her way between the tables and hurried out into the corridor, heading for the Spiral Stair.
Later, her formal skirt traded for breeches and her hands clasped around a steaming mug of chamomile tea, Knife sat beside her bedroom window and gazed at the distant House. From here she could see the humans only as shadows. But as she watched, two of those dark shapes rose and moved about, while the third never stirred from his chair.
“Merry Midwinter, Paul McCormick,” she murmured.
Their gathering looked so peaceful, just father and mother and son. Now and then Paul gestured as though he was talking, and the familiarity of the motion made her ache; she wished she could be there to hear him and share his company.
“Why?” she demanded of the silence. “Why do we have to be so ignorant and petty and-and selfish? Why can’t we be more like them?” She set her mug down with a thump.
“Like whom?” said a familiar voice.
Knife froze. Behind her the door clicked shut, and measured footsteps approached. “You left the door open,” said her visitor. “And you were shouting.”
Knife spun around. “Thorn, what are you doing here?”
“The Queen sent me.”
“Why?”
“Another why. You’re full of them, aren’t you?”
Knife stared into the older faery’s face, trying to read the expressionless features.
“As it happens,” said Thorn, “Her Majesty asks that you return to the Feast as soon as you are able, because she has need of you.”
“Oh,” said Knife, and there was a long pause.
“So,” Thorn said, “you’re asking questions.”
“No harm in that, surely?” Knife tried to keep her voice light, but she did not like the look in Thorn’s eye.
“Well,” Thorn said, “it depends on the questions, doesn’t it?”
Several heartbeats passed while the two faeries eyed each other. Then Thorn threw up her hands and said, “I can’t stand all this dancing around the toadstool. Listen, midge-wit-you’re not the only one who wonders what’s wrong with us. I’ve been wondering for years. But as for whether the humans are better off than we are, you’d know more about that than anyone, wouldn’t you?”
Knife ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth, unsure of whether it still worked. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, stop pretending you don’t know,” said Thorn crossly. She walked to the far side of the room and plopped onto a chair. “The Queen summoned me a few days after you got back from your ordeal in the woods ”-she gave the words a sarcastic twist-“and told me she’d noticed you sneaking out of the Oak at night. She asked me to keep an eye on you, find out what you were up to.”
“And did you?”
Thorn rolled her eyes. “Well, since you’d been stupid enough to let her see you in the first place, I couldn’t very well say no, could I?”
Knife’s lips flattened. “So,” she said. “That’s why she punished me by making me Linden’s Mother-because of what you told her.”
“I could have told her a lot more!” snapped Thorn. “Yes, I told her I’d seen you hanging about the House, gawking in the windows. What I didn’t tell her was that I’d seen you go inside it, and that a while later I’d seen a human open the window and let you out again.”
Knife’s heart stuttered; she backed over to the sofa and sank down onto it, no longer trusting her legs to hold her up. “What do you want from me?” she said. “If you want me to bargain for your silence-”
Thorn snorted. “You think I’m going to report you unless you pay me off? I’ve already got more furs and skins than I can use in a lifetime.” Her face sobered. “No, there’s only one thing I need from you-and I don’t think you’ll refuse, once you know what I’ve got to offer in return.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“Heather’s next two diaries.”
Knife’s breath clotted in her throat. Her unknown benefactor, so mysteriously aware of her interest in humans and her desire to learn more about the Oakenfolk’s past- Thorn?
“I thought you’d be interested,” said Thorn with satisfaction. “Wink wasn’t sure at first, but-”
“Wink?” Knife exclaimed, feeling as though her head were about to burst like a seed pod. “Wink knows about all this?”
“Of course she does. She started it.”
“Wink?”
“The little redheaded one with the attention span of a gnat? That would be Wink, yes.” Thorn propped her feet up on the stool, clearly enjoying herself. “She found Heather’s diaries hidden in the bottom of a sewing chest that old Bryony, your egg-mother, had given her. It took her a while to get around to reading the first one, but as soon as she did, she knew she’d found something important. So she came to me.”
“When was this?” said Knife.
“Oh, a few years ago.” Thorn crossed one leg over the other and leaned back. “Anyway, reading that first diary turned us both upside down, let me tell you. Wink wanted to go to the Queen with it and I convinced her to wait until we’d found out more. But the second diary was in a human place where neither of us could go, and we couldn’t figure out how to open the third one. So we ended up just sitting about like a pair of broody pigeons, wondering if we’d ever find someone brave or mad enough to help us out.”
“And all this time you’ve been waiting…for me?” said Knife.
“Not exactly. We knew you were brave-or mad-but after all I’d done to put you off humans myself, it didn’t seem likely you’d be interested in helping us. Once you started flashing around that metal knife of yours, though, and I realized you must have gone right into the House to get it-well, I know a ripe berry when I see one.”
“So…why didn’t you come to me then?” asked Knife, her head swimming with all this new information.
“I wanted to, but Wink thought it was too soon. She had some silly notion about how it ought to be your choice to get involved, not ours. So I had to wait, and I don’t mind telling you I nearly chewed my leg off with impatience. But when that young human arrived with his fancy chair, and I heard the Gardeners wittering about how you’d walked right up to him and weren’t afraid…well, even Wink had to agree you were ready.”
It was finally starting to make sense, thought Knife. Thorn’s short-tempered reaction when the other faeries complained about humans, the way Heather’s diary had turned up at her door only a few hours after she’d met Paul in the garden…
“Wait,” Knife said, sitting up. “When I came back to the Oak, after I’d been gone those two days…you convinced Tansy she was wrong about seeing me fall close to the House, and then you told me to take a bath.”
“You reeked of human,” said Thorn. “I was pretty sure nobody else would recognize the scent, but I thought it best not to take chances.”
“So you knew, even then…”
“Well, I knew you’d been in the House, of course. But it wasn’t until I saw you go back there that I realized you hadn’t just been a prisoner-that you and that young one had struck some kind of bargain.” Thorn tipped her head to one side, regarding her shrewdly. “What is all that about, anyway? Do you owe him, or does he owe you?”
“I’m not sure I know anymore,” said Knife tiredly. “Does it matter?”
“It might,” said Thorn. She picked up Knife’s abandoned mug and sniffed at it. “I wouldn’t say no to a cup myself, you know. I hear it’s called being hospitable.”
Knife rose and put the kettle on. She was glad to have Thorn on her side, but she wished the other faery would not keep talking about Paul; every reminder of him smarted like a nettle sting. “Where is this second diary you couldn’t get to, then?” she asked, to change the subject. “You said it was in a human place.”
“That’s right. Heather wrote her second diary while she was still Outside, and that’s where she left it.” Thorn glanced at the door, then lowered her voice and said, “We need you to get it back.”
“But if you have the third one-”
“We do, but it’s spell-bound, so it won’t open without a password. Whatever’s in there has to be either very
