R. Anderson - Rebel

Paul must have noticed his wife’s expression as well, because a moment later he said quietly, “You could ask them, you know.”

Peri did not take her gaze from the Oakenfolk. “Ask what?”

“To make you a faery again.”

That got her attention; she swung around to look at him, frowning. “What makes you think-”

“I don’t think,” said Paul, “I know. Of course you miss it sometimes; why wouldn’t you? I’m just saying that if the Children of Rhys have enough power to undo Jasmine’s spell on the Oakenfolk, maybe they have some to spare for you, too.” Then, as Peri looked troubled, he added gently, “It’s not as though I’m asking you to leave me. You’re still my wife, whether you can change size and do magic or not. But they’re your people.”

For a moment Peri did not reply; then her lips firmed, and she shook her head. “No,” she said. “If the Oakenfolk are going to survive, they’ll need every bit of power that Garan and his people can give them. Besides”-she took a deep breath-“I made my choice to become human fourteen years ago. I wouldn’t go back on it now, even if I could.”

“Not even if it meant you could fly again?” Paul asked.

Timothy held his breath, but to his surprise, Peri smiled. “Who says I can’t fly? The moment this business with the Empress is over, I’m buying an airplane ticket.” Then her face grew serious again and she said, “But truly, I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself. I was feeling sorry for them. Look at their faces.”

Timothy studied each of the faeries in turn, and he could see what Peri meant. Linden and Wink were both glowing with excitement, and even Thorn looked grudgingly pleased; but many of the other Oakenfolk seemed nervous, and a few-like Bluebell, and the hard-faced faery next to her, who had to be Mallow-appeared wary and even resentful about what was taking place.

“I’m afraid Valerian’s going to have her work cut out for her,” Peri said. “A lot of the Oakenfolk don’t like change…and now everything about their lives is changing at once.”

“But having the Children of Rhys join them, and getting their magic back again-it’s so obviously for the better,” said Timothy. “How can they object to that?”

“Because it’s new,” said Peri. “It’s different. It’s frightening. And no matter what happens now, there’s no way any of them can go back to the way things used to be.”

Timothy was silent, digesting her words. Then Paul said, “It looks like they’re about to start. Come on, let’s move a bit closer.”

By now Garan had shepherded all the faeries into a rough circle, arranging it so that all the Oakenfolk had at least one of the Children of Rhys beside them. As the last thin veil of cloud slid from the moon’s luminous face, he turned and addressed them:

“The time has come.” He stepped back beside Linden, holding out his hand to her; she took it, and stretched out her own hand to Wink on the other side. The other faeries hesitantly did likewise, and in a moment the whole circle was joined.

Linden’s heart pounded, and her breath came shallowly between her parted lips. She’d received magic from another faery before, but Amaryllis had been just one dying woman, and the Children of Rhys were strong and many. Would it hurt? What if one of the Oakenfolk panicked, or changed her mind at the last moment, and broke the circle?

“Linden,” murmured Wink in a pained tone, “you’re squeezing my fingers.”

“Sorry,” Linden whispered, and forced herself to relax.

Beside her Garan stood with eyes closed, his brow furrowed in concentration. For a long moment no one moved, and the Oakenwyld was eerily silent. Then Linden saw it: A glimmer of light on the far side of the circle, a slowly expanding radiance that spread from Broch to Thorn and Campion, from Llinos to Mallow and Bluebell…and now the magic was glowing around her too, tingling hot and cold as it swept over her skin and swirled into her muscles and bones. Amaryllis’s dying gift of glamour had thrilled her, but that had been a scant half share of a magic already weak with use and age. To compare it to the power flowing through her now…It was like comparing water to wine.

Still the energy built, until every pore in her body sang with it, and the circle of faeries blazed so bright she had to shut her eyes. The magic was too strong now, too much-any more, and she would faint, or explode Garan’s hand slackened in hers, and the light died abruptly as the circle wavered and broke. One after another, the Children of Rhys sagged to their knees and toppled onto the grass, unconscious.

The Oakenfolk all looked at one another, and Linden saw an apprehension on Valerian’s face that mirrored her own. Had the magic transfer worked, or not?

“Look!” came a hysterical-sounding voice from beside her, and she turned to see Wink spreading a length of shimmering, gold-toned silk between her outstretched hands-cloth that seemed to have spun itself out of nowhere. On the other side of the circle Campion had grown to human size and was regarding her far-off toes in amazement, while Thorn rubbed her hands at a bonfire she had kindled on the grass. Faery lights danced through the air; a cluster of violets pushed their way out of the cold ground and stood nodding in the midnight breeze; a roast fit for the Midwinter Feast floated by, so real-looking that Linden could almost smell it.

Jasmine’s curse was undone, and the Oakenfolk had their magic again.

“Here,” said Timothy, slinging the strap of his guitar around Linden’s shoulders. They’d just finished having tea with Paul and Peri and were sitting on the veranda, savoring the first warm day of spring. “You’ve been listening to me play long enough-now you have a go.”

Linden hesitated, hands hovering above the strings. Then she shook her head and handed it back. “It’s all right,” she said. “I don’t think it’s for me, somehow.” Much as she enjoyed hearing Timothy play, she felt no compulsion to do likewise; unlike the powerful bond that had drawn Paul and Peri together and sparked them both to artistic brilliance, the best her faery powers could do was make Timothy’s natural talent for music a little stronger. But that was quite normal, or so Queen Valerian had assured her; and seeing that Timothy would be leaving Oakhaven in another few days, it was probably for the best.

“If you say so,” said Timothy as he took the guitar back, but he looked a little disappointed. “Anyway, how are Garan and the others?”

“Doing better, but they’re still tired most of the time. The Queen says it’ll be a few more days at least until they all recover.”

“Good thing there’s still no sign of the Empress, then.” Timothy ran his thumb over the strings, winced and adjusted one of the tuning pegs.

“I just wish,” said Linden as she watched a robin flutter down to land atop the box hedge, “that we knew what had happened to Rob.”

Timothy gave a little laugh. “Me too. Especially since I’m going to have to go back through London in a week or two, and if I’m going to be attacked it would be nice to know about it. I think I’ll stuff a few bits of iron into my pockets, just in case.” He slipped the guitar strap over his head and began to play again, softly.

“Did you ever talk to your parents?” asked Linden. “About…you know.”

“I sent them an email this morning,” Timothy said. “I told them I’d been suspended for a couple of weeks, but not to worry, I’d be fine.”

Linden looked at him curiously. “And are you?”

Timothy was silent a moment, his hands flat on the guitar. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I still miss Uganda. I still don’t fit in with the other boys at school, and I’m not sure I want to. I still wonder whether everything I grew up believing is really the truth, and I know it’s going to take me a lot of searching and thinking to decide. But”-he took a deep breath-“I’m here now, and I’m going to stick it out. At Greenhill, I mean, unless they decide to expel me. I’ve had enough of running away.”