Extraordinary (33 page)

The king approached the queen. He had taken out his knife. It was indeed thick and curved, and Phoebe could see that it had a frightening, jagged edge. He held it with an ease that showed he knew exactly how to use it, but his face was rigid.

Benjamin was leaning on Phoebe as heavily as she was on him. If one of them had disappeared, the other would have fallen down. She heard him whisper again. “God, Phoebe. God.” She herself had no voice at all. She would have closed her eyes if she hadn't felt, strongly, that it would be disrespectful.

We witness, she told herself. We witness.

The king came to the queen and held the knife out to her, handle first. She took it and examined it carefully before nodding. Then, with the knife in her left hand, she held out her right hand to Mallory. It was a command.

Phoebe thought that Mallory had never looked more agonized. But she came forward and took the queen's hand. She stood beside her, facing her people.

“I give you Queen Kethalia,” said the queen formally. “My daughter. My heir.”

Benjamin gasped. But what surprised Phoebe was that she felt no surprise. It was the very last puzzle piece about Mallory, slipping seamlessly into place.

Her name was Kethalia. She was the daughter of a queen.

The king lifted the crown of tiger lilies from his wife's head, moving to disentangle it from her long hair. It came away easily, as if it were willing. He set it upon Mallory's head, above her icy face with its panicked eyes. Then he turned to his wife.

Then, almost more quickly than Phoebe's eye could follow it, the queen sank to her knees. With the knife in both hands now, she extended it to her husband with a gesture that was nearly identical to the way in which she had earlier offered Phoebe the chalice of poison.

The king took it. The queen raised her head and they exchanged one long last glance. Then the queen offered her throat. In the next second the blade in her husband's hand had sliced swiftly, cleanly, spilling her blood onto the rocky ground.

The queen remained upright on her knees for fully twenty seconds. When she fell at last, her arms stretched out to embrace the earth.

The exact moment at which the queen died—and her sacrifice was accepted—was unmistakable. Phoebe was looking at the king as he knelt by his wife, and so she saw his appearance begin to shift. It happened rapidly, the changes visible from one moment to the next as his fur grew in, dense and deep. Beneath it, his frame thickened with strength. Then he straightened, and he was taller than before too.

Involuntarily, she put a hand to her mouth.

Benjamin spoke into her ear. “Phoebe, look at them. Look at them all.”

Phoebe tore her eyes from the king. In the flickering torchlight, all around them, the fey were shifting and strengthening as their link to the earth was renewed. Vines grew and flowered around the plant-like fey; muscle grew dense in the animal bodies. Even the shadows their figures threw onto the ground flexed with power and renewal.

And in the center of them stood Mallory. No, not Mallory. Kethalia.

Queen Kethalia.

Queen Kethalia, who glowed with the light of a hundred candles.

Like her mother before her, Kethalia's link to the earth was apparent in the soft leaves that formed her skin and in the strong, slender, willow-like curves of her arms and neck. She was elongated, taller than tall, and the lily crown that had been placed on her head by the king was now clearly alive, growing from her scalp and blooming as part of her head and her hair. Her hair was like and not like the hair that Mallory had described to Phoebe and Benjamin and Catherine and Drew as belonging to the previous queen. It was a thousand colors and textures of green and brown and orange; it was hair and fur and feather, and as Phoebe stared, a quarter-mask of reptilian skin grew from Queen Kethalia's forehead and settled gently, lovingly, around one eye and over her cheekbone, just as a small leopard-patterned gecko crawled out of her hair to rest inquisitively on her shoulder.

Then, as Kethalia moved slightly to place a clawed, commanding hand on the back of the now-hulking manticore that stood beside her, Phoebe saw that she was also winged. Kethalia's wings were feathered and strong and enormous. No gossamer fairy wings these; they were the strong wings of a hawk. They were meant to be used.

Phoebe knew exactly why it was that the wings brought tears to her eyes; why it was that the wings felt like the final piece of a complex puzzle sliding into place. They were tears of joy and of understanding—finally, finally, understanding. She blinked them back. She would pour them out later, in private, at home. For she would go home, she knew that now too. She and Benjamin would go home, and Catherine would wake up, and all would be well.

All would be well, but it would never be the way it had been before.

It was also the presence of the wings that made it so that, while awed, she wasn't afraid.

Deliberately, Phoebe stepped forward, aware that Benjamin came with her and glad of it, but not needing him. She inclined her head. She wanted to say Mallory's name, but it wouldn't come, because it was now the wrong name. And yet, she knew this glorious creature. This glorious creature had been and was still her friend. Mallory. Kethalia. Queen. Whoever and whatever she was, she had ultimately saved Phoebe's life, and at the end, had been willing to give her own life to do so.

Which, oddly, was what Phoebe had ended up offering as well.

So how could it be that Phoebe could stand here in the torchlight, facing her friend, and have nothing to say?

Phoebe lifted one hand helplessly.

“Leave us,” said the queen. Her voice echoed in command. “All of you. Leave me alone with Phoebe Rothschild for a time. Later, when our visitors have left, I will call you all back.”

In singles, in pairs, in groups, the fey melted away. Last to go were the king—was he now the ex-king?—and the manticore, who in fact needed one more sharp order from the queen before he skulked away.

“He's going to be trouble for you,” said Benjamin conversationally. Only a slight hesitation in his voice betrayed any nervousness or awe. “Your brother, that is. Uh, can I ask something? Is he really your brother? You don't look a thing alike.”

It was so strange to hear Mallory's voice coming from the queen. “Our family trees are constructed in a very different way from yours,” she said. “But
brother
is as good a human word as any to describe our relationship. Yes, you're correct. He is going to be trouble. I'll manage, though. Somehow.” That was definitely Mallory's laugh, trilling out suddenly, and then sobering just as quickly. “Actually, while it might be difficult for you to believe, he's not without a kind of wisdom. I imagine there will be times in the future when I'll be glad of his advice. But as for now—Benjamin? May I ask you one last favor?”

“I won't leave this place without Phoebe. I'm staying as long as she is, and when I go, she goes with me.”

“I understand. I ask only that you step to the other side of the clearing so that Phoebe and I can talk in private for a few minutes. She'll be in your sight the whole time.”

“It's all right, Benjamin,” said Phoebe. She smiled reassuringly. “I want to talk to—to the queen alone too.”

It was a few moments before Benjamin nodded. A few more passed while Phoebe and the queen watched him stride lankily away to stand, uneasily, hands in pockets, at enough of a distance to give them the privacy that the queen had requested.

But then Phoebe wasn't sure what to say. She was relieved when the queen spoke first, and then surprised when Marl-lory's voice came out sounding just as awkward as Phoebe felt. “Thanks for being willing to talk to me.”

It was like a cork had been pulled out of Phoebe. “Willing?!” she said. “Are you joking? I was hoping you'd want—be able—to talk. I'd have asked if you didn't. At least, I hope I would have. I was just working up my nerve.”

“Phoebe? Would you call me Mallory still? At least here and now. For this conversation?”

“Gladly. Mallory?”

“What?”

“I need to tell you something. I had no idea what you were going through. If I had known, I would have behaved differently. But I don't suppose there was any way you would ever have trusted me enough to tell me the truth about yourself and your—your people.”

“How could I, Phoebe? I needed you to die. That was my mission. To break you down and make you willing to die. Don't look at me with those big misty, forgiving eyes—don't you dare do that, okay? You were the only person who ever loved me for no other reason than because she chose to. I was special to you for no reason at all! And I went and betrayed that, betrayed you, betrayed my best friend to her death. And it's not due to me that you're still alive.
You
did that.”

“Mallory. Stop. You're too harsh.”

“No, actually, I'm not. It's true, Phoebe. Don't forget it! Don't ever forget what I am and what I did.”

“Then tell me this: Who was it that knocked the poison away from me at the last minute?”

“Don't mock me.”

“I'm not. You saved me at the end, and it cost you. My mother is alive, Mallory, and I get to go home to her today. But yours—yours—you've lost both your mothers now. Don't pretend to me you don't care. I know you better than that. At least, I do now. Mallory, I am so very sorry.”

“Oh. Well. Phoebe, since you bring it up . . . when I asked to talk, one of the things . . . that is, I was wondering about my other mother. Mrs. Tolliver. This is a huge favor to ask, and I don't deserve it, but would you look out for her? It wouldn't be for me, but for her.”

“Of course I'll do it. For you
and
for her.”

“Thank you. I hurt her so much, you see. I did her great harm.”

“You also loved her. And I'm thinking it could help her to talk about it with me, to know that I believe her and she's not crazy. I don't think she's as fragile as we thought.”

“She's not. I was responsible for keeping her helpless, remember? I can't believe you're being so good to me, Phoebe. You know everything now. But you always had a soft heart.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing. Earlier you said just the opposite.”

“Sometimes it's bad. It opens you to hurt. Let me be clear. I don't deserve your kindness. Are you forgetting my brother? I let him have you! I betrayed you!”

“Well, I don't know about that. I have to take some personal responsibility.”

“You were glamoured by my brother, Phoebe. You had absolutely no way to resist.”

“Maybe. But I made my own bad choices as well. If you betrayed me, I also betrayed you.”

“You didn't.”

“Yes, I did. I turned my back on my best friend. I chose lies and sneaking around. I knew better, Mallory. Faerie glamour or no, I knew better.”

“Well. You'll manage love better next time, Phoebe. I hope you know that. And I—I know it's not my business, Phoebe, and I imagine you're not ready at this point to try having a boyfriend again. But Benjamin . . .”

“You're right. I'm not ready.”

“I'm just saying. When you are. He's going to be amazing someday.”

“He already is. And I—well, that was something I wanted to say. Thank you for bringing him to me. You didn't have to do that.”

“Yes, I did.”

“So you're not all bad, are you?”

“Phoebe.”

“What is it, Mallory?”

“I'm so sorry. So sorry for everything I did to you.”

“I understand. It doesn't matter anymore. It's over.”

“Easy to say that. But what about what happened with you and my brother? Don't just smile and say that didn't affect you. You can't just declare yourself all better and healed. I know my brother, okay?”

“I—well, I—it was—that will take time. I actually don't want to think about it too much right now. I know I—I'm strong.”

“Yes, you are. But I'm so sorry. I'd undo it if I could.”

“I don't want it undone. I'm not saying I'm happy about—about the bad parts, Mallory. But I'm also not sorry to be who I am now. I keep thinking about that moment when I was willing to die. How I felt at that moment. I was strong when I needed to be, Mallory, and I didn't know that about myself before then. And now I know I can be ... bigger than I really am. I'm not describing this well.”

“No, you are. You forget, I was watching you. You were—truly—extraordinary.”

“Mallory? Is being . . . extraordinary—maybe it's not about being that way all the time, every minute of life? Because that's not really possible. Not even my mother is that. But maybe it's about learning that you have something deep inside that you can reach for when you really need it. Strength. Strength that helps you do whatever it is you need to do, when you need to do it.”

“I hope that's true. Because if it's not, I can't do what I have to do now.”

“You mean, be queen. But you will, Mallory. You'll be wonderful at it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you better than anyone. Even though I hardly know you. I love you, Mallory. And I—oh, Mallory. It's all right. Cry if you need to. You don't have to be strong with me.”

“I—how can I ever say good-bye to you, Phoebe?”

“We'll never see each other again?”

“I don't think we will. Phoebe, can I ask you something? Do you remember that very first day? When you asked me to be your friend?”