Approving murmurs rose from the audience: Nearly all the Children of Rhys seemed to agree that the judgment was fair. But Linden closed her eyes, despairing. What use was an invitation that none of her people could possibly accept? There was no way that a group of small faeries with no magic to protect themselves could undertake such a long journey-and even if by some miracle they did make it this far, how many of them would be deemed worthy to join the Children of Rhys? Much as she disliked Mallow’s bossiness and blustering, much as she resented Bluebell trying to set herself up as Queen in Valerian’s place, Linden could not bear the thought that any of the Oakenfolk might fail the test, and be left behind.
Timothy’s arm came around her shoulders, a wordless gesture of sympathy, and Linden turned to him and buried her face against his chest, a little sob heaving out of her. The chamber grew quiet, the Elders awaiting her reply-but she couldn’t bear to look at them, didn’t know what to say.
“So that’s what you call pity?” demanded Timothy over the top of her head, and she pulled back, startled, as he continued in the same fierce tone: “I call it cowardice. Linden’s told you what’s happening out there-nearly all your fellow faeries are slaves of the Empress, and they’re treating my people like cattle. The Oakenfolk are the only ones left who know how to live freely and in peace with humans-and instead of helping them make a difference in the world, you want to make them just as useless and self-righteous as you are?”
“Boy,” began one of the Elders warningly, but Timothy kept talking right over him:
“Why should the Oakenfolk come and live with people who’ve been so busy congratulating themselves on their own goodness and generosity, they haven’t even noticed that the rest of the world is suffering? You keep yourself hidden away on these islands because you’re afraid of being corrupted. But what good are your laws if they only help people who are perfect already? What use are your beliefs if they can’t stand up to the real world?”
He spoke with passion, gray-green eyes blazing, and Linden gazed up at him in awe. When he had finished, the silence in the chamber was electric, and it was several heartbeats before the dark-haired Lady Elder spoke:
“Return to us the magical herbs you carry. You have scorned our sacred traditions and despised our charity, and you are no longer welcome here.”
And with that, she stood up and deliberately turned her back on them. Several other Elders did likewise, and then, after a helpless pause, the rest. Gwylan was last to turn, his face grim and his hands clenched at his sides. Then, in a flash of cold light, all twelve of them disappeared.
Sixteen
In the dreadful stillness that followed the Elders’ verdict, four faeries carrying spears and wearing leather breastplates marched out onto the floor, one from each corner of the chamber. Their faces were hard, their manner imposing despite their small size, and the menace that radiated from them made Linden’s mouth go dry with fear.
“So much for your kingdom of justice and peace,” said Timothy bitterly. “Is that how you keep your people in line here-just throw out anyone who dares to disagree with you?”
“Give us the herbs,” said one of the faery guards, holding out her hand, and with a scowl Timothy swung his backpack off his shoulder. He opened the side pocket, pulled out the wilted, muddy clump he had taken from St. David’s churchyard, and flung it at the guards’ feet.
Linden looked at Garan, silently begging him to stand up and do something to support them. But he would not meet her gaze, and before she could even speak his name he vanished. Like stars winking out, the other Children of Rhys followed his example, and in moments every seat in the chamber was empty.
Her eyes prickled as she stared at the place where Garan had been. His desertion hurt, but it also stunned her to see how easily these faeries could transport themselves from one place to another with a single thought. Surely, if the Children of Rhys had that much power, it would have been no difficulty for them to share some of it with the Oakenfolk. Yet they had not been willing to do even that, except on their own impossible terms…and now her people’s last hope of salvation was gone.
“I’m sorry,” she heard Timothy say in a low voice. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Linden took his hand and squeezed it. “Don’t apologize,” she said softly. “You were right.”
“Walk,” said another of the guards, pointing his spear toward the sculpted archway through which they had come. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, Linden obeyed-and in a few steps she and Timothy emerged once more at the edge of the little wood, with the wildflower-dotted meadow stretching before them. Two of the guards stepped out in front of them, while the other two fell in behind, and in silence they waded through the tangled, hissing grass until they reached the shoreline.
“The boat is there,” the female guard said, pointing imperiously. “Get into it, and be gone.”
Timothy went first, tossing his backpack into the bottom of the boat with a thump and climbing in after it. His face was set with anger, but Linden felt only a weary sadness. She was just about to follow when she heard Garan’s voice, and turned back to see him standing in the midst of the four guards, gesturing earnestly as he talked with them. They seemed unimpressed, but at last the leader nodded, and he and all but one male guard disappeared.
“I’ll just be a moment, Llinos,” said Garan. Then he hurried down the stairs to meet Timothy and Linden on the beach.
“I came to plead with you,” he said, clasping Linden’s hand between both his own. “It is not too late for you to accept the Elders’ offer. If you return with me now, and tell them you are sorry-”
“I am not sorry,” she said, pulling her hand back and curling it into a fist. “There is no place here for me or my people, whatever your Elders might say.”
Garan’s shoulders slumped. “Then I can only bid you good-bye.”
“Come with us,” Linden urged, but he shook his head.
“I cannot,” he said. “For all that I spoke boldly of taking a stand, I am not ready to leave the Gwerdonnau Llion. Not yet.” He backed away from the boat, one hand lifting in a sad farewell. Then he vanished.
Emotion welled up in Linden, threatening to shatter her composure. Ducking her head so that the watching guard would not see her face, she stepped into the boat and sat down, hands folded in her lap. She had just settled herself when a great wave rushed in, lifting the vessel from the sand and pulling it out to sea.
As they floated toward a set of pillars that looked just like the ones closer to the shore, Timothy rested his chin on his hand, staring into the distance. After a moment he said, “I didn’t take Garan for such a coward.”
“Don’t judge him too harshly,” she replied, though it was hard to keep her voice from trembling. “He did what he could.”
Timothy gave a derisive snort. “If you say so. It sounded like a lot of useless talk to me.”
Linden forced herself to keep silent until the waves carried them through the portal, and they emerged safely on the other side. Then she broke into a smile, and opened her hand to reveal the parting gift Garan had given her.
“Is that-” started Timothy, sitting bolt upright in his seat, but Linden held a warning finger to her lips. For all they knew, the Children of Rhys might still be listening.
“We’ll talk about it later,” she said, trying to sound sad and hopeless-as indeed she had been, until Garan pressed the Stone of Naming into her hand. “Right now, all I want is to get back to shore.”
The tide was high as they reached the little cove, and their boat pitched and rolled as it rode the breakers in. Linden made herself small and leaped into the air, easily dodging the spray, but Timothy was forced to leap for the cliffside, and a cold wave drenched his legs at once. Hands numb, feet slipping wetly inside his shoes, he scrabbled for a hold on the rocks and then began edging up the narrow, treacherous path toward the mainland.