Arrow (Knife) (24 page)

‘Like Heather’s diaries!’ Wink exclaimed, and Campion added, ‘Only better.’

‘Lorecasting takes concentration,’ Rhosmari went on, ‘and unless you’ve viewed a lot of loreseeds yourself, it’s hard to know what goes into making a good one. That’s why I’ve offered to make this one for you – but I’ll need all of your help in order to do it.’

Briefly she sketched out the plan that she and Queen Valerian had agreed upon. They would all go out upon the West Knot Branch, which was the best vantage point from which to view the battle. Campion would stand with Rhosmari while she cast the loreseed, so she could learn how to do it herself. Wink, who had a special talent for invisibility, would keep them all safely hidden; and Linden would keep her eyes open for any details – or potential threats – that Rhosmari might otherwise miss.

Rhosmari explained all of this in the calm, clear voice she used with her students, but her insides writhed with every word. She knew her father would be proud of her for carrying on his legacy, but he was also the one who had taught her what death looked like, and what it meant to grieve. Could she really stand outside the Oak for hours on end, watching people she knew being hurt or even killed, and not break down or turn away? And if she could, what would that say about the kind of person she had become?

‘Lorecasting,’ Linden repeated wonderingly, as the two of them walked out of the library after the meeting. ‘I’d never heard of such a thing. Did your people invent it, or—’

‘Watch out!’ screamed a voice from the passage behind them, and the two girls jumped back as a comet of blazing light scorched past. Dazzled, Rhosmari flung up an arm to shield her eyes as the spell exploded—

A hand clamped down on her shoulder, spinning her around and shoving her back into the shadows. ‘Don’t move,’ Rob said tersely. ‘Don’t let her see you. Stay with her, Linden.’ Then he transformed himself into a fox and took off running, dodging one spell after another as he raced towards the danger.

‘He said
her
,’ whispered Linden, clutching Rhosmari’s arm. ‘It couldn’t be—?’

Several more faeries sprinted past and plunged into the corridor, Broch and Llinos among them. Shouts and cries echoed in the distance, followed by a muffled explosion and several more blinding flashes. Then, at last, silence.

Rob was the first to emerge from the smoke. He looked tired, his face streaked with dirt and his mouth a bitter line. ‘She got away,’ he said.

‘Who did?’ asked Linden, rushing to him. ‘Who was it?’

He gathered her into the circle of his arm, dropping his face against her hair. ‘Mallow. Who else?’

Rhosmari drew a sharp breath. ‘But her cell was locked and warded. Wasn’t it?’

‘It was.’ Rob straightened up, letting go of Linden with obvious reluctance. ‘Or it should have been, unless someone was careless. Where’s Garan? He was in charge of making sure the wards were maintained – he should know whose responsibility it was today.’

‘I’ll find him,’ said Rhosmari, and hurried up the Stair.

‘Garan?’

Rhosmari knocked several times upon his door, but there was no answer. She tried the handle, expecting to find it locked – but it swung wide, to reveal a tousle-haired Garan struggling to his feet. His eyelids were heavy, his expression dazed.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked, catching him as he swayed.

‘I…yes, I believe so,’ he murmured. ‘I only sat down for a moment…at least I thought I did… I must have fallen asleep.’

No harm had come to him then, just simple exhaustion. And no wonder, after all the pressure he had been under. ‘Mallow has escaped,’ she said. ‘Rob needs to know who was responsible for warding her cell today.’

‘Escaped?’ Garan stood up, instantly alert. ‘But that cannot be. Lily renewed those wards this morning; I watched her do it myself. Mallow could never have broken out of her cell, unless…’

His face drained of colour, and he clutched at his belt pouch. Rhosmari tensed, but then Garan sighed and held up the white pebble they both recognised as the Stone of Naming. ‘For a moment I feared…but it must have been a dream. What was I saying?’

‘Mallow could never have escaped alone,’ said Rhosmari. ‘You think someone helped her?’

‘I fear as much,’ said Garan. ‘Perhaps one of the kitchen workers, someone foolish enough to be bullied or bribed into letting her out. But there is no time to look into that now. I must go and tell Queen Valerian at once.’ He stepped away from her, then hesitated and turned back.

‘What is it?’ asked Rhosmari.

Garan took her hands. ‘I know how you feel about violence,’ he said in a low voice. ‘But you are one of the best archers we have. If you could think of yourself as fighting to save lives, and not of killing…I would be honoured to have you in my company.’

He had his mother’s eyes, and Rhosmari felt a lump rise in her throat as she remembered how Lady Arianllys had wept when they parted. Garan had left his family and his homeland behind to fight the Empress, and now he would never see either of them again.

But if Rhosmari did as he asked, she would never be able to return to the Green Isles either. ‘I can’t,’ she replied softly. ‘I’m sorry.’

Garan nodded, resigned. Rubbing his temples, he walked towards the door.

‘Garan,’ said Rhosmari. ‘Are you sure you’re well?’

‘Well enough,’ he replied in a distracted tone, and vanished.

After hearing of Mallow’s escape, Queen Valerian sent out a search party, but they returned empty-handed. Finally Thorn, Rob and Garan dismissed all the faeries to their rooms and ordered them to rest until nightfall.

Rhosmari went back to her old room and lay down, but she could not sleep. Her mind churned with worries and unanswered questions. Why had Mallow fought so hard to escape? What was her plan? Had she struck out on her own, or had she gone over to the Empress?

And why was it so hot? Rhosmari shifted restlessly on the crunching mattress, flinging the covers away from her. A breeze stirred the curtain at her window, but its coolness barely touched the stagnant air inside. She longed for the sea winds that freshened the Green Isles.

But that was not all she longed for. She missed the smells of sand and seaweed, the slap of waves upon rock, the distant cries of kittiwakes and gannets. She wondered what Lord Gwylan was doing now that he was no longer among the Elders, and if Lady Arianllys had seen any more visions, and whether Fioled would still get to visit the mainland. She wished she could have said goodbye to her students before she left.

She missed her mother.

Until now Rhosmari had not allowed herself the luxury of weeping for her homeland. She had been afraid that if she started she might never stop. Once her initial shock and anger at being trapped in the Oak had passed, she had forced herself to accept her fate, and reject the temptation to run away. Even though a treacherous little part of her whispered that it might be worth giving herself up to the Empress, just to see the Green Isles again…

And now the tears came, soaking hot into her pillow. Despite all Rhosmari’s efforts to make herself a part of the Oak, it was not her home, and these were not her people. Even Garan had become a stranger to her; he was occupied with other things. And the last person who had taken her in his arms and comforted her was Martin.

Yet just as her grief threatened to overwhelm her, Rhosmari was distracted by the sound of music. The shivering notes of plucked strings, lifted and borne to her on the wind from somewhere not close, but not very far away.

She sat up, wiping her eyes on the sheet. Was that Rob playing? But though she knew he was a skilled musician, he had not touched an instrument in all the time she had known him. In fact, she had seen no musical instruments anywhere in the Oak.

Rhosmari slipped off the bed and went to the window. It was hard to see with so many branches in the way, but she could just make out the back of the house and the slim young man seated on the veranda, cradling a guitar.

Timothy. Of course. How could she have forgotten?

He played well and fluidly, pausing only now and then to alter a note or repeat a phrase. And the music itself was unlike any she had heard before – melancholy one moment and quickening to hopefulness the next, slipping into a confident rhythm that made her fingers twitch before slowing to a hesitant and almost questioning pace. At times it seemed more like a speech than a song, the words of some foreign tongue that she had no way to interpret. And yet it soothed her, reassuring her that she was not alone.

The afternoon light was fading, the blue sky deepening to marine. Soon it would be nightfall, and who knew what would happen then? Rhosmari took her hair out of its clasp, combed it with her fingers, and twisted it back again. She ran her hands over her rumpled blouse and skirt, tightened her belt, straightened her shoulders. Then she Leaped to the veranda, where Timothy was sitting.

As soon as she became solid she staggered and almost fell, weakness rushing over her. Someone had planted cold iron all around the house. Bars of it lay beneath every threshold, nails were hammered into every window sash and sill. To keep the Empress from attacking Oakhaven with magic, Peri had turned the house into a place that no faery, Rhosmari included, would find it easy to go near. And when Timothy exclaimed and jumped up to help her, she could feel the numbing power of the iron cross radiating from beneath his shirt. She flinched and jerked away.

‘Sorry about that,’ said Timothy, pulling the necklace off and stuffing it into his pocket. ‘Thorn told us what you’d found out about the Empress, and Peri thought we should be prepared. We didn’t expect to see you again today.’

‘I understand,’ said Rhosmari, breathing slowly to quell her dizziness. ‘I just… I wanted to talk to you and the others. Before anything happens.’

‘Well, we probably shouldn’t talk here,’ said Timothy, with a wary glance at the sky. He reached under the threshold of the glass door, pulled out an iron poker and cast it aside. ‘Do you think it’ll be any better if you come in?’

‘I…I’m not sure.’ Mustering her courage, Rhosmari stepped over the threshold – and immediately felt better. The iron was meant to keep hostile faeries out, but she was here by invitation, and inside the house the effect was much less unpleasant.

‘Right,’ said Timothy. ‘I’ll just get my guitar and fix up that door again, and then we’ll go and find Peri.’

They found Peri in the upstairs bedroom, peering out between the half-drawn curtains with an antique spyglass. With a pile of schoolbooks on the nightstand and a heap of unwashed clothing in the corner, it was easy to tell this room normally belonged to Timothy. But now the bed was littered with maps and scribbled diagrams, while an alarming assortment of weapons stood propped against the wall, a crossbow and a long hunting knife among them.

‘Spotted anything yet?’ asked Timothy, as he and Rhosmari came in.

Peri lowered the spyglass with a frustrated huff of breath. ‘It’s so hard to tell. If she’s bringing in her troops, she’s doing what I would do: flying in low and using the wood to cover their approach. There could be a hundred faeries hiding in those trees by now, and as long as they don’t trip any of the wards we’d never know it.’

‘But you spotted the Blackwings earlier, right?’

‘I saw two ravens,’ replied Peri. ‘But they arrived more than an hour apart. It could just be coincidence— Oh, hello, Rhosmari.’ She swept the charts off the bed, clearing a space for Rhosmari to sit. ‘What brings you here? I thought they’d be keeping you busy in the Oak.’

‘Everyone’s resting,’ said Rhosmari, ‘or trying to. But I couldn’t.’ Self-conscious, she sat down at the edge of the mattress – and Timothy promptly came around the other side and flopped onto his back, nearly bouncing her off again.

‘Sit up, you rude thing,’ said Peri, tossing a cushion at him. Timothy caught it and tucked it behind his head; Peri rolled her eyes and returned her attention to Rhosmari. ‘I doubt anyone else in the Oak can sleep either,’ she told her. ‘But you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Once the Empress arrives, you might even be safer here.’

‘No, I’ll have to go back,’ said Rhosmari. ‘I promised Queen Valerian that I’d make a loreseed of the battle.’ And then, of course, she had to explain what a loreseed was. But both of the humans were intrigued by the idea, especially Peri.

‘If we’d known how to do that when Jasmine cast the Sundering,’ she said, ‘she’d never have been able to make us forget our past. I hope we won’t need your loreseed to remind us of what really happened, but if we do, it’s good to know it’ll be there.’

She said
we
and
our
so readily, as though she were still one of the Oakenfolk herself. And that reminded Rhosmari of something she’d wanted to know for a long time. ‘Peri,’ she said, ‘what made you decide to stop being a faery? I mean, I know you and Paul fell in love—’ It was not easy to get through that phrase without stammering, but somehow she did it— ‘but how did it all happen?’

Peri glanced over at Timothy. ‘You might want to go and practise some more,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’re sick of hearing all this by now.’

‘Actually, no,’ said Timothy, crossing his legs and folding his hands comfortably over his stomach. ‘Tell us a story, Aunty Peri.’

Was this how humans dealt with unbearable tension – by making jokes? Rhosmari could only marvel at their resilience. But she barely had time to finish the thought before Peri began to explain how she had hatched from a magical egg in the Oak thirty years ago, and grown up to become the fierce young hunter known as Knife.

It was a long story, and amazingly complicated. Having studied the faery records and Heather’s diaries already, Rhosmari knew all about what Jasmine had done to the Oakenfolk – but Knife had been forced to discover the truth about her people’s history one dangerous step at a time, with Queen Amaryllis trying to thwart her at every turn. And in the meantime Knife had met and come to know Paul quite by accident, never dreaming that their shared interest in art would lead them not only to friendship, but to an even more forbidden love.

When at last Peri finished her story, Rhosmari felt as though she were waking from a vivid and compelling dream. She gathered her thoughts with difficulty, and said, ‘So Queen Amaryllis tried to make you forget Paul, and she couldn’t do it?’