“I’m here,” said Knife, limping over and sitting down. “But-” She glanced back at Valerian uncertainly.
“I cannot claim to be deaf,” said Valerian, “but I can at least pledge to be discreet. Whatever you say here will remain here.” She opened her Healer’s bag and took out a roll of bandages. “Now, will you lift that injured ankle so I can bind it up while you talk?”
Still Knife hesitated, but only for a moment. Campion was surely dying anyway, and would take these secrets to her grave; and Valerian was the Oak’s only Healer, so she could not be punished too severely even if the Queen found out. Turning to Campion, Knife took the Librarian’s hand as she had done the night before and began to tell her what she had learned from Heather’s second diary.
It did not take long for Valerian to bind Knife’s ankle, and after it was done she put her Healer’s kit aside and sat down on the end of the bed, listening. As the story drew to its close, with Heather preparing to return to the Oak and give birth to her daughter there, Knife saw Valerian’s expression become troubled; but Campion simply absorbed the words, like a parched root drinking water.
“Is that…all?” she said when Knife had finished.
“No,” said Knife. “There’s a third diary-but it won’t unlock without a password, and I’ll need time to read it before I can tell you the rest of the story.”
Campion nodded, her eyelids drooping shut again. Valerian rose swiftly and laid her hand on the Librarian’s brow; then she motioned Knife to follow her to the other side of the room so that they could speak in private.
“This is remarkable,” she said, glancing back at Campion. “She should have passed into the next stage of the Silence hours ago. Yet she seems no weaker than when you first spoke to her last night, and the delirium has passed. Perhaps I am seeing only what I hope to see, but…”
“You’re not imagining it,” said Knife. “She actually gripped my hand, near the end. But what’s going to happen when there’s no more story to tell?”
Valerian was silent for a long time, looking down at her folded arms. “This Heather you spoke of,” she said at last. “The one who married the human. She was Lavender’s friend, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Then do you think perhaps…” But she had no time to finish the sentence before the door scraped open and Thorn pushed herself through, disheveled and breathless.
“I’ve got it,” she said, waving the book in her hand, then stopped short at the sight of Valerian. “Oh, blight.”
“Make that blessing,” said Knife, steering her toward the Healer. “She’ll tell you what was in the second diary while I read the third one; it’ll be quicker that way.”
“Are you cracked?” demanded Thorn. “Bringing her into this, when we don’t know we can trust her?” But Knife had already pulled the diary from her hand and raised it to her lips.
“Philip,” she whispered to it, and it opened. I have missed the Oak, and part of me is glad to return; yet I long for my husband and my little James, and even these few days without them seem like an eternity. I could not bear to think of leaving my daughter here, were it not for the hope of seeing her again one day, and if not for my confidence that dear Lavender will care for her more tenderly than any human nurse-indeed, perhaps more so than I could do myself. Yet it has troubled me to find the Oak so altered from when I left it. Snowdrop is dead, and Jasmine has become Queen in her place; my sisters seem content enough to accept the change, but my heart is filled with foreboding. Jasmine-though I suppose I must say Her Majesty, now-welcomed me and received my report with all courtesy, and yet the coolness of her gaze made me shiver. If I had not pledged long ago to put the needs of the Oak above my own, I should gladly have returned to Waverley Hall at once; but I have sacrificed much to come this far, and I dare not leave before my daughter is born. Lavender has done much to reassure me about Jasmine, saying that she rules the Oak justly and well, and that I am wrong to fear her. Still, I think that I shall set a password upon this diary, just in case…
“What?” yelped Thorn from the other side of the room, where Valerian was explaining what Knife had found in the second diary. “The bit about Heather marrying a human was bad enough, but now you expect me to believe she had a baby, too?”
“You should believe her, if you believe anyone,” interrupted Knife, putting her book down. “She’s Heather and Philip’s daughter.”
Valerian turned sharply. “It’s true, then? I was right?”
“I’m sure of it,” said Knife.
“But that’s ridiculous,” Thorn objected. “All right, we had magic back then and we weren’t frightened of the humans, but why go to all this trouble and nonsense to have children with them? There were still plenty of Oakenfolk alive in Heather’s day without having to make more, and if it weren’t for the Sundering and then the Silence, there still would be. Why fuss about with humans when you can make a perfectly good egg on your own?”
Knife and Valerian exchanged glances. “I cannot tell you that,” the Healer said at last, “and clearly Knife is not yet sure of the answer herself. But I am not certain that leaving eggs behind when we die is as natural to us faeries as you think. In fact, since no other creatures do likewise, one might well call our method of doing things… un natural.”
“Speaking of strange things,” said Knife, waving the diary in her hand, “did either of you know about Jasmine becoming Queen, when Snowdrop died? I knew I’d heard her name somewhere before, but I’d thought the throne passed straight from Snowdrop to Amaryllis.”
“I…know,” said Campion’s weak voice from the bed, and they all turned to look at her. She gave a thin smile and went on, “Finally…reading all that history…worth something.”
“What can you tell us?” asked Knife.
“Can’t prove it, but…now I know more about Jasmine, I think…maybe Snowdrop’s death wasn’t…an accident.”
“But the South Root tunnel collapsed on top of her,” said Valerian. “I read of it in the death records-three other faeries perished the same way. What else could it be?”
“You’re forgetting,” said Thorn, with sudden grimness. “Our people had magic then. All of them.”
Campion nodded. “By then…Jasmine had…already made herself popular at Court,” she said. “She was…next in line…for the throne. And she was there…when the roof fell in.”
“But there must have been witnesses,” Knife said. “If she’d used magic, they would have noticed-”
“No,” said Campion. “Kitchen workers…heard a rumble, went to see what was going on…found Jasmine scrabbling in the dirt…trying to get to the Queen.”
“As any loyal subject would do,” said Valerian.
“Or any murderer who wanted to look like a loyal subject,” retorted Thorn. “I know it’s a thin twig for such a heavy acorn. But my gut tells me Campion’s right.”
“So does mine,” admitted Knife. “But if it’s true that Jasmine murdered Snowdrop-what does that say about Amaryllis? Surely, if Jasmine was that powerful and that determined, she’d never have given up the throne except by force?”
The faeries all looked at one another, but no one spoke.
“Let me finish this diary,” said Knife, sitting down by Campion’s bedside and opening it up again. “Then maybe we’ll know.” My time is near now, I can feel it; I am glad that Lavender has prepared herself to attend me, so that I shall not have to labor alone. Such a dear and faithful friend-whatever should I do without her?
The next entry read: The ordeal is past, and my daughter safely born. I wish that Philip could see her, with her gray eyes so like his. She is perfect, a faery to make the Oak proud: I have nursed her and laid her down to sleep, but I find it hard not to steal glances at her even as I write. Already it breaks my heart to think of leaving her, and I cannot help wishing that there were another way…
But Heather’s delight in her new daughter was soon shadowed by uneasiness as she learned more about the situation in the Oak. It disturbed her particularly to learn that she was not the only one who had lately returned from Outside; apparently Queen Jasmine had sent word that all the Oakenfolk must attend her to swear fealty, and three other faeries had already left their missions in order to do so.
Why this made Heather so anxious, Knife was not sure, but it was not long before she found out. Only two entries later the Oak’s uneasy peace was shattered forever. I can scarcely write these words for weeping, and the pain within me is so great that I fear my heart must burst rather than contain it. Jasmine-I will not call her Queen now, for she is no liege of mine-has betrayed us all. Great Gardener, have mercy upon us!
