magic can only reach so far-why do you think she spends so much time in her library, going over her books again and again? She’s trying to find some clue to tell her where the rest of our people might be, the ones who still have all their magic.”
“So that we can bargain with them to help us get ours back,” said Knife, as comprehension dawned. Now she understood why Wink and Thorn trusted the Queen: In their minds, how could Amaryllis be responsible for the Sundering when she’d been working so hard to undo it?
Wink nodded. “But it’s been terribly hard on her. I overheard Bluebell telling Valerian that the Queen spends all day and half the night studying, and that she’ll never live to see three hundred and fifty at this rate. She sounded so worried-and she sees Her Majesty more than anyone, so she should know.”
“I know what you’re going to say,” said Thorn before Knife could speak. “You think the Queen might have had something to do with the Sundering, and now she’s just trying to make amends. But before you say anything against her, you should have a look at this.” She pulled a roll of parchment from her sleeve and held it out to Knife.
“What is this?” Knife asked as she took it.
“Just read,” said Thorn shortly.
Gingerly Knife unrolled the note and laid it across her knee. In spidery, faded handwriting, it read: For years now I have lived in forgetfulness and confusion, my mind wandering from one moment to another; like so many of my sisters, I have often counted myself grateful to remember my own true name. But the Silence in its cruelty has brought my lost youth back to me, and as my death approaches, I remember everything. I remember a time when magic sang through my veins, when my mind was whole and my hands shaped things that were beautiful and new. I remember what it was to have purpose, to know that my existence was not in vain; I remember art, and friendship, and laughter-all the things that make a life worth living. But those things are lost to us now, perhaps forever, and the Oak I once loved has become less a home than a prison. I surrender my body to the cold in a last act of service to my people, for if I delay any longer the Silence will consume me, and I will have nothing left of myself to give. May the Great Gardener have mercy upon my egg-daughter, if she survives; may she be blessed with the courage I lack, and free our people from their chains. To Wink, faithful apprentice and child of my heart, I give my love; to Queen Amaryllis, who has done all she could to help us, my respects; and to the rest of our people, who may never know what they have lost, my everlasting pity. Farewell.
The letters grew shakier and shakier as the letter went on, and finally ended in an almost illegible scrawl. Still, Knife was just able to make out the signature: Bryony.
“My egg-mother,” she whispered in disbelief. “She took her own life, to give me mine. And all this time, I thought…”
“That she was a silly old woman who’d lost her wits and blundered out into the cold by accident?” said Thorn. “That’s what I thought, too, when Wink came to tell me she’d gone missing. It was a foul night, too, I don’t mind telling you-I’d nearly given up when I tripped over the egg with you in it. And then when I picked it up, I found this letter underneath.”
“That’s really how it started,” said Wink. “Thorn and me wondering what had gone wrong with us, I mean. Because I was there when she got back with your egg, and I saw the letter, too, and, well-”
… Queen Amaryllis, Bryony’s words repeated in Knife’s mind, has done all she could to help us…
“I understand,” said Knife quietly.
Over the next few weeks the snow came and went, but the cold remained, and the earth lay lifeless beneath a shroud of dead grass. Prey became scarce, and hunting a dismal chore. Late one morning Knife was crouched at the foot of the humans’ bird feeder, blowing on cold fingers and hoping for a sparrow to come by, when she heard the low growl of an approaching car.
At first she paid it little mind: A thick tangle of hedge stood between her and the road, and these metal wagons always moved too quickly for their drivers to notice her, in any case. But when the car slowed in front of the House and began to turn into the drive, she realized that this one was about to become a dangerous exception.
Pulling up the hood of her jacket, she crouched down and flattened her wings against her back, trying to look as much like a bird as possible. The car rumbled to a stop a few crow-lengths away, and when its doors opened, she was startled to see a stranger unfold himself from the passenger seat and reveal Paul sitting behind the wheel.
“Good driving,” the man called as he rounded the car and pulled Paul’s wheelchair out of the backseat. “A bit more practice with those hand controls, and you’ll be ready for the motorway.”
Knife caught her breath. For weeks now she had agonized over the map Thorn had given her, wondering how she could possibly get from the Oak to the place where Heather’s diary was hidden. But if Paul was learning how to drive…
I have to talk to him, thought Knife, watching Paul as he hauled himself into the chair and began wheeling toward the House. Seeing him after so long apart, she felt a desperate urge to fly to him at once; but the strange man stood in her way, and she dared not move.
“I’ll manage the chair from now on, thanks,” Paul said to the man. “See you next week.”
“Right then,” the stranger replied, hopped into the car, and drove away. As soon as he was gone, Knife leaped up and flew after Paul. If she could catch him before he reached the House “Wait!” she called, but Paul did not hear her. With a vigorous push he cleared the threshold, and Knife could only watch helplessly as the door swung shut in her face.
When Knife returned to the Oak she was cold, windblown, and empty-handed. She wrapped a rabbit-wool blanket about her shoulders and sat on the sofa shivering until Wink thrust a cup of hot chicory into her hands.
“I don’t know what to do,” Knife mumbled.
“Oh, I shouldn’t worry,” said Wink absently, tickling Linden with a strand of her hair until the baby chuckled. “We’re not starving yet, and you can always hunt again tomorrow.”
Knife was tempted to correct her, but then she realized that she might be better to let the misunderstanding pass. If Wink did not know that Knife planned to see Paul again, then she would not be blamed even if Knife were caught.
And yet, was it really fair not to tell her?
Knife sipped the chicory until its hot bitterness revived her, then set the mug down and held out her hands for Linden. “I’ll take her now,” she said, but Wink’s face was averted, and she did not respond.
“What is it?” Knife asked.
Wink lowered her head, her cheeks coloring. “It’s just…I know it can’t be very nice being a Hunter, and I really wouldn’t want to do it myself. But you can go out whenever you like, and even if it’s cold and miserable you at least get to see and do new things every day, and, well…” She picked a loose thread from Linden’s smock and rolled it distractedly between her fingers. “I’ve spent my whole life in this room sewing the same patterns over and over, and sometimes I envy you, just a little.”
Knife watched her for a moment in silence. Then she set down her cup and rose to fetch a stick of charcoal and a piece of paper. “What are you doing?” asked Wink, but Knife only shook her head, sat down at the table, and began to draw.
She meant to sketch some of the clothing she had seen the humans wear, much as Jasmine had done for Heather. But though she concentrated with all her might, the figure she traced was a crude one, barely recognizable as human. She was attempting to clothe it in one of Mrs. McCormick’s pleated skirts when the charcoal broke in her hand; she threw it down and crumpled up the paper in frustration.
“Knife,” Wink said in a hushed tone, “was that really…a picture? But where did you learn-”
“From Paul,” said Knife, too miserable to guard her tongue anymore. “But I haven’t talked to him in so long, and I’m starting to forget everything he taught me.” She slumped forward. “I miss him, Wink.”
Wink untangled Linden from her curls and put the baby down hastily. “A human,” she breathed. “Thorn said you’d been to the House, but I never guessed you’d been that close.”
Knife sat up, the color easing back into her face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. If the Queen finds out that you know, we’ll both be in trouble-”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Wink quickly. “Just tell me. Tell me everything.”
When Knife had finished, Wink did not move for a long time. Then she raised her head, her face white except for two spots of color on her cheeks, and said, “You have to go back.”
