Free Chicory Up: The Pixie Chronicles by Irene Radford

to be thrown off his throne. His own tribe was the only one with the right to do that.
    Thistle didn’t know for sure. She needed to talk to Alder. Not likely to happen while she was exiled to a human body.
    “We’re at war, Thistle,” Rosie said in that superior way of hers. “And there’s nothing you can do about it. We all know where your loyalties lie. And it isn’t in my garden.”
    “I understand you are angry because you had to dismiss your betrothed, the one the humans called Haywood Wheatland. But you have to know that my loyalty is to all Pixies, no matter which garden, woodland, or meadow they inhabit,” Thistle insisted, surprised that she truly believed her own words.
    “Impossible!” Rosie spat. But she uncurled enough topeer at Thistle, incredulous at this unique idea. “Pixies only look as far as their own tribe and territory.”
    “Pixies came together once to set up a treaty to protect the Patriarch Oak and make it available to all. We did that when the Faeries went underhill to avoid having to deal with humans. The cowards ran away, leaving Pixies on their own. We deal with humans all the time and we thrive.” Thistle reached up and held her palm out for Rosie to settle on. “We need to band together to protect what is ours.”
    The pink Pixie ignored the offer of friendship. “Your king broke the treaty.”
    “Alder may have closed The Ten Acre Wood trying to keep Faeries out as well as Pixies in. The new discount store up on the next ridge is threatening the Faery sanctuary. Haywood Wheatland is half Faery. He misunderstood his orders to clear the wood of all Pixies. He thought he had to clear the wood!”
    “Haywood is more admirable than Alder. He tried to
do
something, rather than run away. That is a cowardly Faery trait. Maybe Alder is the half Faery mutant, not Haywood.”
    “Alder
is
an idiot, but he’s not stupid. I’m well rid of him. And if Milkweed was smart, she’d dump him in the pond and leave on her own.”
    “Alder won’t let her.” Rosie stepped away from the twisted canes of the climbing rose to step onto Thistle’s hand. “He’s holding her prisoner.”
    “Then we need to mount a rescue operation. And rearrange things so that we all work together.”
    “How? No one has done such a thing since the time of the Faeries. No one will believe it can be done.” Rosie fluttered her wings in agitation.
    “Then you and I will have to put our heads together along with Chicory and his brothers and figure out a way.”
    “But… but…”
    Thistle eased through the gate and beneath the arch while she talked.
    “But Pixies can’t think ahead. Our lives are here, right now, and nothing more.”
    “Then let me do the thinking. Please, Rosie. This is important. Life for Pixies is changing. We have to
think
, notjust react. All the tribes will listen to you, and I’ll advise you. You will be important. More important than just one queen among many. That’s something no one can give you. You have to earn it. And to earn it, you have to
think
.”
    “Let me sleep on this. It’s almost sunset. Time for me and mine to hide from the night. You may stay in Mabel’s house for now.”
    “I will. I promise.” With a smile, Thistle raised her hand and let Rosie fly away. She took a moment to twirl and bask in the glory of the beautiful garden Mabel had provided for her friends. A sadly neglected garden, but still beautiful in its own ramshackle way.

Eight

    C HASE RUBBED HIS HANDS ACROSS HIS face and through his hair, trying to scrub away some of his fatigue.
    He stared at his key for a long moment trying to remember what it was for and how to use it. The sounds of ripping metal, the cries of the injured, the wails of the grieving, and the angry honking of horns still rang in his ears. Three of the drivers in the chain reaction accident swore they’d seen a miniature man dressed in yellow, with splotchy red-and-gold wings crash into their windshields.
    “He flew right at