R. Anderson - Rebel

“I can think of worse ways to go,” he said.

Linden gazed out the slit that was all that remained of her bedroom window-Rob had done that, she remembered, and the thought was laced with regret. He’d risked so much to help them, and she’d never had the chance to say good-bye. Was he even still alive?

The garden below was somber with rain, the flower beds buried in black mulch, and the rose hedge a withered skeleton. All seemed quiet, but surely that couldn’t last. The Empress had escaped the battle at Sanctuary, and by now she must have recovered her powers, just as Linden had done. And the faeries who’d seen Jasmine’s true face, with its telltale lines of age, were just a tiny fraction of the many under her command. How long would it be before she gathered her forces and came back to take her revenge?

Linden leaned heavily against the windowsill. It seemed so wrong that it should end this way. The Oakenfolk still squabbling over who should be their next Queen, most of them still blind to the greater danger; Knife trapped in the Oakenwyld, her fate bound to the faeries’ even though she was no longer one of them; and Paul and Timothy, condemned for no greater crime than being human…

Sunk in gloomy reverie, she barely noticed when the whispering wind changed its tune. A gust swirled through the Oakenwyld, scattering twigs and long-dead leaves across the grass-and when Linden looked out the window again, the Oak was surrounded.

A bone of terror lodged itself in her throat. She jumped off the cot and pelted out of the room, shouting up the Spiral Stair, “Your Majesty!”

“Queen Valerian’s busy,” came Thorn’s irritable reply from two landings above. “What’s the matter?”

“They’re here,” gasped Linden, and dashed off down the Stair. The window-slits were too narrow for her to climb through, but she might be able to sneak out through the hedge tunnel, fly to the House, and warn Knife and Timothy. Yet even as she ran, a pounding noise reverberated through the Oak, like a heavy fist demanding entrance, and she realized it was already too late. They’d found the door in spite of all the glamours she’d put around it, and now…

She skidded to a halt in front of another window-slit, squinted out again-and immediately her fears drained away. The faeries outside were far too big to be Oakenfolk, that was true. But they were still less than half human size. Linden galloped down the last flight of the Spiral Stair, dashed to the Queen’s Gate, and heaved up the bar to let their visitors in.

The first through the door was Garan-but now he stood only a little taller than herself, and when she threw herself into his arms her exuberance nearly knocked him over. “You came! You came after all!” she cried, and he let out a surprised laugh.

“Get off me, you mad girl,” he said, detaching himself and holding her at arm’s length. But his eyes twinkled as he added, “Mind, had I known to expect such a welcome, I might have come sooner.”

Linden blushed and stepped back as the other Children of Rhys came in. There was the guard Garan had called Llinos, and a few others whose faces she had seen at the great council, including- Broch?

“But you-you were against us,” she stammered, looking up into that sharp, sardonic face. “You said-”

“I know what I said,” Broch cut in impatiently. “That it was for the Elders to decide how best to help you. But the Council is divided, and there have been nothing but arguments since you and the human boy left. And by the time Garan announced that he had given you the Stone of Naming and that the rest of us were cowards and traitors to our own kind, I’d heard enough shouting to last me the next two centuries, so I came.”

Linden looked at Garan in delight. “Did you really say that?”

“I am only sorry I could not say it earlier,” replied Garan, sounding a little gruff with embarrassment. “But I dared not draw attention to myself before I had safely given you the Stone. And I hoped that given time I might be able to persuade more of the Plant Rhys to support your cause-a hope that was not wholly in vain, as you can see.” He nodded respectfully to his companions. “We are only thirty-eight men, but we are yours to command.”

“What,” said Thorn’s flat voice from the Stair above, “in the name of all that’s green and growing-”

Linden whirled toward her, dancing with excitement. “The Children of Rhys, Thorn! They’ve come to help us!”

Thorn stalked around the last bend of the Stair and stopped, surveying Garan and his companions. Her gaze darted from one male faery to another, taking in their strong features and close-trimmed beards, the swords at their belts and the bows slung across their shoulders. Then she sat down slowly, her eyes glassy with disbelief, and for once she didn’t say anything at all.

“If we restore the magic Jasmine took from you,” said Garan as he and his followers stood before the Oakenfolk gathered in the Great Hall, “the task will cost us dearly of our own magical strength, and we will need several days to recover. We will never be as powerful as we once were, nor will your own magic be as great as that of the Empress and her followers-but yes, it can be done.”

Linden threw her arms around Wink and hugged her, and Thorn actually whooped before turning it into a cough. “We would be glad,” Valerian began-but Bluebell’s voice cut in:

“You forget yourself, Healer! We are not humans, to take from one another without giving in return: We are faeries, to whom a bargain is sacred. How dare we accept help from these strangers, when we have no means to repay them?”

The pleasure faded from Valerian’s face, and her gray eyes became downcast. “Bluebell is right,” she said. “Forgive me, I beg of you-I spoke too soon.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” said Garan, with a swift glance at Bluebell. “We did not come to you seeking wealth or goods that we could take back to our own land; rather, it is our hope that you will accept us as your subjects, and allow us to dwell among you. For by leaving the Gwerdonnau Llion we have made ourselves exiles, and if you do not give us a home, then I cannot think where I and my men will go.”

Valerian’s smile returned, wavering with emotion. She stepped forward and held out her hand to Garan.

“There is ample room for you all here,” she said. “And as Queen of the Oakenfolk I welcome you, with all my heart.”

Garan took Valerian’s hand and kissed it, then bent on one knee before her with head bowed and both arms spread wide. Immediately all the other men in his company did likewise, although Broch’s mouth gave a self-mocking twist as he went down.

Valerian looked back at the crowd of Oakenfolk behind her. No one moved, until Wink hurried forward and knelt as the Children of Rhys had done. Thorn joined her, and Campion quickly followed. One by one, and then in pairs and clusters, all the Oakenfolk knelt until only Bluebell and Mallow were left standing. And when after an uncomfortable pause the Chief Cook shrugged and bent her knee as well, Bluebell let out a little sob and collapsed to the floor beside her, defeated.

The Oakenfolk had acknowledged their rightful Queen at last.

The moon hung high over the Oakenwyld, bathing the garden in silvery light. Timothy stood on the veranda with Peri and Paul, watching as a line of tiny, winged figures emerged from the roots of the Oak and joined the waiting Children of Rhys on the lawn. Even from this distance it was easy to recognize Linden by her brown curls and the eager spring in her step; he waved to her, and she waved back.

He turned to Peri, wanting to ask her if they couldn’t go a little closer-but then he saw the wistful look on her face and swallowed the question.