Arrow (Knife) (22 page)

‘Do you know how they’re made?’ Campion leaned forward, eyes lit with fascination. ‘Could you show me how they work?’

‘I’d be glad to,’ said Rhosmari. ‘Perhaps later, after I’ve had a chance to go through these?’

‘Oh – yes, of course.’ With ill-concealed disappointment the Librarian straightened up again. ‘Well, if you have any questions, or need anything, just ring the bell. I’ll be next door in the archive.’

Left alone in the library’s musty, windowless silence, Rhosmari leafed through the first of the books Campion had given her.
Snowdrop the Queen
appeared to be a biography of the woman the Empress had called her mentor. Next came
A Restored History of the Oakenfolk
and
After the Sundering
, both by the late Queen Amaryllis, and finally three well-worn diaries that had belonged to Heather, the faery who had married Philip Waverley and borne him two children.

As she began to read, time vanished and the world around her slipped away. She pored over one passage after another, mulling over the details and making notes whenever she found something that might be useful. So far she had not learned much about the Empress that she did not know already, but…

‘Found anything interesting?’

Rhosmari nearly dropped her book. ‘Timothy! What brings you here?’

‘Looking for you,’ he said. He spoke easily, as though their quarrel last night had never happened. ‘Paul and Peri and I were about to have tea, and I thought you might like to join us.’

Was it that late already? Somehow she had missed the noon meal and not even noticed. ‘That’s kind of you,’ she said haltingly. ‘But I owe you an apology—’

He held up a hand. ‘No need. Yesterday was hard on all of us, but you especially. I don’t blame you for being…’ He stopped. ‘OK, maybe
human
isn’t the word I want to use here. But you know what I mean.’

‘I think so,’ said Rhosmari, unable to keep from smiling at the rueful look on his face.

‘Good. Let’s leave it at that.’ He looked over her shoulder. ‘Is that one of Heather’s diaries you’re reading? What for?’

So he had read them, too. ‘I’m trying to understand Jasmine,’ she said. ‘If I can figure out how she thinks, then perhaps we’ll be able to figure out a way to stop her.’

‘That would be brilliant,’ Timothy said. ‘Though right now I’d settle for just knowing when she’s going to attack.’ He leaned against the edge of the table. ‘I’d like to believe Rob’s right about the Empress being weak, or at least not having quite as many followers as she claims. But Queen Valerian seems to think, and Peri and I do too, that the Empress is waiting for something. Or at least she was, before she got hold of this idea of invading the Green Isles…and now that she’s lost you, she’s gone back to waiting again.’

‘Perhaps, but she can’t wait much longer,’ Rhosmari said. ‘If she doesn’t stop Garan and the others from using the Stone, it won’t be long before they’ve freed more slaves than she can command.’

‘Good point.’ Timothy stood up again. ‘So it has to be something pretty big, to make her hold off this long. We should probably talk this over with Peri – but that brings me back to tea. Are you coming?’

Rhosmari closed the diary and put it back on the top of the pile. ‘Do you know,’ she said. ‘I think I will.’

As Rhosmari followed Timothy out into the garden, the sky was blue from one horizon to the other, and the sun was blazing through the branches of the Oak. The air felt so warm, the breeze so light, that if the meadow on the other side of the hedge had been water instead of grass, she could almost have imagined herself back on the Green Isles…

No, she was not going to think about that. But it was certainly a pleasant spring day. With a glance at Timothy’s open collar and rolled-up sleeves, she slipped out of her jacket and laid it by the foot of the Oak. Then she walked with him across the lawn, where a number of faeries had gathered around Rob, Garan and Thorn for their daily lessons in combat.

By the rose hedge on their left, Rob was showing his onlookers various offensive and defensive spells. To their right, Thorn was telling a nervous-looking faery girl how to shoot a bow. ‘Straighten your arm,’ she said. ‘Tighten those back muscles…and stop sticking your thumb out like that, you’ll poke yourself in the eye.’

In the middle of the lawn some of the rebels and Children of Rhys were sparring, the clack of wooden swords competing with the sweeter sounds of rustling grass and birdsong. Since all of the faeries had remained small, there was plenty of room for everyone; and between the tall hedge border that surrounded their training ground and the open meadows to either side, no passing human would be likely to notice them. Though judging by the ripple of power Rhosmari sensed around the edges of the garden, the whole area was protected by glamour anyway.

‘I hope you can find a way to defeat Jasmine without fighting,’ said Timothy. ‘But just in case you can’t, I’m thinking it might be a good idea if you learned to defend yourself.’

He spoke mildly, but annoyance flickered inside Rhosmari all the same. ‘I already know how to do that,’ she said.

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘So…how, exactly? I mean, what’s your speciality?’

Of course he would ask about that – the last thing she wanted anyone to know. ‘Does it matter? I competed in the Rhysian Games each year, like everyone else. And I did well enough.’

‘Then you wouldn’t mind giving me a demonstration?’

There was a gleam in his eye she did not like; it reminded her of the way Rob had looked when he suggested they attack the Empress. ‘Fight you, you mean?’ she asked. ‘No.’

‘Then fight somebody else. You don’t have to hurt them. Just show me what you can do.’

She did not reply.

‘Look, if you’re shy about it—’

‘I’m not
shy
.’ She spoke flatly, her hands curling tight at her sides. ‘I just don’t want to. Why can’t you just believe me? Why do you need proof?’

‘I’m not asking for proof. All I want is a bit of evidence. You were the one who said you didn’t believe in fighting, remember – can you blame me?’

He was baiting her. Trying to goad her into betraying herself. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘If you won’t take my word for it, then maybe you’ll take someone else’s.’ She strode over to where Garan stood by the garden shed with bow in hand, showing the Oakenfolk how to aim at a target. ‘Garan,’ she interrupted him, ‘do I or do I not know how to defend myself?’

For a moment Garan only looked baffled. Then his gaze shifted to Timothy, and his expression turned blank. ‘That is not for me to judge,’ he said.

Rhosmari stared at him, speechless at this unexpected betrayal. Then she snatched the bow out of his hands, nocked an arrow to the string, and fired it straight into the centre of the target, forty paces away.

‘Judge that,’ she snapped, and stalked off back to the Oak.

Back at the table in the library, Rhosmari buried her face in the crook of her arm. Now that her anger had subsided, she could only berate herself for being so foolish. What did it matter if Timothy thought her weak, or untrained, or even cowardly? It would have been better to let him despise her, to let him and most of the others go on believing that she was a scholar and nothing more.

But now that she had fired that arrow, she might as well have come to the Oak fully armed and bedecked with all her prizes from the Rhysian Games. No one who had seen Rhosmari shoot would be content to let her stay out of battle: an archer of her skill was too great an asset for any army to lose.

Yet she still could not bring herself to fire a bow at any living being, even in a cause she believed was just. To deliberately shed blood, she would have to ignore everything her father’s death had taught her – and worse, it would mean giving up all hope of seeing her homeland and her people again…

‘Rhosmari.’

The voice was Garan’s. She sat up abruptly and pulled the books towards her as he went on, ‘I did not mean to distress you. I know you have no love of battle, but you are such a skilled archer, and I thought…perhaps you wanted to show Timothy what you could do.’

‘Why would I want that?’ She spoke coolly, to deny the humiliation rushing through her.

‘Because you wanted to be rid of him, perhaps? Ever since he rescued you at Waverley Hall, he appears to have appointed himself your protector. And though I have tried to tell him you are well looked after here, he insists on seeking you out. I know you may scoff at my saying so, but…I believe Timothy is attracted to you.’

Rhosmari could not look at him for fear she might laugh, or weep. She opened a book and began leafing through it. ‘Whatever makes you think so?’

He made a little, disbelieving sound. ‘Rhosmari…you’re holding that book upside down.’

Heat flooded her face. She snapped the book shut – and at that same moment, a thunderous bang resounded from the corridor outside. A chorus of screams followed, then a second crash, bringing both Garan and Rhosmari to their feet. They dashed out of the library together, but as they came through the door Garan flung out an arm to bar Rhosmari’s path. Straight in front of them, Mallow stood with her back against the Queen’s Gate, brandishing her cleaver at Llinos and an exasperated-looking Broch.

‘Don’t you touch me,’ she panted.

‘We are here to arrest you in Queen Valerian’s name,’ Llinos told her, quiet but adamant. ‘You cannot escape justice, Mallow. If you have done no wrong, you have nothing to fear; but if you resist, we will have to restrain you.’

Mallow’s scullions huddled in the corridor nearby, some open-mouthed and others sobbing. By the time a pale but determined Holly had come out of the kitchen and shepherded the lot of them back inside, Broch had disarmed Mallow and was lashing the Chief Cook’s hands behind her back. ‘More trouble than you’re worth, aren’t you?’ he muttered, then dodged as she turned her head and spat.

‘Peace, Mallow,’ said Garan sternly. ‘You have already dishonoured yourself enough.’

‘
Dishonoured.
Think yourself so lordly, don’t you?’ she sneered back at him. ‘Or should I say
kingly
? I’ve seen how you look at Valerian. There’s more than one way to gain a throne.’

Startled, Rhosmari glanced at Garan – but he shook his head. ‘You have the tongue of an adder, Mallow,’ he said. ‘But Valerian is five times my age, or more. Compared to her, I am a mere child – and I am not a fool.’ He nodded at Llinos and Broch. ‘Take her to the Queen. I will follow.’

The male faeries began to lead Mallow up the stairs, but when the Chief Cook saw Rhosmari, she planted her heels. ‘You! You’ll be sorry, you nasty little spy. When I get hold of you, I’ll—’

Broch snapped his fingers, cutting off the sentence before Mallow could finish it. Yet her mouth continued to move despite the silencing spell, soundlessly vowing revenge.

Sick at heart, Rhosmari turned away.

‘Rhosmari!’

It was little more than a whisper in the darkness, but she recognised Timothy’s voice at once. She threw back the covers and hurried to the window, to find his enormous grey-green eye peering in at her.

‘What is it?’ she asked, resisting the impulse to cringe. ‘And who told you where to find me?’

‘Linden. She told us your room’s terrible. So Peri sent me to offer you the guest bedroom in the house. And to let you know you’re welcome to sleep there as long as you like.’

Rhosmari looked behind her at the cramped little chamber, bare as a prison cell and no more welcoming. She scratched the place on her shoulder where the straw mattress always pricked her, and thought about Mallow locked up in the storeroom only two floors below.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll get my things.’

Once she had made herself presentable again, it was an easy Leap to the stone veranda behind the house, where Peri was waiting by the glass door to let her in. ‘You’ll be upstairs at the far end of the corridor, next to the bathroom,’ she said. ‘And you can have breakfast with us in the morning or go back to the Oak, whichever you prefer.’

Rhosmari glanced around for Timothy, but he had disappeared again. ‘I’m grateful for your hospitality,’ she told Peri with a little curtsy, and headed off to her new room.

That night Rhosmari slept as she had not slept in weeks, a deep and dreamless slumber. She woke naturally at daybreak, refreshed but also hungry – so she was glad to accept Peri’s offer of joining the humans for breakfast. Timothy was already at the table, dressed but still sleepy-looking, with his hair sticking up on one side. ‘Orange juice?’ he asked as she came in, then tried to cover an enormous yawn with his elbow.

‘Yes, please,’ said Rhosmari, as Paul slid a plateful of scrambled eggs onto the table, pivoted the wheelchair expertly and rolled back to Peri for the bacon. The kitchen was pleasantly quiet compared to the clamour of the dining hall at the Oak – almost as quiet as breakfast in her mother’s house would have been, but much more relaxed. For some time there were no sounds but the clink of cutlery and the crunch of buttered toast, until Paul spoke:

‘I’ve been curious about something, Rhosmari. At what age do faeries usually get married on the Green Isles? Because Garan looks like he might be old enough, but you seem pretty young to be betrothed.’

‘We were betrothed when I was fourteen, actually,’ said Rhosmari, watching Timothy pour more juice into his glass. ‘But we’re not any more.’

A splash of orange hit the tablecloth. Timothy hastily righted the jug and began dabbing up the spill with his paper napkin. ‘Really,’ he said. ‘I’m…er…sorry to hear it.’

Paul and Peri exchanged glances, and both their mouths twitched. But all Paul said was, ‘Right. Well, I’m going into town this morning. Does anyone need anything?’

Rhosmari spent the rest of that day in the Oak’s library, studying the books Campion had given her. Among other things, she discovered that Queen Snowdrop, Jasmine’s predecessor, had died under suspicious circumstances – so suspicious, in fact, that it was obvious Jasmine had murdered her in order to take the throne. And yet the Empress called Snowdrop her mentor, and was now wearing her face…which made Rhosmari more convinced than ever that the woman was not entirely sane.