Free Faery Rebels by R. J. Anderson Page A

asked.
    I knew I ought not to pry, yet my curiosity was too great to resist. “Knowledge,” I said. “What misfortune befell you, that you should return to the Oak?”
    Her lips pressed tightly together. “I cannot speak of it,” she said. “Suffice it to say that I believe I can better serve our people here.”
    “I beg your pardon,” I said, for I saw that I had grieved her.
    “No matter,” she said. “If curiosity is a fault, it is one I share.
    But I shall offer you knowledge more suited to your craft—some sketches of clothing I saw when Outside, perhaps?”
    “Oh!” I said, much surprised. “Could you?”
    “Certainly. I have gained some little skill as an artist, since I went away.” She smiled, but her eyes remained bitter. “It wouldbe pleasant to put the talent to more…worthy use.”
    I could not think what to say to that, and we stood a moment in silence. Then Jasmine continued in a lighter tone: “I shall bring you the drawings soon. A fortnight before the gown is mended, you say? I should not like to press you, for I know that you do fine work; but I fear that I have little else to wear.”
    “I shall have it ready in a few days,” I told her, for now I truly did pity her. She inclined her head to me, and left.
    I have always felt inferior in Jasmine’s presence, and tempted to fault her for it; but now I see that my thoughts have been unkind, and that she has suffered more than any of us guessed. I think that I shall exhort the other faeries to show her more kindness—but discreetly, for Jasmine is proud even in her disgrace, and would no doubt be offended if she thought I was gossiping about her.
    Knife was tempted to read on, but by now she was so tired, she could scarcely see the page. She pulled out one long white hair and used it to mark her place, then shut the diary and crawled into bed.
     
    The next morning Knife found the Gatherers lined up in front of the Queen’s Gate as usual, shouldering their baskets and discussing their plans for the day. She could hear Holly’s voice raised above the general chatter: “…done well these past few days, especially as it hasn’t rained until now.We’re well stocked with berries and greens, so…”
    All at once she caught sight of Knife and stopped, swallowing visibly. The other Gatherers also fell silent and averted their eyes.
    “What?” asked Knife, but no one answered until Holly cleared her throat to reply:
    “I think we won’t be needing you today after all. The crow seems to have moved on, so we should be all right on our own for a while.” She looked around at the others. “You agree, don’t you?”
    They all nodded.
    “All right,” said Knife, perplexed. “It’s all the same to me. I’ll be out hunting later anyway; if you need me you can always shout.”
    Holly looked relieved. “Yes. We’ll do that. Everyone ready? Let’s go.”
    Knife watched until the Gatherers had filed out and shut the door behind them. What had all that been about? Surely they couldn’t be frightened of her just because she had gone near a human?
    Eventually she shrugged, and headed off toward the kitchen. If her services weren’t going to be needed right away, she might as well have a proper breakfast—and then, perhaps, she’d pay a visit to the library. Reading Heather’s diary had made her curious about the reign of Queen Snowdrop, and she wanted to see what the old histories had to say.
    She was surprised, on reaching the kitchen, what a blazethey had going in the fireplace. Usually the cooking fire was kept modest during the summer months, to keep the inside of the Tree from becoming too stuffy.
    Still, that was the kitchen workers’ problem and not hers, and furthermore they all kept looking at her askance as though finding her presence unwelcome, so she poured herself a cup of hot chicory and headed off to the library.
    Campion was sitting at the desk when she arrived. The catalog lay open before her, and she dipped her pen