Three
“You’re making that edge too thin,” said Thorn.
Bryony scarcely heard her, all her concentration focused on chipping her new knife into shape. This was her latest of several attempts at crafting a fighting blade, but deep down she knew it would fail like all the others. The more she honed the edges, the sooner they crumbled; the sharper the point, the more readily it would snap.
“This is useless,” she said at last, throwing the flint down. “Why don’t we have any real weapons?”
“Made of metal, you mean?” asked Thorn, brushing a curl of wood from the stake she was whittling. It was raining, so there was little for either of them to do but sit in the East Root and wait for the clouds to move on. “Why should we?”
“Why shouldn’t we? There are metal things in the Oak.”
“Only what’s left over from the Days of Magic. Lanterns, bits of jewelry, a few tools. But most of that’s brass or copper, too soft for weapons. Anyway, the Queen doesn’t like too much metal around: You never know what it might be made of.”
“What do you mean?”
“Cold iron,” said Thorn impatiently, and when Bryony still looked blank she went on: “It stops magic-if it’s pure, that is. But there isn’t much iron around here anymore; these days you mostly find steel.”
“Steel,” said Bryony. “That’s iron mixed with…?”
“Gardener knows,” said Thorn. “All I know is that if I happen to bump into some, I can still fly afterward, and that’s good enough for me.”
It had never before occurred to Bryony to think of flying as magical, but now she realized that it must be. “So we still have some magic after all.”
“Well, it isn’t much use, since we can’t control it,” said Thorn. “Now and then one of us manages to cast a spell by accident-I saw Foxglove change size once, trying to get down a mouse hole. But it always wears off in an hour or two.” She gave a little snort and added, “You can’t use it to kill Old Wormwood, if that’s what you were thinking.”
Bryony pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “There has to be some metal we could use,” she said.
“Not in the Oak,” said Thorn. “Unless you’d like to march up to the House and ask the humans for it?”
Bryony’s mouth flattened as she picked up a new flint and bent once more to her work. Much as she had learned to respect Thorn, there were times when the older faery’s black humor went too far.
But then a thought struck her: Did either of them really know that humans carried the Silence? After all, Bryony herself ought to be dead by now, if getting close to a human was all it took. What if Thorn had been wrong, and the disease came from some other source? In which case going to the House for metal might not be such a bad idea after all…
I need to talk to Valerian, Bryony decided. The Healer had treated several cases of the Silence by now: If anyone knew how the illness worked, she would.
“What would you ask of me?” said Valerian. Her manner was formal but courteous, and she seemed only mildly surprised to find Bryony at her door.
“Knowledge,” said Bryony.
“And what have you to offer in return?”
“Herbs, any kind you like.” It would be easy enough to pick them the next time she and Thorn went hunting, and no doubt Valerian would appreciate not having to wait for the Gatherers to get around to it.
Valerian’s brows rose. “Agreed. I’d like chervil, if you can find some; if not, I can always use more comfrey or willow bark. Your question?”
“Is there any way to protect yourself against the Silence?”
“None that I know,” said Valerian. Then, at the look of disappointment on Bryony’s face, she added, “Why do you ask? It’s been years since Sorrel died, and you shouldn’t be in any danger, not at your age.”
“At my age?” Bryony was startled. “You mean you have to be older?”
“Quite a bit older, I’d say. I’d hesitate to give an exact number, but so far, all the Oakenfolk I’ve seen taken by the Silence had been born well before the Sundering.” She gave a sad smile. “Even if they were too confused to remember it.”
“But they all had some contact with humans,” said Bryony. “How much does it take?”
Valerian frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s just”-Bryony hesitated, then plunged in-“now that I’m spending so much time outdoors, I’m afraid that one of these days I might end up crossing paths with a human again. So I need to know how serious-”
“What makes you think the Silence has anything to do with humans?” Valerian sounded genuinely perplexed.
“You mean it doesn’t?”
“I can’t think how it would,” said Valerian. “None of the Oakenfolk I’ve treated had ever gone near a human- at least, not in my lifetime. In fact, one of my earliest cases was so terrified of humans that she refused to open her window even in summer, for fear of seeing one. And Daisy was such a timid little thing I can’t imagine she’d ever been different, even before she lost her magic.”
Bryony sagged against the door frame, relieved. So it wasn’t true, this thing she’d grown up believing. Her instincts had been right, and Thorn was wrong.
Which meant that as long as she didn’t let the humans catch her, she could sneak right into their House to look for metal, and no one would even know…
“Are you all right?” asked Valerian. “Do you need to lie down?”
“No,” said Bryony. “I’m fine.”
Outside Bryony’s window the Oakenwyld lay shadowed, a sliver of moon barely visible in the cloud-streaked sky. Leaning on the sill, Bryony stared out across the garden, her stomach tight with anticipation.
Even if she could find some shard or snippet of metal inside the House, could she really escape with it undetected? And if the worst happened and she was caught, what might the humans do to her?
Bryony drew a deep breath and let it out. Then she climbed up onto the windowsill and dove headfirst into the darkness.
Her translucent wings snapped open, and she glided down to the surface of the lawn, bare feet almost brushing the grass. At this hour most of the Oakenfolk were in bed, but she paused and glanced back over her shoulder just in case. If anyone knew that she was out at night, alone…
But the great tree’s trunk remained dark, its windows closed. Reassured, Bryony turned and resumed her flight toward the House. As its gray bulk loomed up in her path her resolve began to falter, and for a moment she almost turned aside; then she remembered what she had come for- metal, the humans have metal -and made herself carry on.
Soon the lawn beneath her gave way to stone pavement, and she drew herself up sharply, landing just outside the House’s back entrance. A pair of doors inset with glass panes towered above her, glowing with muted light. What would she find on the other side? Summoning courage, she pressed her face to the bottom pane and peered in.
At first she could make out only dim shapes. She cupped her hands against the glass, squinting through the sheer curtains. What she saw then made her gasp, and she let her hands drop, stunned. The ugly stone House, where the human monsters lived…inside, it was beautiful.
Never in her life had she seen such magnificently crafted furniture, with its fluid curves and dark wood polished to a sheen. The Oak’s finest tapestries were crude compared to the pattern of twining leaves that covered the humans’ sofa, and no hand-knotted rug of Wink’s could rival the plush carpet that flowed across their floor. Even the walls were impossibly smooth and straight…were they really painted blue, or had it just been a trick of the light?
Wait. The light. Where did it come from? She had seen no fire, no candles, yet the whole room shone with radiance. Bryony darted back to the window, intent. Ah, there was the source: a pair of lamps set on either side of the sofa. But how could the flames inside them burn so steadily? And why did their papery shades not catch
