R. Anderson - Rebel

“Why?”

“Because the message I bring is urgent, and it is for her sake that I came. Where is she?”

Timothy folded his arms. “I’m not telling you anything until you tell me why you’re here.” After all, from what he’d learned of faeries, they didn’t usually do things for others out of the kindness of their hearts. If Rob had flown all the way here just to talk to Linden, then he must be expecting an equally big favor from her in return. And what if she couldn’t afford to give him what he was asking?

Rob made an impatient noise. “I do not bargain with humans. Tell me, or-” He raised a hand and Timothy tensed, not knowing whether to expect a threat, a spell, or a physical blow. But then Rob let his arm drop and said flatly, “Very well, I will take the risk. Do you remember the twin brothers who were playing chess when you came to Sanctuary last night?”

Lean frames, strong bones, cold black eyes. He’d seen them a second time as he was chasing Linden out the door. “I think so,” said Timothy.

“They are known as the Blackwings,” Rob told him. “Byrne and Corbin are expert hunters, clever and ruthless and ambitious for the Empress’s favor-and in their raven forms they can fly farther and more swiftly than I. The Empress has commanded them to bring you and Linden to her alive, but rest assured that if they catch you, you will find that small consolation.”

Cold ants swarmed up Timothy’s spine. “You mean…they know where to find us? But how?”

Rob pulled a scrap of fabric from the pocket of his sweatshirt, shook it out-and there, suddenly, was the jacket Timothy had left behind at Sanctuary. “I tracked you here with this,” he said, tossing it back to him. “Fortunate for you that I found it before the Blackwings did; for all I know they are still back in the city, looking for some similar means to hunt you down. But it will not be long before they find something they can use: a drop of Linden’s blood on the pavement perhaps, or a single hair from your head. And with that, they can follow you anywhere.”

Timothy’s hands clenched around the jacket. “So how do we stop them?”

“You cannot,” said Rob. “But if you cease wasting my time and show me where to find Linden, then I will tell you what you can do instead…”

Linden sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. After a bath and an hour’s rest in her own cot she felt a little better, but she had hoped to sleep longer, and now it was impossible. Why was there so much noise going on outside her door? All those shouting voices and running feet-the last time she’d heard such a commotion, it was when she’d accidentally left the East Gate open and a mouse got in.

“Oh, Linden!” Wink burst through her door, wings and hands flapping in excited unison. “You won’t believe this!” She whisked around her, brushing wrinkles from Linden’s skirts, straightening her tunic, helping her into her leather waistcoat and buttoning it tight. She combed Linden’s brown curls with her fingers, then propelled her out the door, announcing, “Here she is!”

Linden stumbled, and stopped short. There on the landing stood Rob, surrounded by a crowd of awestruck, excitedly chattering Oakenfolk. At this small size, with those angular bones and the points of his ears showing through his russet hair, there could be no doubting he was a true faery. And yet…what was he doing here?

She ought to have been afraid, but somehow she couldn’t be: She had told him about the Oak, after all. And despite all the harsh things he had said about the Oakenfolk being Forsaken, he had still healed her, and given her shoes to wear. Linden opened her mouth and, stupidly, said the first thing that came into her head: “You don’t have any wings.”

“Being male, I should think not,” said Rob. “But rest assured that I can fly as well as you.” And with that his form blurred, and the faeries around him all jumped back as a full-sized robin appeared in his place.

“You must pardon us,” said Valerian, and Linden looked around to see her coming down the Spiral Stair. Even in her plain gray robes, with not a single jewel or a spark of glamour to adorn her, she had a regal dignity. “It is our shame to have forgotten nearly all we once knew of our own heritage. And you are the first male of our kind that any of us Oakenfolk have ever seen.”

The robin ruffled his feathers and became Rob again. He moved toward Valerian-but then a shrill voice rang out from the back of the crowd:

“It is not your place to speak to him, Healer!”

Inwardly Linden cringed as Bluebell came marching up onto the landing from the other side, her skirt gathered primly in one hand. Her hair was piled high atop her head, and the glittering circlet woven into it could only have come from the Archives-a treasure to which she had no right. She glanced imperiously at the faeries blocking her path, but nobody moved until Mallow barked, “Make way for the new Queen!”

Reluctantly the others shuffled aside and Bluebell swept through. “On behalf of my people I welcome you, stranger,” she said. “And I trust you will forgive their unseemly curiosity-”

“Stop talking rubbish, Bluebell,” said Thorn. “You aren’t any Queen of mine, and if you interrupt Valerian again, I’ll stuff you in a sack and sit on you.”

“Thorn,” said Valerian quietly, “there is no need.”

Rob stepped up to Valerian and bowed. “Your Majesty,” he said, “I have an important message to deliver. May I speak with you and Linden alone?”

Bluebell opened and closed her mouth, like a baby bird deprived of its worm. Then she spun around, thrust her way back to the Stair, and disappeared. Only Mallow remained, her gaze fixed on Rob with a mixture of loathing and hunger. “You’re making a mistake,” she told him huskily. “Valerian’s not a proper Queen-she’s not even a proper faery. She’s just a Healer who’s gotten above herself, and a half-human one at that.”

Her last words hit home: Rob stiffened. But he did not move from Valerian’s side, and Linden gave him a grateful smile.

“It’s good to see you again,” she told him. “But how did you find us here?”

Rob glanced back at the crowd of Oakenfolk. “I think,” he said, “that story would be better told in private. Is there somewhere else we can go?”

“Children…of…Rhys,” muttered Timothy as he typed it into the library computer. Since he didn’t have a card, he’d had to fill out an application to use the terminal, and they’d only allowed him half an hour. But if the Blackwings were on their way, he couldn’t afford to spend more than a few minutes here in any case. He needed an answer now.

Peri sat beside him with tight lips and folded arms, still furious after what Rob had done to them on the road. The car had been only a little scratched, but she’d hated having magic used against her that way. And once they started driving again, and Timothy explained what Rob had told him about the Blackwings and the Empress-he’d never seen Peri look so savage. No wonder the faeries called her Knife.

“Well?” she demanded.

Timothy did not reply; he was busy scanning the page he’d just found, which claimed to be an online dictionary of the faery folk. Sure enough, there was an entry about the Children of Rhys, but it was only a couple of lines and didn’t tell him anything he didn’t know already. Except…he studied the screen a moment, then went back to the search engine and typed in the Welsh version of the name: Plant Rhys Ddwfn.

Now that was more like it. The first link he found was an excerpt from a book of Welsh legends, and there was a whole story about a farmer named Gruffydd who had found the Children with the help of some magic herbs… Timothy read the page from top to bottom, then got up quickly and went to the library’s help desk.