Faery Rebels by R. J. Anderson

nearby. In the garden? The wood? Or…” He stopped, his eyes narrowing. “I know—you live in the old oak tree.”
    Her heart plummeted, but she managed to stay calm. “We live in many places,” she said. “Sometimes we use the Oak as a lookout, but—”
    “For a faery, you’re a terrible liar,” said Paul. “What are you afraid of? I’m not planning to chop it down.” His eyes became distant. “I thought I’d just imagined you, that day I climbed the oak tree all those years ago. But when I saw you again in the garden, with that white hair and those black eyes—I knew I hadn’t been dreaming after all.”
    Knife sank down onto the mattress and put her head in her hands. So that was it: After centuries of secrecy, the Oakenfolk were no longer safe from humans, and it was her fault. If she had only listened to Wink at the beginning, or at least resisted the temptation to spy on the humans later on, none of this would have happened.
    “So what’s your name, then?” asked Paul. “Or am I not supposed to know that either?”
    I wish I knew myself , thought Knife unhappily. Without her weapon or her wings, the only name that truly belonged to her was the one she could never speak. Unless, of course, she went back to being Bryony—but no. Not as long as she still had a choice. “My name is Knife,” she said.
    Paul looked incredulous. “Knife? As in, a thing to cut with?”
    She nodded, and he made a noise halfway between a snort and a chuckle. “Your mother had quite the sense of humor.”
    “My egg-mother had nothing to do with it!” said Knife indignantly. “I chose the name my—” Then she realized she had said too much, but it was too late.
    “Really?” said Paul. “Why ‘Knife’?”
    For a faery , you’re a terrible liar , he had said. But she couldn’t tell him the truth, because that would mean confessing that she had stolen her weapon from his House, and who knew what he might do to her then? Her only chance was to change the subject, and quickly.
    “Where did you get that throne?” she blurted.
    Silence crashed down between them, and the color ebbed out of Paul’s face. “Throne.” His voice rasped on the word. “Is that what you think this is?”
    Knife shifted in her seat, embarrassed without knowingwhy. Then her gaze fell to Paul’s uncovered legs, so still and awkwardly bent, and her eyes widened as she realized her mistake—
    “That’s right,” said Paul grimly. “I’m a cripple. You thought my parents were fussing over me and pushing me around in this thing because I liked it?” He spat out a laugh. “I wish!”
    Knife swallowed. She had thought herself the injured one, but he had suffered a far greater loss. “I’m…” she began, but Paul cut her off.
    “Don’t say it.” He shoved the chair back from the bed with a savage thrust of both hands. “I’m sick of apologies, and I don’t want your pity. The only thing I want to know is, can we make a bargain?”
    “A…bargain?”
    “You’re a faery. Isn’t it obvious?”
    She shook her head.
    Paul gave an exasperated sigh and pushed a hand through his hair. “Magic. You have it, I need it. One wish, that’s all I want—and then you can go home.”
    Knife looked at him helplessly. “I…can’t,” she said. “I don’t have any magic.”
    “Look,” said Paul. “I know faeries are supposed to be full of tricks and all that, but I’m not that stupid.”
    “Neither am I!” snapped Knife in frustration. “If I could cast spells, don’t you think I’d have vanished in a puff ofsmoke by now, or at least healed my own wing so I could fly again? Not to mention that horrible cat of yours—believe me, I’d have been delighted to turn him into a toad and save you the trouble of rescuing me.”
    “If you’d stayed where I put you, you wouldn’t have needed rescuing.” His mouth twisted. “What a stupid thing to—”
    “I didn’t know you had a cat. And why shouldn’t I try to escape? You put