R. Anderson - Rebel

“No,” said Timothy, with surprising meekness. “I mean…just to Linden. I’ll talk quietly if you like, so the rest of your subjects don’t hear. But if you’re going to put us both to death, can’t I at least say good-bye to her first?”

“You are in no position to ask for favors, boy,” said the Empress coldly, and began to turn away. But then Rob spoke:

“My Empress, I would ask that you grant his request for my sake, if not his own. I am curious to know what this human thinks is so vital for him to say-and surely you have nothing to fear from words?”

“Fear!” Her tone was acid. “As if a human could threaten me! Very well, my Robin, for your sake. But”-her hard gaze turned on Timothy-“be brief, boy, or I will burn out your tongue.”

Timothy bowed his head for a moment. Then he looked up at Linden and said, “There’s a Bible verse that says, ‘As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.’ I know that’s probably not a popular proverb among faeries, but what I mean is, I’ve learned a lot from our friendship, and I’m grateful for that.”

Despite the dread churning inside her, Linden was touched-but also baffled. Why was Timothy quoting the Bible? Either he’d changed his mind since the last time they talked, or else…

“And there are other verses that make me think of you, too,” Timothy went on more quickly as the Empress began to tap her foot. “Like, ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news,’ because that’s what you were trying to do for your people. And I know you thought you were too young to make any difference, but as Jesus said, ‘The least of you shall be the greatest-’”

His words ended in a choking gasp as Rob grabbed the back of his neck and pushed his head nearly to the floor. “I beg your pardon, my Empress,” Rob said. “I had thought he might tell us something useful. Forgive my poor judgment.”

Timothy had been trying to give her a message, Linden realized. But what? Why had he chosen those verses?

The least of you shall be the greatest… That meant her, surely: She was the smallest person in this whole room. Perhaps if she figured out what Timothy meant, she could do something great to save them. But what?

How beautiful are the feet… But there was nothing special about her feet that she could think of. Maybe it was the good news part he wanted her to think about. Telling her not to lose hope, because he had a plan to save them? And then there was that first verse he’d quoted, about how iron sharpens iron…

Iron! What if he’d found some, to replace the key he’d lost in Wales? But even if he had, why go to the trouble of telling her about it? She was a faery: She couldn’t touch iron without losing what little magic she had…

“Enough of this folly,” snapped the Empress. She raised a hand toward Linden’s cage, sparks of baleful light flickering around her fingertips. “As Empress of all Faery, I proclaim Linden of the Oak to be traitor and rebel, outcast and Forsaken, and worthy of no better fate than death. So be-”

Her words ended in a gasp as Timothy leaped up from his crouch, sprang onto the platform, and hurled himself at her. She staggered back into the throne, which toppled over with a crash, sending the two of them tumbling onto the floor. But somehow Timothy had got his wrists free, and while he gripped the Empress’s throat with one hand, he reached for his ankle with the other.

Feet! thought Linden, suddenly realizing why he’d been limping. But her epiphany came too late. Timothy’s fingers had barely brushed the edge of his sock when the Empress brought up her hands and the white lightning of her power ripped through him, tearing him away from her and hurling him into the air. He landed on his back at the very edge of the platform, open-eyed and still.

“No!” Linden screamed. Reckless energy flooded her, sweeping away the last of her caution: She had to get to Timothy, whatever the cost. She clenched her fists and willed herself, with all her might, to grow.

Her head struck the top of the cage in an instant of blinding pain, and then the bars sprang apart and she dropped to the platform, free. She threw herself down beside Timothy.

Thank the Gardener, he was alive. His chest rose and fell, and his eyelids fluttered. Something had protected him from the full impact of the Empress’s power. Linden grabbed his right foot, peeled down the sock-and the iron cross fell out into her hand.

It was pure agony. Her heart, her lungs, even her thoughts stopped. Linden crumpled, dropping the pendant onto the stage, as her magic sputtered out and left her helpless.

But she was still human size.

“Remove the boy,” the Empress croaked from the back of the platform, rubbing her throat with one hand while she struggled to push herself upright with the other. “Robin, do you hear me? Take him away!”

Until now Rob had stood motionless, apparently stunned by what Timothy had done; now he shook himself as though waking from a dream, and climbed the stairs to obey. But as he stooped down and his hands closed on Timothy’s wrists he whispered to Linden, “ Use it. ”

Use what? The cross? But how could she, when it had crippled her just to touch it the first time, and she was so weak she could barely…

The least of you shall be the greatest.

Was it possible? Could her very weakness, in this moment when the Empress was distracted, become her strength?

Linden’s magic was gone; she could no longer change size, or fly, or cast a glamour to protect herself. But the iron cross still lay within her reach. And as Rob dragged Timothy out of the way, Linden seized the leather cord, leaped up, and whipped the cross at the Empress as hard as she could.

The cord snapped. But the cross kept flying, flashing in the candlelight as it spun through the air and struck the Empress’s cheek. With a shriek she bent over, hiding her face in her skirts, while a cry went up from the watching crowd.

Rob grabbed his guitar from beside the platform; it blurred in his hand, and became a sword. He leaped in front of the Empress as though to defend her, but it was to Linden that he spoke:

“The Stone! Give it to me!”

There was no way he could know that she had it, unless Timothy had told him. Quickly Linden dug it out of her pocket and held it out to him.

Rob closed his hand around the Stone, and relief washed over his face. “You were wrong, my lady,” he said with savage triumph as he turned to confront the Empress. “I can deny you-and I do.”

The Empress raised her head, eyes burning with hate-and Linden gasped.

“Jasmine!” she cried out, scrambling to her feet. “Rob-she’s the faery who stole my people’s magic!”

The touch of cold iron had not only robbed the Empress of her ability to cast spells, it had stripped away the powerful glamours she had used to disguise herself. Dark haired and proud featured, she was now the image of the portrait Linden had seen in Paul’s book. But now the heavy-lidded eyes and sensual mouth were surrounded by deep creases, and the once black hair bore streaks of gray. Signs of age, such as no faery before had ever shown-how many years had she lived as a human before regaining her magical powers?

“Defend the Empress!” rasped a familiar voice from below them, and Corbin Blackwing leaped up onto the stage with sword in hand. Rob sprang to meet him, shouting, “Rebels! To me!” and the entire room erupted in confusion. Some faeries appeared to be plunging for the exits, others toward the platform, while still more milled about uncertainly.

“The Empress has lost her power!” Linden shouted into the jostling crowd. “Come here quickly, before it’s too late-Rob has the Stone, he can free you!” At first she despaired that anyone could hear her, there was so much shouting and wailing going on, but then she heard a female voice cry out, “The Stone of Naming!” and another echo, “The Stone!”