Rebel

Seventeen

Veronica crouched in front of Timothy, one slim hand bringing up his chin. She inspected his nose where the door had struck it and said, “How fragile you humans are. Is that blood?”

“Linden,” said Timothy thickly, pulling away. “Where is she?”

“With the Empress, of course,” Veronica told him. “And Rob is with them, too-you remember Rob, I am sure?”

He shrugged, not wanting her to guess how much he knew, or cared. But his spirit leaped at the news. The Empress had only to turn her back for an instant, and Linden could slip Rob the Stone…

“It is a shame you didn’t let me take your music at the beginning,” Veronica went on, stroking his hair back from his face. “It would have made everything so much easier.”

Timothy clenched his hands. He could feel the calluses on his fingertips, earned from countless hours of practice; he wanted suddenly, and very badly, to play again.

“I could bring you a guitar,” she murmured, as though she had read his mind. “Remember the way you played for me, the first night we met?”

He remembered it vividly, for all that he’d spent the last couple of days trying not to. In spite of everything he knew about Veronica, he couldn’t forget how it had felt to play with her by his side. Before she’d pushed him, he’d been a pretty good guitarist for his age, but that night he’d been a prodigy, a genius.

“The Empress doesn’t want your music,” she went on in the same soft, enticing tone. “Why should she, with the finest musician in all Faery as her favorite? But I-”

Timothy frowned. “You mean Rob?”

Veronica’s lips pursed irritably. “Of course I do. Who else? But he can play as well as he likes, whenever he pleases; somehow the Empress gave him that power. Whereas you and I…” Her fingers traced the shape of his ear. “We need to work together.”

Rob, the Empress’s favorite? With a permanent gift of music no other faery possessed? Dread curdled in Timothy’s stomach, but Veronica was still speaking:

“What if we were to make a bargain, you and I? You see, I can’t take your music just now: It’s buried inside you, too deep for me to reach. I need to see the way your fingers move upon the strings, hear you play the melodies that belong to you alone, before I can touch your gift and make it shine. So…”

Her fingers drifted down the bridge of Timothy’s bruised nose. “I will bring you a guitar,” she continued, “and you will play it for me. It will be a performance such as you dreamt of last night, one that could not be surpassed if you lived a thousand years. And then, when I take your music, you will be grateful.”

“Sounds terrific,” said Timothy sardonically. “And once you’ve taken it, how long will it last you? A few days? A week?”

She shrugged, unfazed. “Better than never being able to play at all.”

“That’s a good way to put it,” Timothy told her. “Because you know what? That’s what I think, too. Almost anything would be better than not being able to play. So if that’s your idea of a bargain — ”

“Oh, no.” Her eyes widened in an unconvincing attempt at innocence. “That was only your part of it. I haven’t even told you mine. First, I take your music…”

She stopped and glanced back at the door, her expression furtive. “And then?” Timothy prompted.

Veronica leaned toward him until her lips almost brushed his ear. She whispered: “And then I’ll let you go.”

“I have been thinking, Linden of the Oak,” said the Empress, rising from her throne and walking back toward the cage. “Misguided though your attitude to humans may be, you have shown such loyalty toward your fellow faeries as I have seldom seen. You have endured much hardship on your people’s account, with little prospect of reward, and I find that admirable. So…I will make you an offer.”

“Offer?” Linden scrubbed at her burning eyes. “What kind of offer?”

“It is this: If you consent to my terms, I will allow your people to continue living in the Oak as long as it pleases them to do so. I will even send some of my own servants to increase your numbers and make you strong. Your lost magic will be restored, and you will have everything you desire…on three conditions.”

She trailed her fingers around the edge of Linden’s cage, spinning it gently as she talked. “One: The Oakenfolk will all swear fealty to me by each giving me one drop of her blood. Two: You will no longer associate with humans. You will not linger in their company, nor aid them, nor befriend them; none of you will ever again look upon a human with love, nor take a human child and raise it as your own, but will remain true to your own kind. And three: Every faery infant born within the Oak must be brought to me within her first few years of life, that I may assure myself of your children’s loyalty just as I am assured of yours.” She stopped the cage and looked at Linden questioningly. “Is that not generous?”

Linden felt as though her chest was being squeezed between two giant fingers. Her breath came quick and shallow, and a rushing noise filled her ears. Everything the Oakenfolk needed…She had never dreamed the Empress would make such an offer. Of course the terms were not ideal, but if every other hope was gone…She put her head in her hands, overwhelmed. Could she really afford to say no?

“Perhaps you doubt my goodwill,” the Empress said. “But consider: Have I ever done you any real harm? I commanded the Blackwings to capture you, not to kill you, and even the fire I kindled beneath your cage was only illusion-meant to frighten you into telling me the truth, no more. The human boy I have locked away for safekeeping, but…”

“Timothy!” Linden burst out. “Please don’t hurt him. This was all my doing, he doesn’t deserve-”

“Of course not,” said the Empress in a soothing tone. “I assure you, he is unharmed; no one has so much as spoken a harsh word to him. All I wish is to remove his memories of the past few days, so that he cannot betray the secrets of our people. Then I will set him free…just as soon as you accept my terms.”

Linden let out her breath. That didn’t sound too bad. Perhaps Timothy would be happier not remembering Sanctuary, or Veronica, or the dangers and hardships that had followed. And it would be a small price to pay if she could go back to Queen Valerian bringing good news of the Oakenfolk’s deliverance. Surely even Knife would understand…

Knife.

The image of her foster mother flashed through Linden’s mind, and at once she realized how foolish her temptation to give in to the Empress had been. Knife had dared to love a human, and give up her faery heritage for his sake: Her very existence was a denial of the Empress’s creed, and all the Oakenfolk knew it. The only way the Empress could respond to such a threat would be to tear Knife and Paul apart, or else kill them both…

Never.

“Great Gardener, give me courage,” she whispered, and then she stood up straight and faced the Empress. “No,” she said. “You will not have our blood, or our fealty, or the service of our children, and we will not turn our backs on our human friends. If we die, we die. But we will not surrender the Oak to you without a fight.”

The Empress’s face hardened. She smacked the flat of her hand against the cage, sending it swinging high into the air. “It is a fight you will lose,” she snapped, as Linden clung to the bars in dizzy terror. “And when you and your human friend stand before me for judgment, you will both regret that you did not accept my offer. Robin!”

Rob stopped playing at once, set his guitar aside, and looked up at her expectantly.

“Fetch the human boy,” she said. “Bring him to me.”

“As you will, Your Imperial Majesty.” He rose and bowed, then stepped toward the door.

“Oh, and Robin?”

Rob turned, brows lifted in a wordless question.

“Send word to all the faeries in the city that I wish them to attend me at once-and be sure to include your fellow would-be rebels. Clearly, it has been too long since my people witnessed an execution.”

Linden’s heart stuttered. Her eyes flicked toward Rob, silently begging him to do something, say something, to reassure her he was on their side. If he hesitated or looked troubled, even for an instant But the only thing that crossed Rob’s face was a smile. “Of course, my Empress,” he said, and went out.

“I don’t believe you,” Timothy told Veronica flatly, though his pulse was galloping. “After the Empress went to all this trouble to capture me, you really think she won’t mind if you just let me go?”

“Of course she would mind,” Veronica said with a roll of her eyes that made her look almost human. “If she knew I was doing it. But you are going to escape all by yourself-or so it will appear. Look.” She unzipped the front pocket of her fitted jacket and pulled out a small brown envelope. Opening the flap carefully with her long fingernails, she shook out a loop of leather cord and then used it to draw out the rest of the packet’s contents.

It was a cross, formed from two square-edged nails bound together with copper wire. The thong went through a loop at the top of the cross, so it could be worn as a necklace.

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?”

“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!”

Within seconds the chaos on the floor resolved itself into two sides: the rebels pressing eagerly toward the stage, and the Empress’s servants trying to hold them back. Birds wheeled about the ceiling, animals leaped and tussled on the floor, light sizzled and metal rang, and in the half-darkness it was impossible to tell which side was winning.

The Empress clawed at her fallen throne, dragging herself to her feet. She staggered forward and swiped at Linden, who ducked away just in time.

“I should have burned that blighted Oak to the ground,” Jasmine panted. “And when I regain my powers-I swear to you that I will-”

But at that same moment Rob and Corbin came clashing toward them, all swords and spell-fire. Linden scrambled back, shielding her eyes-and when she looked again, the Empress had flung open the door at the back of the stage and fled, leaving it open behind her.

Linden darted to Timothy where he sat slumped against the wall. She grabbed his shoulders and shouted in his ear, “Can you move? The Empress-she’s getting away!”

He looked at her dazedly, then gave a weak nod. Linden slung her arm around him and helped him struggle to his feet, then yelled, “This way!” and pointed at the door.

“Just a minute-” Timothy stumbled across the platform and bent to snatch up the iron cross from beside the fallen throne. Corbin’s sword whistled toward his head, but Rob blocked the stroke and kicked the Blackwing off the stage. Within seconds an enraged raven came whirring back toward him; Rob dodged the attack just long enough to stoop and clasp hands with someone in the crowd, then shouted back to Timothy and Linden, “Run! Save yourselves!” and suddenly whisked off into the darkness…

Linden blinked. Had he really changed himself into a fox?

“Free!” cried a melodious voice, and Linden looked around to see the faery who had helped them at Euston Station holding the Stone of Naming high in the air. Other faeries were fighting their way toward her, plunging through walls of blue fire and dodging fountains of red and green sparks; as the first of them reached the faery, she passed him the Stone, and his voice echoed hers in exultation, “Free!”

With a screech one of the Blackwings dove out of the shadows, straight at Timothy’s face. Timothy flung up the iron cross; the raven dropped like an anvil and crashed to the floor as Byrne, unconscious.

“We have to go, Timothy!” Linden called urgently. Clutching the cross in front of him, Timothy began weaving his way past the other faeries swarming onto the stage-but just as he reached Linden, he stumbled and crashed to his knees.

“Timothy!” cried Linden in alarm, and he gasped back, “Legs went numb-don’t know what’s wrong, but I can’t-”

Linden helped him to his feet again, and together they limped toward the door. They had almost reached it when a slim figure slipped out to block their path, tossing the pale hair from his eyes and greeting them with a familiar mocking smile.

“Martin, get out of my way,” Timothy panted, brandishing the cross, but the male faery only laughed.

“I have no quarrel with you, human boy,” he said. “Why should I? I have not had such entertainment in many a year.” And to Linden’s amazement, he swept them a bow and disappeared again.

A noise like thunder cracked across the room, and all the candles went out. “Run!” screamed Linden, and she and Timothy plunged through the door. They found themselves at the top of a stairwell, with a second and heavier door before them; Timothy shoved it open, and the two of them tumbled out onto a concrete step, dazzled by the cold blue light of morning.

There was no sign of the Empress, and behind them the battle of Sanctuary still raged. But at least-or so Linden thought, as she clung to Timothy in exhausted relief-at least the two of them were safe.