Rebel

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The Queen is dying.

The knowledge sat in Linden’s belly like a cold stone as she hunched over the tub of greasy water, scrubbing her thirty-ninth plate. She’d promised Mallow, the Chief Cook, that she’d wash all the Oakenfolk’s dishes in exchange for a second piece of honey cake at dinner, and at the time it had seemed a reasonable bargain. But now that she knew what was happening at the top of the Spiral Stair-that the faery Queen was lying pale and weak upon her bed and might never rise from it again-she wanted to heave up all the cake she’d eaten and throw the last few dishes straight back in the Chief Cook’s face.

How could Mallow look smug, after bringing them such terrible news? The moment she’d spoken those words the whole kitchen had gone silent, Gatherers and cooks and scullions all staring in horrified disbelief. Yet the corners of Mallow’s fat mouth were curled up in obvious self-satisfaction, as though the important thing wasn’t Queen Amaryllis’s fate, only that she’d been the first of them to find out about it.

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