R. Anderson - Rebel

It was also, unmistakably, made of iron.

“Where did you get that?” demanded Timothy. He grabbed at it, but Veronica whisked it out of his reach.

“I found this under one of the beds upstairs, months ago,” she said, dangling it teasingly in front of him. “One of our human guests must have left it behind, and I thought it might prove useful one day. If you wish, I will give it to you, to use in making your escape-but you must give me your music first. Is it a bargain?”

Timothy sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. His eyes followed the cross as it swung back and forth at the end of the leather cord. It had to be as potent a weapon against magic as the key he’d lost, if not better…and what good would his music do him, if the Empress was going to kill him anyway?

“All right,” he said in a rough voice. “It’s a bargain.”

“No, it is not,” said Rob unexpectedly from the doorway, and the triumph froze on Veronica’s face. She whirled around, the cross still dangling from her hand.

Timothy saw the opportunity at once, and went for it. He lunged-but Rob shoved him back and grabbed Veronica, hauling her up against the wall. His hands gripped hers and raised them high, swinging the cross close to her cheek.

“Rebelling against the Empress?” he said silkily. “Conspiring with a human to defy her commands? I wouldn’t have expected it of you, Veronica.”

Her lips parted, but she did not speak. Only her eyes moved, white-ringed with fear, following the shallow arc of the cross as it dangled beside her head.

“On the other hand,” remarked Rob, “I find the irony amusing. What will you give me not to tell the Empress? If you could offer Timothy such an ingenious bargain, I’m sure you must have something even more interesting to propose to me.”

Veronica licked her lips, the first nervous gesture Timothy had ever seen from her. “I wasn’t really going to give it to him,” she said.

“Oh, were you not?” The iron cross inched nearer to her face. “The truth, Veronica.”

“It is the truth!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “I only meant to trick him into giving me his music! I serve the Empress! I would never have let him go!”

“I see,” said Rob, plucking the necklace from her grasp. “Well, then, you will just have to miss the execution,” and with that he tapped her on the forehead, and she collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Timothy stood warily in the center of the room, watching Rob. “Execution?” he said.

“I am here to fetch you at the Empress’s command,” Rob told him. “You and Linden are to be put to death. So I suspect you will need this more than I will.” He stepped around Veronica’s motionless body, took Timothy firmly by the wrist, and let the cross fall into his hand.

“What…” said Timothy.

“Do not wear it openly,” Rob said, “but keep it against your skin. It will be of little use as a weapon with so many of my people around you, but it will shield you from the Empress’s power until we can find a way to free Linden.”

So Rob was on their side after all. Timothy had begun to doubt it, but the cross in his hand was proof enough. He looked down at himself helplessly for a moment-T-shirt too thin, no pockets in the boxers-then bent and tucked the cross into the side of his sock, folding the thick ankle band down to hide its telltale shape.

“I wish that your quest had succeeded,” said Rob. “Then I and my allies could fight openly in your defense. Still, we will do what we can.”

Timothy hesitated, then took the plunge. “We didn’t fail,” he said. “Linden has the Stone of Naming in her pocket.”

Rob caught his breath. “You found the Children of Rhys?”

“We did, but they wouldn’t help us. We were lucky to come away with the Stone.”

“Luck indeed,” murmured Rob appreciatively. “Well, then, we have only to find a way to get it from her, in full view of the Empress and a hundred or so others. You’re the one with the creativity, human-have you a plan?”

The Empress lounged upon her throne, watching her faery subjects with hooded eyes as one by one they stepped up to the platform and knelt before her. The room was filling rapidly, and in desperation Linden felt around her cage, searching for a catch, a crack, any weakness that might let her escape. But the bars were too narrow for her to squeeze past, too strong for her to bend, and though she had tried to make herself smaller, she could not. She could think of one other possibility, but she was afraid to try it-the cage looked too strong to break easily, and what if she ended up crushed into this tiny space?

“No song for us, little bird?” taunted a voice, and she turned to see Byrne Blackwing grinning at her. Corbin leaned against the wall just behind him, with a half smile on his lips that chilled her more than his brother’s open mockery.

“I may be in a cage,” Linden retorted with all the boldness she could muster, “but at least I’m not the Empress’s slave.”

The amusement went out of Byrne’s face, and he started forward. Corbin caught his arm; he snarled and threw his brother off, and Linden shrank back But then a door on the other side of the hall crashed open and Rob stalked in, dragging Timothy behind him.

Timothy’s wrists were lashed together with rope, and dried blood streaked his face. He was limping a little on his right side, and his head hung down as though he were exhausted. But when he saw Linden’s cage he looked up sharply, and his gaze met hers with a fierceness that stopped her breath.

“Stay,” said the Empress as Timothy and Rob reached the foot of the platform. Linden’s heart thumped as Rob turned his head toward her, but his gaze only flicked over her indifferently before returning to the Empress.

“Human,” said the Empress to Timothy, “you are no subject of mine, nor do I wish to claim you. But you have given help to those who would defy me, and for that you must be punished. Kneel.”

“I’d rather stand, thanks,” said Timothy, but Rob grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him onto his knees. With a little, surprised-sounding grunt he went down and crouched at the foot of the platform, hunched over his bound hands.

The Empress rose fluidly and addressed the gathered faeries, her voice ringing out across the room: “You all know the law: It is forbidden for a faery to keep company with humans, or give them aid or comfort. Yet the young rebel you see in this cage before you”-she swung around and pointed at Linden-“dared to assault Veronica, one of our own people, and deprive her of her rightful human prey. She helped the human boy to escape from Sanctuary, and then she enlisted him to help her seek out other faeries and persuade them also to rise up against me.”

All the faeries’ eyes were on Linden now. She searched the crowd of dim faces for signs of sympathy, but though some looked apprehensive and a few even sorrowful, no one moved. The Empress went on:

“I offered her a chance to repent of her crimes, but she spurned it. Such rebellion, such willful perversity, cannot go unpunished. And the punishment I have chosen, for both this faery and the human she has so foolishly befriended…is death.”

Linden wrapped her arms tightly around her ribs, trying to hold in the fluttering panic. She had heard the Empress speak of execution; she’d had ample time to consider what that meant; and yet hearing the words shocked her all over again. The punishment…is death.

“Your Majesty!”

The voice was Timothy’s. “Before you carry out the sentence, I’d like to say a few words.”

The Empress let out a short laugh. “You, a mere human, address my court? Do you imagine yourself so clever, or so eloquent, that with just one speech you can win my people to your cause?”