“For her faithful care of the Oak’s precious books and artifacts,” said Queen Amaryllis in her clear voice, “I call Campion.”

Applause rippled up and down the tables as the Librarian walked to the front of the Dining Hall to receive her gift from the Queen. She turned and held it up for the others to see: a heavy-looking volume bound in dark leather, its pages edged with gilt. Such a prize could only have come from the Queen’s own private collection, and Campion ought to have been delighted. But her expression remained grim, and watching her, Knife felt a flicker of unease.

“For her prudence in ensuring the safety of her fellow Gatherers, I call Holly,” said Amaryllis, and the dark-haired faery scrambled forward, nearly tripping over her skirts with excitement.

Knife helped herself to a slice of cold leveret and began cutting it up, too distracted to pay much attention to the ceremony. Incredible to think that she was not alone in her quest after all and that all along Wink and Thorn had been secretly on her side. When she was a child they had done everything they could to keep her away from the humans; now they seemed just as intent on pushing her toward them. Obviously Heather’s diary had convinced them that humans were not monsters after all—yet they still had no idea of what the human world was really like. Should she try to explain it to them? Would they even be able to understand?

“And now,” said the Queen, “I have a special gift to bestow. Knife, come forward.”

Knife choked, and had to take a swig from her goblet. Hastily wiping her lips, she rose and began the long walk to the dais where the Queen awaited her.

“Over the past year,” Amaryllis began, “Knife has proven herself remarkably courageous and resourceful for one so young. As Queen’s Hunter she has not only kept the kitchens well supplied with meat, but acted far beyond her duty to ensure that the Oakenwyld remains secure and our people safe. Even the crows have learned to be wary of her presence, and for this we all owe her our thanks. But two nights ago she performed an even greater service to the Oak than this, when she saved my life.”

Gasps and exclamations filled the hall, for this was the first time most of the Oakenfolk had heard the story. “On that night I went out into the garden alone,” the Queen continued, “so that I might cast certain spells necessary to the Oak’s survival. I believed that I could do my work quickly, and return without need of assistance. But the wind was against me, and when I turned back, I came face-to-face with a hungry fox.”

She looked down at her audience, all leaning forward in their eagerness not to miss a word, and gave a twitch of a smile. “My magic proved sufficient to frighten the beast away,” she told them, “but the effort of casting such a powerful spell weakened me, and I fainted. I might well have perished then, had Knife not come to help me. She ventured out in the icy wind and darkness, risking her own life, to find and carry me back to the Oak. Such loyalty has more than earned her this token of her Queen’s gratitude.”

She beckoned to Bluebell, who stepped forward carrying a small chest of polished yew. Opening it, the Queen took out a pendant like a drop of blood, suspended on a delicate gold chain. She held it high for the others to see.

“This jewel is the Queen’s Heart, the highest accolade the Oak has to offer. From now until the next Midwinter’s Day, Knife will wear this stone as a witness of my favor. Furthermore,” she continued, raising her voice above the envious murmurs of the crowd, “the one who wears the Queen’s Heart is entitled to a special privilege. At any time during the year to come, she may make of me one request, whatever her heart may desire. So long as it does not violate our Oak’s sacred laws or imperil her fellow Oakenfolk, it shall be granted.”

She paused as though expecting Knife to respond, but the young Hunter could only stand speechless, eyes fixed on the slowly twirling gem. Dazed, she bent her head to receive the gift, then curtsied and left the platform, the applause of her fellow Oakenfolk ringing in her ears.

“Oh, Knife, how wonderful!” said Wink as she sat back down. “What do you think you’ll ask for?”

“I don’t know yet,” Knife said, fingering the crimson jewel. Linden, who had been nestling half asleep against Wink’s shoulder, roused at the sight of the pretty thing and leaned toward it with one small hand outstretched. “But I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

“You’d almost think she was trying to help us, wouldn’t you?” said Wink the next morning. “Now all you have to do is ask for a day or two off to go exploring, and she’ll have to give it to you.” Then, catching Knife’s eye, she added hastily, “If you want to, that is. I mean, it’s your Midwinter’s Gift, so it’s not really fair for us to—”

“No,” said Knife, “you’re right. It’s the only way. But what if the Queen asks what I plan to do with my time? I’ll need to have some excuse ready.”

“I have one,” said Thorn’s voice unexpectedly, and Knife looked up to see her standing just inside the door, looking smug. Despite the way she usually clumped around, it seemed she had lost none of her old Hunter’s skill of moving silently when she chose. “Tell her you’re going to look for other faeries. It’s even true—in a way.”

“What other faeries?” said Knife.

“The ones the Queen herself has been looking for all these years. Only, she can’t leave the Oak, and her magic can only reach so far—why do you think she spends so much time in her library, going over her books again and again? She’s trying to find some clue to tell her where the rest of our people might be, the ones who still have all their magic.”

“So that we can bargain with them to help us get ours back,” said Knife, as comprehension dawned. Now she understood why Wink and Thorn trusted the Queen: In their minds, how could Amaryllis be responsible for the Sundering when she’d been working so hard to undo it?

Wink nodded. “But it’s been terribly hard on her. I overheard Bluebell telling Valerian that the Queen spends all day and half the night studying, and that she’ll never live to see three hundred and fifty at this rate. She sounded so worried—and she sees Her Majesty more than anyone, so she should know.”

“I know what you’re going to say,” said Thorn before Knife could speak. “You think the Queen might have had something to do with the Sundering, and now she’s just trying to make amends. But before you say anything against her, you should have a look at this.” She pulled a roll of parchment from her sleeve and held it out to Knife.

“What is this?” Knife asked as she took it.

“Just read,” said Thorn shortly.

Gingerly Knife unrolled the note and laid it across her knee. In spidery, faded handwriting, it read:

The letters grew shakier and shakier as the letter went on, and finally ended in an almost illegible scrawl. Still, Knife was just able to make out the signature: Bryony.

“My egg-mother,” she whispered in disbelief. “She took her own life, to give me mine. And all this time, I thought…”

“That she was a silly old woman who’d lost her wits and blundered out into the cold by accident?” said Thorn. “That’s what I thought, too, when Wink came to tell me she’d gone missing. It was a foul night, too, I don’t mind telling you—I’d nearly given up when I tripped over the egg with you in it. And then when I picked it up, I found this letter underneath.”

“That’s really how it started,” said Wink. “Thorn and me wondering what had gone wrong with us, I mean. Because I was there when she got back with your egg, and I saw the letter, too, and, well—”

…Queen Amaryllis, Bryony’s words repeated in Knife’s mind, has done all she could to help us…

“I understand,” said Knife quietly.

Over the next few weeks the snow came and went, but the cold remained, and the earth lay lifeless beneath a shroud of dead grass. Prey became scarce, and hunting a dismal chore. Late one morning Knife was crouched at the foot of the humans’ bird feeder, blowing on cold fingers and hoping for a sparrow to come by, when she heard the low growl of an approaching car.

At first she paid it little mind: A thick tangle of hedge stood between her and the road, and these metal wagons always moved too quickly for their drivers to notice her, in any case. But when the car slowed in front of the House and began to turn into the drive, she realized that this one was about to become a dangerous exception.

Pulling up the hood of her jacket, she crouched down and flattened her wings against her back, trying to look as much like a bird as possible. The car rumbled to a stop a few crow-lengths away, and when its doors opened, she was startled to see a stranger unfold himself from the passenger seat and reveal Paul sitting behind the wheel.

“Good driving,” the man called as he rounded the car and pulled Paul’s wheelchair out of the backseat. “A bit more practice with those hand controls, and you’ll be ready for the motorway.”

Knife caught her breath. For weeks now she had agonized over the map Thorn had given her, wondering how she could possibly get from the Oak to the place where Heather’s diary was hidden. But if Paul was learning how to drive…

I have to talk to him, thought Knife, watching Paul as he hauled himself into the chair and began wheeling toward the House. Seeing him after so long apart, she felt a desperate urge to fly to him at once; but the strange man stood in her way, and she dared not move.

“I’ll manage the chair from now on, thanks,” Paul said to the man. “See you next week.”

“Right then,” the stranger replied, hopped into the car, and drove away. As soon as he was gone, Knife leaped up and flew after Paul. If she could catch him before he reached the House—

“Wait!” she called, but Paul did not hear her. With a vigorous push he cleared the threshold, and Knife could only watch helplessly as the door swung shut in her face.

When Knife returned to the Oak she was cold, windblown, and empty-handed. She wrapped a rabbit-wool blanket about her shoulders and sat on the sofa shivering until Wink thrust a cup of hot chicory into her hands.

“I don’t know what to do,” Knife mumbled.

“Oh, I shouldn’t worry,” said Wink absently, tickling Linden with a strand of her hair until the baby chuckled. “We’re not starving yet, and you can always hunt again tomorrow.”

Knife was tempted to correct her, but then she realized that she might be better to let the misunderstanding pass. If Wink did not know that Knife planned to see Paul again, then she would not be blamed even if Knife were caught.

And yet, was it really fair not to tell her?

Knife sipped the chicory until its hot bitterness revived her, then set the mug down and held out her hands for Linden. “I’ll take her now,” she said, but Wink’s face was averted, and she did not respond.

“What is it?” Knife asked.

Wink lowered her head, her cheeks coloring. “It’s just…I know it can’t be very nice being a Hunter, and I really wouldn’t want to do it myself. But you can go out whenever you like, and even if it’s cold and miserable you at least get to see and do new things every day, and, well…” She picked a loose thread from Linden’s smock and rolled it distractedly between her fingers. “I’ve spent my whole life in this room sewing the same patterns over and over, and sometimes I envy you, just a little.”

Knife watched her for a moment in silence. Then she set down her cup and rose to fetch a stick of charcoal and a piece of paper. “What are you doing?” asked Wink, but Knife only shook her head, sat down at the table, and began to draw.

She meant to sketch some of the clothing she had seen the humans wear, much as Jasmine had done for Heather. But though she concentrated with all her might, the figure she traced was a crude one, barely recognizable as human. She was attempting to clothe it in one of Mrs. McCormick’s pleated skirts when the charcoal broke in her hand; she threw it down and crumpled up the paper in frustration.

“Knife,” Wink said in a hushed tone, “was that really…a picture? But where did you learn—”

“From Paul,” said Knife, too miserable to guard her tongue anymore. “But I haven’t talked to him in so long, and I’m starting to forget everything he taught me.” She slumped forward. “I miss him, Wink.”

Wink untangled Linden from her curls and put the baby down hastily. “A human,” she breathed. “Thorn said you’d been to the House, but I never guessed you’d been that close.”

Knife sat up, the color easing back into her face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. If the Queen finds out that you know, we’ll both be in trouble—”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Wink quickly. “Just tell me. Tell me everything.”

When Knife had finished, Wink did not move for a long time. Then she raised her head, her face white except for two spots of color on her cheeks, and said, “You have to go back.”

“Back?” said Knife.

“To the House. To him—that Paul.” She clasped her hands against her heart. “I can feel it’s important, this connection you have with him. And if you wait much longer, you might lose it completely—Knife, we can’t let that happen.”

“We?” said Knife. “Wink, I already told you, the Queen—”

“The Queen is wrong!” Wink burst out, with a passion that startled them both. She flushed and glanced nervously at the door before continuing in a lower voice, “Wrong about this, I mean. And you’re wrong, too, to try to protect me from her. I know I’m not strong like you, or clever like Thorn, but I want to help—so for the Gardener’s sake, let me do what I can!”

“You do help,” said Knife, and all at once it seemed natural to put her hand on Wink’s shoulder. “You’ve done so much already, I didn’t dare to ask for more. Are you really sure about this?”

Wink sniffed, then nodded. “I’ll look after Linden whenever you need me to, day or night, and I won’t tell the Queen or anybody.”

“Then I’ll go,” said Knife quietly. “Tonight.”

“Knife!”

Paul slid up the window so quickly that Knife nearly fell off the ledge. Recovering her balance, she hurried forward, into the House’s warm embrace.

“I was beginning to think you were out,” she said, shaking the sleet from her cloak. “I knocked and knocked—”

“I thought it was hail,” Paul said. “God knows I didn’t think there was a chance of it being anything else.” His mouth flattened. “Where have you been?”

He had missed her, too, Knife realized with a flare of happiness. “I’m sorry,” she said. “The Queen gave me a…new responsibility, so I couldn’t leave the Oak at night. I’ve only just been able to get away.”

“You could have left a note,” said Paul.

“You thought I’d forgotten you?” She spoke lightly, hoping to wipe the shadows from his face, but they only deepened.

“I thought you were dead,” he said.

Knife sat down hard on the windowsill. “Oh,” she said.

Paul passed a hand over his eyes. When he took it away, the anger had vanished, leaving only weariness. “Well, never mind that. You’re here now. So…how have you been?”

Confused. Frustrated. Lonely. “I’m all right,” she said. “But—” She looked up into his face. “I need your help.”

Quickly she explained about Heather’s diaries, and what she had learned about the Oakenfolk’s past interest in humans. “I know it sounds strange,” she finished, “but it’s important. There’s a connection between your people and mine—and that diary may be the only way to find out what it is.”

“And you think this could help you get your magic back?” said Paul.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“So where do I fit in?”

Knife bit her lip. “I have to get to a place called Waverley Hall. And this morning, I saw you driving a car…”

“You want me to take you there?” He looked surprised, but not displeased. “Well, I probably could—just not right away. I’ve still got six lessons left, and then I have to pass the road test.”

Relief washed over Knife. “I can wait that long,” she said.