“I’ll go to bed soon. Thank-I mean, I appreciate the tea.”
Polite as Paul’s voice had been, Mrs. McCormick seemed to understand that she was being dismissed. She heaved a little sigh and plodded out, shutting the door behind her.
Knife stepped out from her hiding place. She opened her mouth, but Paul cut her off:
“The broken cup. Was that you?”
Knife winced. “Yes.”
“An accident?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. Why were you in the kitchen?”
“I came to-” she began, and then her eyes welled up. It was a struggle to continue, and when she did, every word felt as though it were clawing its way out of her throat: “The milk, in your cup-it was poisoned. The Queen-my Queen-told me to kill you-but I couldn’t-”
“Knife.” He reached out and cupped his hand around her, thumb and forefinger warming her shoulders like an embrace. She leaned back against his palm, breathing the scent of his skin, and felt a strange quietness come over her.
“I couldn’t do it,” she said, when she could speak. “Amaryllis says that without me you’ll die of despair, like Alfred Wrenfield and Philip Waverley did. But maybe there’s still hope, if-”
“Wait,” said Paul. “Why would your Queen order you to kill me if she thinks I’m going to die anyway?”
Knife could not bear to look at him anymore. She pushed his hand until it dropped away, and walked over to the window. “Because she said that unless you died…I’d die, too.”
Paul was silent.
“I’ve ruined everything,” Knife burst out, burying her face in the curtain. “I’ve ruined your life, I’ve ruined mine-I wish I’d never been born!”
“No!” The word exploded out of him, startling her. “Listen to me, Knife. It wasn’t that long ago that I wanted to kill myself. Would have, if not for you. And though I won’t pretend I haven’t been tempted to try again, especially when I drive past the river and I see them out there, rowing-” He stopped and cleared his throat. “But anyway, I haven’t tried, and I don’t plan to. I’ve chosen to live, Knife…but I could never have made that choice, if not for you.”
“Paul-”
“And now you’ve saved my life a second time, when you had every reason to take it. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me, after the way I-what I did this morning. I was being stupid, telling myself it wouldn’t matter if I kissed you, that you were a faery and couldn’t have those kinds of feelings anyway. No wonder you were so upset, especially after what you’d just read about Heather and-”
“Don’t,” Knife said hastily. “It’s all right, you don’t have to explain.”
“I want to.” He shifted his chair closer to the window. “What I mean to say is, I understand why you’d be tempted to kill me, especially if you thought I was already doomed. So I don’t blame you for almost going through with it. In fact-Knife, look at me.”
Reluctantly she lifted her eyes to his, and he went on: “I want you to understand this as though I were one of your own people. Because that’s what it means to me.” He drew a deep breath. “ Thank you. Thank you for your friendship. Thank you for my life.”
There could be no doubting the force of those words, or the conviction in his blue eyes as he spoke them. Knife let go of the curtain and sank to the windowsill, overwhelmed.
“Don’t go back to the Oak,” she heard Paul say, his voice strange and distant in her ears. “Stay here, where your Queen can’t touch you.”
Miserably she shook her head. “I can’t. My people-my friends-they need my help. And you-you have thanked me. How could I stay with you, now that-”
“I know,” said Paul, sounding resigned. “You think I expect you to feel about me the way that Heather did about Philip Waverley. But I don’t, Knife. I know that could never happen, even if-” He broke off, his gaze dropping to his crippled legs. “Well, never mind that. What I mean is, you don’t have to worry that I’ll make things awkward for you if you stay. I only meant to thank you as-as a friend.”
“Oh, Paul,” said Knife in a voice that was half wail, “don’t you understand? I’m not afraid because I don’t love you. I’m afraid because-” She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “Because I do.”
For a moment Paul went absolutely still; then he shook his head. “I told you,” he said, “I don’t want your pity.”
Knife’s fist slammed down on the window frame. “And I’m not trying to give it to you! What kind of stubborn-” She broke off in frustration as Paul pivoted the chair and began pushing himself away. How could she make him believe her?
Then her eyes fell upon Heather’s second diary, sitting quietly on the bedside table, and she knew. With one word I have surrendered to Philip the greatest treasure I shall ever own, and yet my heart is content; for I know my secret shall always be safe in his keeping, and that it has comforted him as nothing else could do. And now, wherever he or I may go, part of me will always be with him.
Knife snapped out her wings and leaped into the air, gliding across to Paul’s shoulder. She sat down with one foot braced against his collarbone and slid her arm as far as it would go around his neck; then she whispered into his ear, “Paul McCormick. My name-my true name-is Perianth.”
Twenty-two
Paul did not reply, but Knife could feel his pulse quicken, see his throat move as he swallowed. She launched herself off his shoulder and lighted on his knee, looking up into his face.
“Now do you believe me?” she said.
Paul squeezed his eyes shut, his fists clenching on the arms of the chair. “I want to hold you,” he said. “But I can’t. You’re-”
“Too small. I know.” She curled her own fingers against her palm, resisting the urge to run to him, to be caught up in his hand and cradled to his heart. “And now that I’ve used up what little magic I had, I always will be. Which is why I have to leave you now…and why I can’t come back.”
“Then why did you give me your name? I could order you not to go. I could call you from anywhere, and you’d have to come, no matter what your Queen or anyone said-”
“But you won’t,” said Knife. She reached up and laid her small hand on his. “That’s why.”
Paul’s defiance melted, and he slumped in his chair. “There has to be another way,” he said. “It can’t just… end, not like this.”
Knife watched him with aching heart, unable to speak. What could she say to comfort him, when they both knew the situation was impossible?
“You made yourself human before,” Paul persisted.
“Yes, but only by accident. And you saw for yourself-it’s just a glamour, it doesn’t last.”
“I know.” He leaned forward urgently. “But if you could become really human, and stay that way…would you?”
Become human. The thought was both tempting and terrifying. To be with Paul always-it was what she longed for. And yet to do so, she would have to leave behind the only home she had ever known, and begin a new life in a world she barely understood; she would be vulnerable, dependent, uncertain-all the things she hated.
And worst of all, she would never fly again.
Knife shifted restlessly. “Yes. No. I don’t know… But why are you even asking me? What good is it talking about something that can never happen?”
“Because,” said Paul, “I’m thinking that maybe, if we could strike the right bargain…it could.”
“You mean-ask the Queen to change me?”
Paul nodded.
I transformed her into a human, said Amaryllis’s voice in her memory, and banished her from the Oak forever… He was right, Knife realized with a tingling chill. If the Queen had been able to cast such a spell once, she
