stair. Racing around the landing, she hammered at one of the doors until it creaked open and a tousled red head poked out.
“What?” said Wink, in a voice thick with sleep.
“Please,” Knife panted. “I’ve got plenty of furs and skins, you can have your pick, or I’ll give you anything else you want. But you have to help me. She won’t stop, she just keeps crying, I don’t know what’s wrong, I don’t know how to make her-”
Without another word Wink held out her arms, and Knife thrust the struggling, howling Linden into them. The instant the baby was out of her grasp she felt as though a colossal weight had been lifted, and she sagged against the door frame in relief.
“Oh, the poor little thing, she’s in pain,” said Wink, unwrapping the child. “Did you check her diaper? There could be a pin sticking into her.”
“I looked,” said Knife wearily. “I couldn’t see anything.”
Wink lifted the baby to her shoulder. “Then it’s probably just gas in her stomach. You had it when you first hatched, too. Never mind, I’ll look after her. You go and sleep.”
Knife stared. “You-are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” said Wink with unusual firmness. “You’re in no shape to deal with this: You look like you’ve spent the night with a badger. Off to bed, and don’t come back until morning. Late morning. We’ll talk more then. Good night.” She gave Knife a light push back into the corridor.
“Wait,” said Knife, “don’t you want to barg-”
The door slammed in her face.
Back in her own room, Knife shut the door and leaned back against it. She slid downward and landed on the mat with a thump, dropping her forehead against her knees. She had feared it, but now she was certain: Her friendship with Paul McCormick was over. It would be years before Linden no longer needed her constant attention, and by then Paul would have forgotten all about her. The Queen had done her work well.
An icy dampness crawled around the edges of the shutters and crept across the floor. Stiffly Knife rose and walked to her cot, dragging the smoldering brazier a little closer to the bed. The straw mattress crunched when she sat down, and Knife’s eyes stung as she thought of the sketches tucked away so carefully beneath it-worthless now, because Paul would never see them. And all her notes on Heather’s diary, too-what use were they, except to remind her that her quest to learn the truth about the Oakenfolk’s past had failed?
In a burst of angry misery Knife flipped the mattress aside, snatched up the papers, and threw them on the brazier. The coals smoked, then shot out crackling tongues of flame, licking the pages to red-gold tatters before swallowing them whole. When nothing was left but a drift of blackened ash, Knife dragged the mattress back into place and lay down, hugging the furs about her and shivering until she finally fell asleep.
But even without the baby’s cries to wake her, Knife could find no rest. In her dreams Paul McCormick sank deeper and deeper into the black water, hands outstretched in mute desperation, while she stood on the bank holding Linden and pretending not to see him. After he drowned, she walked back to the Oak and found nothing but a blackened stump and a sky full of circling crows.
“I told you to sleep in,” Wink chided when she found Knife at her door early the next morning. “Don’t you listen to anyone?”
Knife ignored the rebuke, slipping past her and looking around the room. The hanging lamp was lit, washing the room in yellow light, but she could not see the baby anywhere.
“Here,” said Wink, pointing beneath her sewing table. There in a cradle of branches and woven grass lay Linden, eyes closed and small mouth blissfully slack. “She’s been asleep for…oh, about five hours.”
Knife stared. “How did you…”
“I wrapped her up tight, then I rocked her and hummed in her ear, and off she went. Poor little thing, I think she was just overwhelmed.”
“I’ve been a fool,” said Knife weakly. “I should have come to you right away.”
“Yes,” said Wink, “you should have. Couldn’t you see me trying to catch your eye at the Hatching, and then later in the Dining Hall? I did everything short of dancing to get your attention, but you looked right past me. I know I’m not very big, but really.”
Knife flushed. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t think…”
“Well, never mind that,” said Wink. She stooped and slid the cradle out onto the floor. “You can take this with you, if you like; I can always ask Thorn to make me another one.”
“Another? Why?”
“For when Linden stays here, silly. You do want me to look after her while you hunt, don’t you?” She must have seen the flare of hope in Knife’s eyes, for she went on briskly: “Of course you do. Well, then, just bring her to me whenever you need to go out, and I’ll keep her until you come back.”
“What…would you have me give you in return?” asked Knife, forcing the words past the tightness in her throat.
“Oh, I’ll think of something,” replied the little redhead. “But don’t worry, it won’t be too much.” She looked down at the slumbering Linden and smiled. “I’ve rather missed having a baby to look after.”
Over the next few days, Knife’s confidence as a Mother rose. Linden slept longer between feedings, and fussed less afterward. With Wink’s help Knife was able to make a couple of hunting trips, and by the end of the week had supplied the kitchens with enough meat to silence even Mallow’s complaints.
Still, Knife dreaded what Amaryllis would say when she found out. Would she accuse Knife of shirking her duty, and force her to keep Linden with her all the time? Wink dismissed her worries, insisting that the Queen would never be so unfair; but after the things Amaryllis had said to her in the Hatching Room, Knife was far less certain.
Then one night her worst fears were realized when she answered a soft but persistent tapping at her door to find Queen Amaryllis standing there, demanding to see Linden at once.
“But…she’s sleeping,” said Knife. What could the Queen be doing here so late, and unattended?
“Then wake her,” said Amaryllis. “And wrap her well, for I must take her with me.”
“That’s not fair,” Knife protested. “Wink and I struck a bargain, and anyway, it’s only while I’m hunting-”
Amaryllis silenced her with a gesture. “You misunderstand me, Knife. I do not object to your arrangement with Periwinkle. And I have no intention of removing Linden from your care.”
Strange, thought Knife, that she should feel relieved. “Then…what do you want with her?”
The Queen strode to the corner, bent, and lifted Linden from the cradle. “You never cease to ask questions,” she said. “But there are times when you must learn to restrain your curiosity, Knife, and simply obey.” She pulled one of the furs from Knife’s cot and wrapped Linden up in it until only her small face was visible. “I will return her to you shortly, when I am done.” And with that she swept out, taking the baby with her.
Knife stood beside the empty cradle, listening to the Queen’s footsteps fade away. Then she stalked across the room and flung open the clothespress, reaching for her boots and cloak.
Crouched at the mouth of the secret tunnel, invisible amid the shadows of the hedge, Knife watched as the East Root door cracked open and the Queen slipped out, moving lightly as a spider. The dry grass whispered beneath her boots as she crossed the lawn and paused, glancing up at the generous moon. Then she crouched down, laid Linden upon the ground, and began to unwrap her.
