No Ordinary Fairy Tale, page 61
part #0 of No Ordinary Fairy Tale Series
The Oakenwyld was even smaller than Waverley Hall had been. And yet this was about to become her whole world.
Garan had told her she would be safe in the garden, for it and the neighboring fields were under constant watch and ward, and the Empress’s servants could not approach from any direction without being seen. But he had still tried to coax her back inside the tree with him, so that Bluebell could show her to a room–and Rhosmari was not ready for that. Not when it might be weeks or months, perhaps even years, before she returned to her homeland again.
She tore a handful of grass out of the lawn and scattered it to the wind, watching the blades flutter and spiral away. No wonder everyone at the council had looked uncomfortable when she spoke of going back to the Green Isles. No wonder Timothy had felt sorry for her, and—
Wait. What had he offered her, exactly? If you need anything, or if you just . . . want to get away from the Oak . . .
He had known what Garan was going to tell her. Could he have meant those words more literally than she realized? After all, he had told her himself that he knew what it was like to be alone in a strange country, and longing for home.
Rhosmari got slowly to her feet, eyes fixed on the house. She could not go there right now, at least not discreetly. But later tonight, when everyone was asleep . . .
Yes. She would do it. If Timothy understood–really understood–how she felt, then he would want to help her. And since he was human, and creative by nature, he might well be able to think of a way to get her safely to the Green Isles even though all the faeries in the Oak could not.
Just thinking about it eased the ache in her chest a little. Hope renewed, Rhosmari made herself small again, and climbed back down the root ladder into the Oak.
•••
“Have you seen Bluebell?” Rhosmari asked a passing rebel on her way in, but he shook his head. She went back to the Spiral Stair and met three more faeries coming down, but they couldn’t help her either. Rhosmari climbed all the way up to Bluebell’s door and knocked again, but there was still no answer, so at last she gave up and followed the rest of the faeries down to dinner.
She had forced herself to finish her mug of hot chicory despite its bitterness, and was scraping the last bit of mashed roots from her plate when Holly, one of the faeries she had met on the stair, stopped by her table. “Are you still looking for Bluebell?” she asked. “Because I saw her pass by the dining hall just a little while ago.”
She paused with a meaningful look, and belatedly Rhosmari realized that the other faery was waiting for her to bargain. Linden had spoken to her so freely, she had forgotten that the other faeries might be a little less charitable about giving out information.
“I have nothing to offer you at present,” Rhosmari replied, choosing her words carefully. “But if there is something I can do for you at a later time, I will be glad to hear of it.”
Holly sighed. “Oh, very well. I saw Bluebell going down the East Root corridor. Probably to one of the storerooms. If you hurry, you might still catch her.”
“I appreciate your help,” said Rhosmari. Hurriedly she pushed her cup and plate aside, and set off to find Bluebell. As she headed away from the core of the Oak the air in the passage grew damp and earthy-smelling, the ceiling webbed with thin roots. The lamps flickered wanly, giving off more shadows than light. The old fear of closed-in places crept up on her, and she was just about to turn back when she heard someone talking.
“. . . should never have come here. I have nothing to discuss with you. I don’t even want to be seen with you anymore.”
The female faery’s tone was high-pitched and a little lofty, but it also sounded fearful. It came from behind a closed door to Rhosmari’s right, and her first impulse was to go in. She reached for the handle.
“You’re being ridiculous,” said a flat voice, and Rhosmari jerked her hand back. “All I’m asking is for you to stop fussing and listen. Haven’t I always looked out for you? I wouldn’t bring this up if I didn’t think it was worth your while.”
“I’ve already told you I’m not interested. Now let me go.”
“You’re not going anywhere until I’m done,” retorted Mallow. “Don’t you care what Valerian’s doing to us? It’s not just a matter of bringing more faeries to the Oak or getting our magic back, not any more. She’s going to force us all to fight the Empress, and like as not get us all killed, just so we can protect her precious pet humans.”
“That’s her right. She’s the Queen.”
“Queen of the Oak, maybe, and there’s nothing much we can do about that. But I was at the council this afternoon, and I heard Garan say that he and his men found an old Wyld not far from here, just waiting to be fixed up and resettled. Why should we stay here and wait for the Empress to kill us, when we could strike out on our own and make peace with her? I know a good few Oakenfolk, and some of the rebels too, who don’t much care for Valerian’s human-loving ways. We could start a whole new colony, Bluebell–and you could be our ruler. Think about it—”
“No, I will not!” Bluebell’s voice rose so sharply that Rhosmari flinched. “I don’t want to rule some dried-up old elm tree in the middle of a swamp. I’ve lived in the Oak all my life and I don’t want to go anywhere else, and I’ve already told you I want nothing more to do with you. So leave me alone, or I’ll— I’ll—”
“Or what?” asked Mallow, with menacing softness. “You’ll tell Valerian? Is that how weak you’ve become? She’s nothing compared to Queen Amaryllis, and you of all people know it. I can’t believe it doesn’t sicken you every day to go creeping around the Oak obeying her orders, when you should be the one giving them.”
Rhosmari had heard enough. She put her hand firmly on the latch, and pushed the door open.
fourteen
Bluebell was a small faery compared to Mallow, with hair coiled regally atop her head and a high-waisted gown falling in gauzy layers to her feet. At the sight of Rhosmari, her cheeks turned white as sea foam. But Mallow only glared at her and said, “Do you mind? We’re busy.”
“No, Mallow,” Bluebell said tremulously before Rhosmari could answer. “You and I are done.” Gathering up her skirts, she swept past the other faery and out into the corridor, tossing back over her shoulder, “And don’t ever talk to me again.”
Rhosmari could think of nothing to add to that. She held Mallow’s insolent stare a moment, then followed Bluebell back out into the passage.
“I’m sorry to have startled you,” she said as she caught up with the Chief Housekeeper, “but Linden told me I should talk to you about getting a room?”
Bluebell turned to her, looking distracted. “Oh, I see,” she said. “Yes, of course. Let me just check my ledger first.”
She left Rhosmari waiting on the second landing of the stair, and returned a few minutes later with a ring of ancient-looking metal keys. Unlocking a door, she showed her into a tiny room with only one window. The only furniture in it was a narrow bed that sagged visibly in the middle, and the air was thick with dust.
“I’m afraid this is the best I can do,” Bluebell said. “I’ll have it cleaned, of course.”
“It’s all right,” said Rhosmari. She did not care much for luxuries, and if all went well she would not be spending long here anyway. But as Bluebell turned to go she added, “I don’t mean to intrude. But I couldn’t help hearing what Mallow said to you.”
“Is that so?” the other faery asked with a little sniff, and all at once Rhosmari could see the haughtiness Linden had spoken of–the spark of pride that had once made Bluebell think herself fit to be Queen. “Well, it’s all empty talk and bluster. Nothing will come of it. Not now that Mallow knows I want nothing to do with her and her schemes.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Rhosmari. After all, even if she did not feel very kindly toward the Oak and its people right now, she did not want to see them vulnerable to the Empress. “But it sounds as though you’re not the first person Mallow has talked to about this. If she succeeds in convincing even a few other faeries to leave the Oak, that will put all the rest in danger. And if the Queen finds out that we knew what Mallow was planning, and said nothing . . .”
Bluebell’s eyes widened. “You mean . . . she will think that I was protecting Mallow? That I am as disloyal as she is?” She pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders, as though the idea chilled her. “I see now. You’re right. I must go and talk to Valerian at once. Will you come with me? I don’t want there to be any doubt that I’m telling the truth.”
Her haughty air had vanished; she looked anxious now, and Rhosmari felt sorry for her.
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll be glad to come.”
Rhosmari stood by the window in her lonely room, watching the half moon sail through waves of cloud and listening to the sounds of the night. Earlier that evening she and Bluebell had gone up to see Queen Valerian, who had given her full attention to hearing their story. Afterward she had questioned them both for some time, drawing out every detail, before expressing her gratitude and letting them go. And though the Queen had not said how she intended to deal with the situation, Rhosmari could tell that she was deeply troubled by Mallow’s behavior, and would not allow her to continue spreading treachery for long.
Knowing that she had done something to help the Oak made Rhosmari feel a little better, but not enough to make her happy with the thought of being trapped here indefinitely. She waited until the great tree had gone quiet and only the occasional murmur echoed in the corridor outside her room; then she focused her thoughts on the humans’ house, and Leaped.
Without Timothy’s invitation, she could never have got further than the veranda. But she landed easily just inside the glass door, and from there it was not difficult to pick her way through the darkened sitting room and down the corridor.
Murmurs came from behind a closed door to her left, and she paused, listening. One male voice, one female: that must be Paul and Peri. So Timothy’s room had to be upstairs. But across from the foot of the staircase stood a pair of glass doors, with light still glowing faintly through them–and when she glanced inside, there was Timothy, seated at a desk with his eyes on a luminous screen. Gathering courage, Rhosmari tapped on the glass.
Timothy spun around in his chair. “Rhosmari?” he said incredulously, and got up to let her in.
“I needed to talk to you,” she said. “I hope it’s not too late.”
“No, it’s not.” He waited for her to sit down on the sofa before climbing back into his own seat, one foot casually hooked behind the other knee. “So what’s going on?”
“Garan told me this afternoon,” she said, pushing the words past the lump in her throat, “that I can’t go back to the Green Isles.”
Timothy grimaced. “Yeah,” he said. “I suspected that.”
“Can you help?” She did not mean the question to sound so abrupt, but it came out before she could soften it. “Please?”
“Help?” He crooked one dark brow at her. “You mean . . . talk to them? Tell them to let you go?”
She shook her head. “I know better than to think they will change their minds. But you–you ran away before, and you managed to avoid the Empress and all her servants, and find your way safely to the Green Isles. If you could just tell me or show me, what to do . . .”
Timothy watched her for a long moment in the bluish-white light of the screen, his gaze travelling over her face from eyes to lips and back again. At last he said, “You said the Blackwings found you and Martin in Birmingham. Did you ever find out how? Did they ever take something from you, or did you leave something behind, that they could use to track you down?”
“Never.” She spoke emphatically. “I know better than that. Martin must have—” All at once she stopped, chilled by memory. Martin had been communicating with the Blackwings, certainly. But even so, he could not have been certain that he and Rhosmari would always stay together; he would have wanted to make sure they could track Rhosmari even if she was on her own. And just before they left Cardiff, he had done exactly that.
“My cloak,” she whispered. “They have my cloak.”
Timothy nodded. “So now they know exactly where you are. And they always will, no matter where you go–or how.”
“But they can’t move faster than a car,” she said, knowing that she was grasping at sand but unwilling to give up yet. “You could take me—”
“I can’t drive. And even if I could, I wouldn’t.”
“Timothy—”
“If it was just you taking the risk, or even just you and me, that would be different. But this isn’t about one or two lives, Rhosmari. The freedom of the Green Isles, of the Oak, maybe of all the faeries on the mainland, depends on you staying away from the Empress.”
“Don’t you see that’s exactly what I’m trying to do?” pleaded Rhosmari. “If I can only get to the Green Isles, she can’t touch me there. But here—”
“I know!” His voice rose in frustration, and he made a face before lowering it again. “I know you’d be safer there, and I’d be glad to take you, if I thought we had a chance of making it. But Garan and the others are right. You have to stay.”
“I see. Well, then, I’m sorry I interrupted you.” She spoke bitterly, not troubling to hide her disappointment. Pushing herself up off the sofa, she walked to the door before turning back for the parting shot: “But I thought you would understand.”
“Rhosmari, wait!” Timothy scrambled to his feet, but he had only taken two steps before his leg slipped out from under him. He crashed to the floor, muttered a curse, and grabbed at the chair to pull himself up again–but before he could speak, Rhosmari had Leaped away.
•••
“Rhosmari? Are you there?”
The soft voice came from just outside her door, breaking into her troubled dreams. Blearily Rhosmari lifted her head from the mattress, to find that it was morning. “Yes?” she mumbled.
“It’s Linden. I just wanted to see if you were all right, since you didn’t come down to breakfast.”
Her temples throbbed, and she felt as though someone had rubbed ash into her eyes. Rhosmari climbed off the bed, pulled her thick hair back into its clasp, and opened the door.
“Oh,” said Linden. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Would you like me to go away?”
There was no anger left in Rhosmari any more, only resignation. “It’s all right,” she said, stepping back to let Linden in.
The other girl moved cautiously into the room–then stopped short. “This is the room Bluebell gave you?” she said. “I am so sorry. I’ll see what I can do about getting you a better one.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Rhosmari replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “What can I do for you?”
Linden hesitated, then sat down beside her. “Rob told me Garan had talked to you. About staying here. Are you . . . going to be all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” said Rhosmari, getting up again and opening the window for some fresh air. From here she could just see the back of the house, where Timothy and Peri were sparring on the veranda. Both were wearing light shirts and trousers, and neither carried a weapon–but as Peri dodged Timothy’s swing and whirled behind him to slash the side of her hand across his shoulder, Rhosmari was appalled at the speed and ruthlessness with which the human woman moved. No wonder the other faeries called her Knife.
Linden came over to see where she was looking, and sucked in her breath as Timothy staggered. “He pushes himself so hard,” she said softly. “I wish he wouldn’t.”
“Pushes himself?” asked Rhosmari. To her it looked more like Peri was pushing Timothy, and that relentlessly. But she had barely framed the thought before Timothy ducked under Peri’s swing and poked her in the ribs, forcing a laugh out of her that echoed across the garden. Then the two of them broke off their mock fight and headed back into the house.
“The Empress nearly killed him at Sanctuary,” said Linden. “Blasted him with all her power–if he hadn’t been carrying iron, he’d have been dead for certain. And for days afterward, he kept having these spasms where he’d drop things, or his legs would go numb. I think he still has them sometimes, though he doesn’t like to talk about it.”
So that was why he had fallen last night. Rhosmari had thought it a harmless accident, but now guilt crawled over her. No wonder Timothy had gone into Waverley Hall wearing so much iron. No wonder Peri had been upset when he dashed upstairs to rescue Rhosmari from Martin and the Empress all by himself. How much courage must that have taken for him to face someone–indeed two people–who had hurt him so badly?
“He’s trapped here too, you know,” said Linden, turning earnest hazel eyes to hers. “Peri and Paul had to get permission to take him out of school, because the first day he tried to go back the Empress sent someone to kill him. If Lily hadn’t gone along to keep an eye on him . . .” She gave a little shudder.
So the house had become Timothy’s prison, just as the Oak was hers. Once again, Rhosmari had misjudged him–and now she owed him an apology. But perhaps, after she had so callously abandoned him last night, he would not want to speak to her again?
“Anyway,” Linden went on in a brisker tone, “if you’re ready to come out, I could show you around the Oak a bit. So you know where everything is, like the baths, and the kitchen, and the library—”
“You have a library?” The last of Rhosmari’s fatigue vanished. If she had books to study, then at least she would not be idle. And if she looked carefully enough, perhaps she would even learn something that would help them against the Empress. “Are there any histories of the Oak I could look at? Any books that mention Jasmine, and what she was like when she lived here?”
Linden blinked. “Well, yes, we have a few of those. Not a lot, but—”
