She nodded to Veronica, who seemed to take it as a dismissal and Leaped away, leaving Rhosmari, Martin and the Empress alone. The Empress let go of Martin’s jaw and continued. ‘Under ordinary circumstances, the penalty for your disobedience would be death. Yet you have rendered me good service in the past, so I am prepared to be merciful.’ She reached for her dagger. ‘Give me your hand.’
‘Wait.’ A muscle twitched in Martin’s cheek; he looked close to panic. ‘You don’t have to do this. I can give you something else you want, and this time, I swear, I will do it on my own—’
‘What else can you possibly do for me,’ said the Empress, ‘that the Blackwings or Veronica cannot do just as well, or better?’
‘I can infiltrate the rebels for you.’ He spoke quickly, flushed with eagerness. ‘I can gain their confidence, learn their secrets – they will see that I am not under your control, and let me join them in the Oak—’
The Oak. Rhosmari’s heart thudded against her ribs. So even that part of Martin’s story had been a lie? Rob and his rebels, Garan and his men, the Oakenfolk, Timothy and the others – they were all still alive, still free, still together?
Joy surged up within her, and it took all the skills she had absorbed from her visits to the theatre not to exclaim aloud. But she managed to keep her expression neutral, right up to the point where the Empress turned to her and said, ‘Strike him, Rhosmari.’
Immediately Rhosmari’s arm whipped out, with the full force of her weight behind it. The blow connected with Martin’s cheek, jarring the bones in her hand and stinging her palm like fire. He staggered back and almost fell, but as he righted himself one corner of his mouth turned up.
‘You must have enjoyed that,’ he said.
Rhosmari swallowed back the sickness in her throat. She had never struck another living being before. ‘No,’ she whispered, but even as her lips shaped the word she knew it was a lie.
‘I have no interest in your offer,’ the Empress told Martin. ‘As far as the Oak is concerned, I have all the information I need. So one last time, before I lose my patience: give me your hand.’
Martin looked straight into her eyes, but he did not move.
‘Or,’ the Empress went on conversationally, ‘I will have Rhosmari take control of your mind, and she will make you caper about the room like a clown until you die of exhaustion. Would you prefer that?’
Rhosmari’s skin prickled with horror. Don’t let her do this, she pleaded silently with Martin. Just give her what she wants. Please…
Martin’s lips moved, shaping a curse or a prayer. Then he raised his clenched fist, unfolded it finger by finger, and turned his palm up to the Empress. Rhosmari turned away, not wanting to watch what happened next.
‘What is your command, Your Imperial Majesty?’ said Martin, when the Empress had finished. There was no mockery or insolence in his tone; he knew better than to openly defy her now that she held his name.
‘You may join my other servants,’ she told him, ‘who are helping to rebuild my army. Capture as many renegades and rebels as you can find, and bring either them or a sample of their blood to me. But do not travel far. I want you within summoning distance.’
Martin nodded, flicked an unreadable look at Rhosmari, and Leaped out of the room. The Empress sighed and sat down, arranging her silken skirts. ‘It is always so tedious forcing people to do what is best for them,’ she said. ‘Why can they not simply accept my judgment, even if they are too ignorant to appreciate it?’
Once, Rhosmari might have been tempted to sympathise. Now she only wanted to scream. ‘Your Majesty,’ she said unevenly, ‘may I ask a question?’
‘Of course,’ said the Empress, with one of her indulgent smiles. ‘What do you wish to know?’
‘I am as much in your power as he is,’ Rhosmari said. ‘And I have done nothing to offend you. You already know everything I could tell you about the Children of Rhys. So why keep me here, and let him go?’
The Empress looked surprised, then amused. ‘You mean you still have not guessed?’ she asked. ‘I know you are not accustomed to thinking like a soldier, but surely the answer is obvious. I need an army large enough to defeat the rebels and wipe them out completely. And once you have opened Gruffydd’s Way for me and my followers, and led us to the Green Isles in secret…I will have that army.’
ten
Sitting alone in the blue bedroom, Rhosmari felt strangely insubstantial, as though someone had hollowed her out from the inside. Her bruised palm still throbbed, and she could not close her eyes without seeing Martin’s head snapping back as she struck him. But that was nothing compared to the horror of what the Empress wanted her to do next – to help her invade the Green Isles by stealth and treachery, and conquer the Children of Rhys.
How could she have been so blind to what the Empress was planning? Rhosmari had been so intent on saving her people from harm, it had never occurred to her that she herself could become the means of their destruction. But now, if she did not do something quickly, her people would be taken unawares, and turned into slaves of the Empress. Not just a few of them as she had once feared, but all of them.
She leaped up from her seat and went to the window, staring out across the empty garden. Somewhere out there, the Oak was still alive and whole – and full of rebel faeries, Garan and his men included. If they knew what the Empress had in mind for Rhosmari, they would surely come and rescue her. But how could she get a message to them?
She could address it to the humans in the house, perhaps…but the Empress kept a close eye on Sarah’s correspondence, and she could hardly be expected to overlook something marked for Oakhaven.
Could she coax a bird to the window, and tie a message to its leg? No, because she would still need to use magic to tell the bird where to go.
What if she… No, that wouldn’t work either.
Rhosmari gripped the sill with both hands, fighting back panic. She had to find a way to contact the rebels. Any day now, or at any moment, the Empress might gather her forces and command Rhosmari to lead them to the Green Isles. Merciful Rhys, what was she going to do?
She was still gazing helplessly into the distance when Isadora came waddling up the gravel drive towards the kitchen. The little dog had begun to put on weight again, but she still needed regular meals to keep up her strength – and with everything that had happened today, Rhosmari had forgotten to feed her.
Well, at least she could do that much to thwart the Empress, if nothing else. But it was hard for Rhosmari to take much joy in saving a dog, knowing that the lives of hundreds of faeries were still in jeopardy…and that if the Empress conquered them, it would be her fault.
When Rhosmari came into the kitchen, she found Sarah hunched over the worktop, chopping vegetables. ‘I’m so tired of making fancy meals,’ the older woman said, wiping her hand across her brow. ‘And the grocer’s bill! It seems like every day I’m having to call for another delivery. If this keeps up I’ll have nothing left to live on.’
She sounded so plaintive that, for a moment, Rhosmari almost told her about the Empress’s plan. If it gave her no joy to know that the Empress would soon be leaving Waverley Hall, then at least it would be good news to Sarah. But she could not bring herself to share her burden with anyone, and she feared what might happen to Sarah if the Empress guessed that they had been talking together.
Quietly Rhosmari filled Isadora’s bowl and set it out on the kitchen step. But as she watched the dog gobble down the meal, a new misgiving troubled her. How long would it be before the Empress noticed that the little dog had not yet died, and decided to investigate? And what would happen to Isadora then?
Rhosmari put a hand to her forehead. Every time she tried to help, all she seemed to do was make matters worse. Now she not only had to warn the Elders and get a message to the rebels, she had to find a way to save Isadora too…
Despairing, she turned to leave, and a picture on the far wall caught her eye. It was a painting of Sar
ah at a slightly younger age, seated and smiling with her dog on her lap and a kindly-looking man standing behind her. Rhosmari had noticed the painting before, but never paid it close attention. Now something made her stop and consider it again.
By rights it ought to have disturbed her as much as Philip Waverley’s ruined portrait, for it was impossible not to look at that peaceful scene without being reminded of how much Sarah had suffered since. But the bold, vigorous way the artist had used his brush upon the canvas, the glowing warmth of the colours he had chosen, made Rhosmari feel reassured and even a little comforted. It seemed to tell her of a better world that had been once, and perhaps would be again.
‘That’s a lovely thing, isn’t it?’ said Sarah, coming up behind her. ‘The artist’s quite well known in these parts, so I was surprised when he said he’d like to paint Richard and myself for free. I told him we’d be glad to pay, but he insisted, and by the time he was done we’d become quite good friends with him and his wife. It’s a shame he has to use a wheelchair, but it doesn’t seem to hold him back much…’
As she spoke, Rhosmari’s eyes drifted to the bottom corner of the portrait, where the artist had scrawled his name. ‘Yes, it’s very good,’ she said, and left.
But for the rest of that afternoon and evening, she was nagged by a sense that she had overlooked something important. It was not until nearly midnight, as she lay dry-eyed and sleepless in the light of the full moon, that she remembered the signature at the bottom of Sarah’s portrait.P. McCormick.
Paul McCormick. Timothy’s cousin, and the husband of Peri, who had once been a faery called Knife…
And their house was called Oakhaven, because the Oak was there.
Rhosmari sat up, gripping the mattress. Her brain had begun to work furiously, weaving connections from one idea to another. Paul McCormick. Isadora’s need for protection. Sarah lamenting her grocery bill…
Excitement blazed through her, filling her with energy. She leaped out of bed and raced to the writing desk, switching on the little light above it. Then she pulled out a sheet of paper and began to write.
From Rhosmari daughter of Celyn, to Paul and Peri McCormick and the people of the Oak that is behind their house, greetings in the name of Rhys and the Great Gardener. I have been taken captive by the Empress and am being held prisoner by her at Waverley Hall, along with the house’s human owner, Sarah…
Though her blood fizzed with eagerness, she knew she must not be hasty. She had to explain to the rebels, step by step, what they needed to do. First they would encounter the Empress’s wards, which would alert her the moment any faery or human crossed the estate’s perimeter. And though the Empress spent most of her time at Waverley Hall alone, she always kept at least one or two of her lieutenants – and any number of lesser servants besides – within summoning distance. So it was crucial for the rebels to find a way to dismantle the wards before they approached, or they would find themselves in the midst of a battle.
And yet – Rhosmari’s pen hovered over the page – even if they did reach the house without being seen, no faery could enter Waverley Hall without permission. And as long as the Empress was still the mistress of the house, the only guests she would allow Sarah to invite were her own…
But if Rhosmari kept thinking of all the ways in which her plan could fail, she would never have the courage to finish this letter at all. She kept writing, one line after another, until she had filled two pages in her precise, scholarly hand. Then she sketched a rough diagram of the interior of Waverley Hall, indicating where her bedroom and Sarah’s, as well as the Empress’s study and personal bedchamber, were located. Now for the conclusion:
The Empress plans for me to help her invade and conquer the Green Isles. If she succeeds in adding the Children of Rhys to her army, you will have no chance of resisting her. So I urge you to come quickly, for all our sakes.
When the letter was finished Rhosmari read it over again, afraid that she might have forgotten something – but no, it was good. With a shiver of anticipation she signed the page, folded it and tucked it into the box with the unused envelopes, where no one else would be likely to find it.
Now all she had to do was wait for morning.
When the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, Rhosmari woke at once, ready to carry out her plan. But her pulse beat erratically as she opened her bedroom door, and when she stepped out into the hallway she felt as though she were going to her own funeral. She carried the incriminating letter tucked into the waistband of her skirt, hidden from any casual glance, but that would not save her if the Empress became suspicious. It took all her courage to walk lightly past the study doors, and descend the stairs as though she were in no particular hurry at all.
Fortunately, the Empress must have been preoccupied, because Rhosmari made it safely to the bottom of the stairs, and after that it was an easy matter to find Sarah in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.
‘Sarah,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I know how to get Isadora to a place where she’ll be safe.’
The woman looked taken aback, and even once Rhosmari explained her plan, she hesitated so long that Rhosmari feared she might not go through with it. But at last she said, ‘Yes. Yes, of course. It’s the only way,’ and hurried off to fetch Isadora’s dog carrier.
Later that morning, Rhosmari watched from her bedroom window as the grocer’s lorry came crunching up the drive and wheezed to a stop by the kitchen. As the driver unloaded Sarah’s groceries and carried them into the house, Rhosmari clasped her hands together and mouthed a silent prayer. Please let him be willing. Please don’t let Sarah change her mind…
The man stayed inside for what seemed a very long time, and Rhosmari began to feel nauseated with worry. But Sarah must have persisted, for in the end he went back outside with a bundle of banknotes in his pocket and Isadora’s carrier under his arm. As he climbed into the lorry and drove away, Rhosmari held her breath. If the Empress had seen…if the wards alerted her that something was wrong…
But when the lorry reached the end of the drive and turned onto the road, she knew with a leap of her heart that she had guessed right: the Empress took little account of dogs – or humans. And when it was safe to go downstairs again, Sarah’s tearful gratitude was all that Rhosmari could have wished for.
‘You did it!’ she whispered, clutching Rhosmari’s hand in her soft, blue-veined ones. ‘She’s safe! Oh, thank you, thank you…’
Rhosmari was glad to see the old woman so relieved. Yet to hear those sacred words, even from a human who did not know any better, made her squirm inside. She did not deserve to have Sarah so indebted to her. Especially since she had used Isadora’s rescue as an opportunity to send her letter to the rebels, and not even told Sarah what she was doing…but then, that was for Sarah’s own protection.
Or at least that was what Rhosmari told herself. But deeper down she knew the real reason: she did not dare to rely upon anyone now, even someone as well-meaning as Sarah. If the rebels came to rescue them, Sarah would share in her joy; but if not, Rhosmari would bear the disappointment, and the consequences, alone.
One day passed, and then another, and another. By the fourth day, Rhosmari had begun to lose hope. At the end of the fifth, she pressed her face into her pillow and wept. And on the sixth, when the Empress summoned Rhosmari and announced that they would leave for the Green Isles tomorrow, she could only bow her head in resignation. She had done her best, but she had failed. And now she could think of only one more way to thwart the Empress’s plan.
That night, when the house was still, Rhosmari walked softly out of her bedroom and down the steps to the kitchen. She felt no fear, only a black and roaring emptiness, as she took Sarah’s carving knife from the block and poised it against her heart. She would grip it with both hands, like so, and…
But the knife would not move, and neither would her body, no matter how much Rhosmari willed them to come together. She wrestled against herself until sweat broke out on
her forehead, then dropped the knife with a clatter and reeled back, gasping and spent. When the Empress had told Rhosmari not to leave the house by any means, she had meant it. Even the door of death was closed to her now. Rhosmari stumbled back up to her bedroom, and fell into exhausted sleep.
When she woke it was mid-morning, and the sunlight slanting through the curtains seared her eyes like a brand. But her limbs felt too heavy to move, and what was the use of getting out of bed anyway? She rolled over and curled in upon herself, wishing she could go back to sleep and never wake up again.
Dimly she registered the sound of tyres crackling over gravel as a vehicle came up the drive. The grocer again, no doubt…but if it was his lorry, it did not make any of the usual noises. Nor did the muffled voice – no, voices – drifting up from the yard sound familiar. Rhosmari clambered out of bed and pressed her ear to the window, straining to make out their conversation. It sounded as though some human family had come by to see the estate, and Sarah was turning them away.
‘No, we don’t give tours any more,’ she said. ‘Waverley Hall is no longer open to the public. I’ll have to ask you to— Oh!’
Ice shot through Rhosmari’s veins. Someone was hurting Sarah! She whirled and dashed out into the corridor – only to collide with Martin, who seized her by both wrists and held her there.
‘Cleverly done, my lioness,’ he said, raising his voice as shouts and splintering noises resounded from the floor below. ‘So you learned a few tricks from me after all.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Rhosmari demanded, struggling to see past him. ‘What’s going on?’
‘What do you think?’ he said. ‘The Empress summoned me to keep an eye on you, because your rebel friends are attacking the house. Somehow they got past the wards – and now they’ve broken inside. How did they manage that, I wonder?’
Thumps and hoarse cries echoed from downstairs, followed by a crash of furniture being overturned. Rhosmari tried to twist free of Martin’s grip, but he only said, ‘The study, I think,’ and began to drag her along with him.