Spells
Aprilynne Pike

To Kenny – for all the little things.

And the big things.

And everything in between.

Thank you.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Acknowledgments

Also by Aprilynne Pike

Copyright

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Laurel stood in front of the cabin, scanning the tree line, her throat constricting in a rush of nerves. He was there, somewhere, watching her. The fact that she couldn’t see him yet meant nothing.

It wasn’t that Laurel didn’t want to see him. Sometimes she thought she wanted to see him too much. Getting involved with Tamani was like playing in a roaring river. Take one step too far and the current would never let you go. She had chosen to stay with David, and she still believed it was the right choice. But it didn’t make this reunion any easier.

Or stop her hands from shaking.

She had promised Tamani she would come see him when she got her driver’s licence. Though she hadn’t been specific about a date, she had said May. It was now almost the end of June. He had to know she was avoiding him. He would be here now – the first one to meet her – and she wasn’t sure whether to be excited or afraid. The feelings mixed into a heady blend of something she’d never felt before – and wasn’t sure she ever wanted to feel again.

Laurel found herself clutching the tiny ring Tamani had given her last year, the one she wore on a thin chain around her neck. She had tried not to think about him these last six months. Tried, she admitted to herself, and failed. She forced herself to unwrap her fingers from around the little ring and attempted to make her arms swing naturally, confidently at her sides as she walked towards the forest.

As the shadows of the branches fell across her, a streak of green and black swung down from a tree and scooped Laurel up. She screamed in terror, then delight.

“Did you miss me?” Tamani asked with that same bewitching half-grin that had entranced her since the first time she’d met him.

Instantly, it was as though the last six months had never happened. Just the sight of him, the feel of him so close to her, melted every fear, every thought…every resolve. Laurel wrapped her arms around him and squeezed as hard as she could. She never wanted to let go.

“I’ll take that as a yes,”Tamani said with a groan.

She forced herself to let go and step back. It was like trying to make a river flow the other direction. But after a few seconds she managed and settled for standing silently, drinking in the sight of him. The same longish, black hair, his quick smile, those mesmerising green eyes. A cloud of awkwardness descended and Laurel stared down at her shoes, a little embarrassed at her zealous greeting and unsure of what to say next.

“I expected you earlier,” Tamani said at last.

Now that she was here with him, it felt ridiculous that she had been afraid. But Laurel could still recall the cold pit of fear in her stomach every time she’d thought about seeing Tamani again. “I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you come?”

“I was afraid,” she answered honestly.

“Of me?” Tamani asked with a smile.

“Sort of.”

“Why?”

She took a deep breath. He deserved the truth. “It’s too easy to be here with you. I don’t trust myself.”

Tamani grinned. “I guess I can’t be too offended by that.”

Laurel rolled her eyes. Her long absence certainly hadn’t dampened his bravado.

“How is everything?”

“Fine. Good. Everything’s good,” she stammered.

He hesitated. “How are your friends?”

“My friends?” Laurel asked. “Could you possibly be more transparent?”

Laurel unconsciously touched a silver bracelet on her wrist. Tamani’s eyes followed the movement.

Tamani kicked at the dirt. “How’s David?” he finally asked.

“He’s great.”

“Are you two…?” He let the question hang.

“Are we together?”

“I guess that’s it.” Tamani glanced again at the intricate silver bracelet. Frustration clouded his features, transforming the glance into a glare, but he dispelled it with a smile.

The bracelet was a gift from David. He had given it to her just before Christmas last year, when they officially became a couple. It was a delicate silver vine with tiny flowers blooming around crystal centres. He hadn’t said as much, but Laurel suspected it was to balance out the faerie ring she still wore every day. She couldn’t bear to put the tiny ring away and, true to her promise, every time she thought of the ring, she thought of Tamani. She still had feelings for him. Torn and uncertain feelings, mostly – but strong enough to make her feel guilty when her thoughts wandered in that direction.

David was everything she could ask for in a boyfriend. Everything except what he wasn’t, what he never could be. But Tamani could never be what David was, either.

“Yes, we are,” she finally answered.

Tamani was silent.

“I need him, Tam,” she said, her tone soft but not apologetic. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – apologise for choosing David. “I told you before how it was.”

“Sure.” He ran his hands up and down her arms. “But he’s not here now.”

“You know I couldn’t live with that,” she forced herself to say. But it was barely a whisper.

Tamani sighed. “I’m just going to have to accept it, aren’t I?”

“Unless you really want me to be alone.”

He slung one arm around her shoulders – friendly now. “I could never want that for you.”

She put her arms around him and squeezed.

“What’s that for?” Tamani asked.

“Just for being you.”

“Well, I certainly won’t turn down a hug,” he said. His tone was casual, joking, but he wrapped his other arm around her tightly, almost desperately. Before she could pull away, however, his arm dropped, then pointed down the path. “Come on,”Tamani said. “It’s this way.”

Laurel’s mouth went dry. It was time.

Pushing her hand into her pocket, Laurel felt the embossed card for what was doubtless the hundredth time. It had shown up on her pillow one morning in early May, sealed with wax and tied with a sparkling silver ribbon. The message was brief – four short lines – but they changed everything.

Due to the woefully inadequate nature of your current education, you are summoned to the Academy of Avalon.

Please report to the gate at mid-morning, the first day of summer. Your presence will be required for eight weeks.

Woefully inadequate. Her mom hadn’t been too happy with that. But then, her mom hadn’t been too happy with much of anything involving faeries lately. After the initial revelation of Laurel being a faerie, things had been surprisingly OK. Her parents had always known there was something different about their adopted daughter. As crazy as the truth actually turned out to be – that Laurel was a changeling, a faerie child left in their care to inherit sacred fae land they had accepted it with surprising ease, at least at first. Her dad’s attitude hadn’t changed, but over the last few months her mom had grown more and more freaked out by the idea that Laurel wasn’t human. She’d stopped talking about it, then refused to even hear about it, and things had finally come to a head last month when Laurel got the invitation. Well, more like a summons, really. It had taken a lot of arguing from Laurel – and a fair bit of persuasion from her dad – before her mom had agreed to let her go. As if, somehow, she would come back even less human than when she’d left.

Laurel was glad she’d neglected to tell them anything about the trolls; she had no doubt she wouldn’t be standing here today if she had.

“Are you ready?” Tamani pressed, sensing Laurel’s hesitation.

Ready? Laurel wasn’t sure if she could ever be more ready for this…or less.

Silently, she followed him through the forest, trees filtering the sunlight and shading their trek. The path was scarcely a path at all, but Laurel knew where it led. Soon they would come to a small, gnarled tree, a unique species in this forest but otherwise ordinary in its appearance. Though she had spent twelve years of her life living here and exploring the land, she had seen this tree only once before – when she brought Tamani back from fighting trolls, wounded and barely conscious. Last time she had witnessed the tree’s transformation and gotten a tiny glimpse of what lay beyond. Today she would go through the gate.

Today, she would see Avalon for herself.

As they walked deeper into the forest, other faeries fell into step behind them, and Laurel forced herself not to crane her neck and stare. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to these beautiful, silent guards who never spoke to her and rarely met her eyes. They were always there, even when she couldn’t see them. She knew that now. She wondered briefly how many of them had been watching her since she was just a child, but the mortification was too great. Her parents watching her juvenile antics were one thing; nameless supernatural sentries were quite another. She swallowed, focused forward, and tried to think of something else.

Soon they arrived, emerging through a stand of redwoods clustered protectively around the ancient, twisted tree. The faerie sentries formed a half-circle and, after a sharp gesture from Shar – the leader of the sentries – Tamani dislodged his hand from Laurel’s vicelike grip to join them. Standing in the middle of the dozen or so sentries, Laurel clutched the straps of her backpack. Her breathing quickened as each sentry laid one hand against the bark of the tree, right where its stout trunk split into two thick limbs. Then the tree began to vibrate as the light of the clearing seemed to gather around its branches.

Laurel was determined to keep her eyes open this time, to watch the entire transformation. But even as she squinted resolutely against the glow, a brilliant flash forced her eyelids shut for the briefest of instants. When they opened again, the tree had transformed into the arching gate of tall, golden bars, laced with curling vines dotted with purple flowers. Two sturdy posts on either side anchored the gate into the ground, but otherwise it stood alone in the sunlit forest. Laurel let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, only to hold it again as the gate swung outward.

Tangible warmth rolled forth from the gateway, and even ten feet away Laurel caught the aromatic scent of life and growth she recognised from years of gardening with her mom. But this was stronger – a pure perfume of bottled summer sunlight. She felt her feet begin to move forward of their own accord and was nearly through the gate when something tugged at her hand. Laurel tore her eyes away from the gateway and was startled to see that Tamani had stepped out of formation to wrap her hand gently in his own. A touch on her other hand prompted her to look back through the gate.

Jamison, the old Winter faerie she had met last fall, lifted her free hand and set it on his arm like a gentleman in a Regency movie. He smiled at Tamani cordially but pointedly. “Thank you for bringing us Laurel, Tam. I will take her from here.”

Tamani’s hand didn’t fall away immediately. “I’ll come see you next week,” he said, quiet but not whispering.

The three of them stood there for a few seconds, frozen in time. Then Jamison tilted his head and nodded once at Tamani. Tamani nodded back and returned to his place in the semicircle.

Laurel felt his eyes on her, but her face was already turning back to the bright glow pouring from the golden gate. The pull of Avalon was too strong to linger even on the sharp regret she felt at having to leave Tamani so quickly after their reunion. But he would come see her soon.

Jamison stepped just inside the golden archway and beckoned Laurel forward, releasing his hold on the hand lying on his arm. “Welcome back, Laurel,” he said softly.

With her breath catching in her throat, Laurel stepped forward and crossed the threshold of the gate, her feet stepping into Avalon for the first time. Not really the first time, she reminded herself. This is where I came from.

For a moment she could see nothing but leaves on a huge overhanging oak tree and dark, loose soil at her feet, lined with plush, emerald grass. Jamison led her out from under the canopy of foliage, and sunlight shone down on to her face, warming her cheeks instantly and making her blink.

They were in some kind of walled park. Trails of rich, black earth snaked through the vibrant greenery that ran up against a stone wall. Laurel had never seen a stone wall so tall before – to build such a thing without concrete must have taken decades. The garden was dotted with trees and long, leafy vines snaked up their trunks and wound around their branches. She could see flowers all over the vines, but they were tightly closed against the warmth of the day.

She turned to look back at the gate. It was shut now, and beyond its golden bars she could see only darkness. It was in the middle of the park and wasn’t connected to anything at all – it was just standing upright, surrounded by about twenty sentries, all female. Laurel tilted her head. There was something. She took a step forward, and broad-bladed spears with tips that seemed to be made of crystal crossed in front of her vision.

“It’s all right, Captain,” came Jamison’s voice from behind Laurel. “She can look.”

The spears went away and Laurel stepped forward, sure her eyes were tricking her. But no, at a right angle to the gate was another gate. Laurel continued walking until she had circled four gates, linked by the sturdy posts that she recognised from the other side of the gate. Each post attached to two of the gates, forming a perfect square around the strange blackness that persisted behind them, despite the fact that she should have been able to look right through the bars to the sentries standing on the other side.

“I don’t understand,” Laurel said, coming to stand by Jamison again.

“Your gate isn’t the only one,” Jamison said with a smile.

Laurel vaguely remembered Tamani talking about four gates last fall, when she had come to him battered and bruised after being thrown in the Chetco River by trolls. “Four gates,” she said softly, pushing back the unpleasant part of the memory.

“To the four corners of the earth. One step could take you to your home, the mountains of Japan, the highlands of Scotland, or the mouth of the Nile River in Egypt.”

“That’s amazing,” Laurel said, staring at the gate. Gates? “Thousands of miles in a single step.”

“And the most vulnerable place in all of Avalon,” Jamison said. “Clever, though, don’t you think? Quite a feat. The gates were made by King Oberon, at the cost of his life, but it was Queen Isis who cloaked the gates on the other side – and only a few hundred years ago.”

“The Egyptian goddess?” Laurel asked breathlessly.

“Only named after the goddess,” Jamison said, smiling. “As much as we’d like to believe otherwise, not all the major figures in human history are faeries. Come, my Am fear-faire will worry if we tarry too long.”

“Your what?”

He looked at her then, his gaze questioning at first, then strangely sorrowful. “Am fear-faire,” he repeated. “My guardians. I have at least two with me at all times.”

“Why?”

“Because I am a Winter faerie.” Jamison walked slowly down the earthen path, seeming to weigh his words as he spoke them. “Our gifts are the rarest of all fae, so we are honoured. We alone can open the gates, so we are protected. And Avalon itself is vulnerable to our power, so we must never be compromised by an enemy. With great power—”

“Comes great responsibility?” Laurel finished.

Jamison turned to her, smiling now. “And who taught you this?”

Laurel paused, confused. “Uh, Spider-Man?” she said lamely.

“I suppose some truths truly are universal,” Jamison laughed, his voice echoing off the great stone walls. Then he sobered. “It’s a phrase we Winter faeries use often. The Briton King, Arthur, said it after witnessing the terrible revenge the trolls took on Camelot. He always believed that destruction was his fault, that he could have prevented it.”

“Could he have?” Laurel asked.

Jamison nodded to two sentries, who stood at either side of an enormous set of wooden doors that led through the walls. “Probably not,” he said to Laurel. “But it is a good reminder nonetheless.”

The doors swung open soundlessly, and all thoughts were chased from Laurel’s head as she and Jamison walked out of the enclosure and on to a hillside.

Verdant beauty flowed down the hill and as far as she could see in every direction. Black paths snaked through masses of trees, interspersed with long, flower-speckled meadows and rainbow clusters of something Laurel couldn’t identify – they looked like gigantic balloons of every imaginable colour, sitting on the ground and sparkling like soap bubbles. Farther down, in a ring that appeared to spread all the way around the base of the hill, were the roofs of small houses, and Laurel could make out brightly coloured dots moving about that must be other faeries.

“There are…thousands of them,” Laurel said, not quite realising she had spoken aloud.

“Of course,” Jamison said, mirth colouring his voice. “Almost the entire species lives here. We number more than eighty thousand now.” He paused. “That probably sounds small to you.”

“No,” Laurel said quickly. “I mean, I know there are more humans than that, but…I never imagined so many faeries all in one place.” It was strange; it made her feel both normal and very insignificant. She’d met other faeries, of course – Tamani, Shar, the sentries she glimpsed from time to time – but the thought of thousands upon thousands of faeries was almost overwhelming.

Jamison’s hand touched the small of her back. “There will be time for sightseeing another day,” he said softly. “We must take you to the Academy. Continue.”

Laurel followed Jamison down the perimeter of the stone wall. When they rounded the side of the enclosure, Laurel looked uphill and her breath caught in her throat again. About a quarter mile up the gentle slope an enormous tower rose against the skyline, jutting from the centre of a sprawling building straight out of Jane Eyre. It didn’t look like a castle so much as a grand library, all square, grey stones and steeply pitched roofs. Massive windows dotted every wall, and skylights glittered among slate shingles like caches of faceted prisms. Every surface was veined with creepers, framed by flowers, glimpsed through foliage, or otherwise host to plants of innumerable variety.

Jamison’s words answered the question Laurel was too amazed to ask. He gestured towards the structure with one arm as he spoke. “The Academy of Avalon.”

Chapter Two

As they walked towards the Academy, Laurel glimpsed another building through breaks in the forest. At the very top of the tall hill, just a bit higher than the towering Academy, sat the crumbling ruins of a castle. Laurel blinked and squinted; perhaps crumbling was not the right word. It was definitely falling to pieces, but ropes of green wound through the white marble as if sewing the walls together, and the canopy of an enormous tree spread out above it, shading half the structure beneath its leaves. “What’s that building?” Laurel asked the next time it came into view.

“That is the Winter Palace,” Jamison said. “I live there.”

“Is it safe?” Laurel asked dubiously.

“Of course not,” Jamison replied. “It is one of the most dangerous places in all of Avalon. But I am safe there, as are its other occutrousers.”

“Is it going to fall down?” Laurel asked, eyeing one corner that was done up like a corset with viridian laces.

“No, indeed,” Jamison replied. “We Winter faeries have been caring for this palace for more than three thousand years. The roots of that redwood grow with the castle now, as much a part of the structure as the original marble. She would never let it fall.”

“Why don’t you just build a new one?”

Jamison was silent for a few moments, and Laurel worried that her question had offended him. But when he responded, he didn’t sound upset. “The castle is not only a home, Laurel. It also safeguards many things – things we cannot risk moving simply for convenience or for satisfying our vanity with a fancy new structure.” He gestured back at their stony grey destination with a smile. “We have the Academy for that.”

Laurel looked back up at the castle with new eyes. Instead of the haphazard loops of green she had seen at first glance, she could now pick out the order and method in the latticework stripes. Careful braces on the corners, a web of roots supporting large expanses of wall – the tree really had become part of the castle. Or perhaps the castle had become a part of the tree. The whole structure seemed to lounge contentedly in the embrace of its sprawling roots.

Around the next bend they came upon what Laurel first thought was a wrought-iron fence. A closer look revealed that it was actually a living wall. Branches wound and curved and wrapped about one another in complicated curlicues, like an impossibly complex bonsai tree. Two guards, one male, one female, stood at a gate, both in ceremonial armour of a vibrant blue, complete with shiny, plumed helmets. They both bowed low to Jamison and reached for their side of the gate.

“Come,” Jamison said, beckoning Laurel forward when she hesitated at the gate. “They are waiting for you.”

The grounds of the Academy were bustling with life. Dozens of faeries were at work around the yard. Some were dressed in fine, flowing dresses or light silken trousers and had books in their hands. Others were clad in more homespun cottons and busied themselves digging and pruning. Still others were picking flowers, searching the many heavy-laden bushes for perfect specimens. As Jamison and Laurel passed, most of the faeries paused in their work and bowed at the waist. But everyone at least inclined his or her head respectfully.

“Are…” Laurel felt silly asking. “Are they bowing to me?”

“It’s possible,” Jamison replied. “But I suspect they are mostly bowing to me.”

His casual tone caught Laurel off guard. But clearly being bowed to was commonplace for Jamison. He did not even stop to acknowledge it. “Should I have bowed when you came to the gate?” Laurel asked, her voice a little unsteady.

“Oh, no,” Jamison said readily. “You are a Fall faerie. You bow only to the Queen. A slight nod of respect is more than enough from you.”

Laurel walked in silent confusion as they passed several more faeries. She watched the few who only inclined their heads. They caught her eye as she passed and she wasn’t sure quite how to take their expressions. Some seemed curious; others glared. Many were simply unreadable. Ducking her head timidly, Laurel hurried forward to keep pace with Jamison.

As they approached the towering front doors, a set of footmen pulled them open and Jamison led Laurel into a spacious foyer with a domed ceiling made entirely of glass. Sunlight poured through it, nourishing the hundreds of potted plants adorning the room. The foyer was less busy than the grounds, though there were a few faeries sitting on loungers and at small desks with books out in front of them.

An older faerie – not as old as Jamison, Laurel thought, though it was hard to tell with faeries – approached them and inclined her head. “Jamison, a pleasure.” She smiled at Laurel. “I assume this is Laurel; my, how you’ve changed.”

Laurel was startled for a moment, then remembered that she had spent seven years in Avalon before going to live with her parents. The fact that she couldn’t remember anyone didn’t mean they couldn’t remember her. It made her strangely uncomfortable to wonder how many of the faeries she passed on the grounds could remember a past she would never recall.

“I’m Aurora,” the faerie said. “I teach the initiates, who are both ahead of and behind you.” She laughed, as if at some private joke. “Come, I’ll show you to your room. We’ve freshened it up – traded outgrown things for new ones – but other than that we have left it undisturbed for your return.”

“I have a room here?” Laurel asked before she could stop herself.

“Of course,” Aurora said without looking back. “This is your home.”

Home? Laurel glanced around at the austere foyer, the intricate banisters on the winding staircase, the sparkling windows and skylights. Had this really been her home? It looked – felt – so foreign. She glanced behind her where Jamison followed, but there certainly wasn’t any gawking from him. His surroundings in the Winter Palace were probably even more grand.

On the third floor they approached a hallway lined with dark cherrywood doors. Names were painted on each in a glittering, curly script. Mara, Katya, Fawn, Sierra, Sari. Aurora stopped in front of a door that very clearly said Laurel.

Laurel felt her chest tighten and time seemed to crawl as Aurora turned the knob and pushed the door open. It glided on silent hinges over a plush, crème-coloured carpet and revealed a large room with one wall made completely of glass. The other walls were draped in pale green satin that stretched from ceiling to floor. A skylight opened over half the room, shining down on to an enormous bed covered with a silk spread and enclosed by sheer curtains so light they ruffled in the hint of a breeze that came through the doorway. Modest but obviously well-constructed furniture – a desk, dresser, and armoire – completed the room. Laurel stepped inside and gazed slowly around, searching for something familiar, something that felt like home.

But though it was one of the most beautiful rooms she had ever seen, she didn’t remember it. Not a wisp of a memory, no trace of recognition. Nothing. A wave of disappointment crashed over her, but she tried to hide it as she turned to Jamison and Aurora. “Thank you,” she said, hoping her smile wasn’t too tight. What did it matter that she didn’t remember? She was here now. That was the important thing.

“I’ll let you unpack and freshen up,” Aurora said. Her eyes flitted over Laurel’s tank top and jean shorts. “You are welcome to wear whatever you like here at the Academy; however, you might find the clothing in your wardrobe a bit more comfortable. We guessed your size, but new clothing can be tailored for you as early as tomorrow, if you like. Those…breeches…you’re wearing – the fabric looks like it would chafe terribly.”

A small chuckle from Jamison made Aurora stand a little straighter. “Ring this bell,” she said, pointing, “if you need anything. We have a full staff to attend you. You may do as you will for an hour, then I will send one of our fundamentals instructors up to begin your lessons.”

“Today?” Laurel asked, a bit louder than she had intended.

Aurora’s eyes darted to Jamison. “Jamison and the Queen herself have instructed us to make full use of the time you have with us. It is far too brief as it is.”

Laurel nodded, a thrill of excitement and nervousness shooting through her. “OK,” she said. “I’ll be ready.”

“I’ll leave you then.” Aurora turned and looked at Jamison, but he waved a hand at her.

“I will stay a few moments more before I return to the palace.”

“Of course,” Aurora said with a nod before leaving them alone.

Jamison stood in the doorway, surveying the room. As the sound of Aurora’s footsteps faded down the hall, Jamison spoke. “I haven’t been here since I escorted you to go and live with your parents thirteen years ago.” He looked up at her. “I hope you do not mind the rush into your work. We have so little time.”

Laurel shook her head. “It’s fine. I just…I have so many questions.”

“And most will have to wait,” Jamison said with a smile that softened his words. “The time you will spend here is too precious to be wasted on the manners and mores of Avalon. There are many years ahead for you to learn things like that.”

Laurel nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she agreed.

“Besides,” Jamison added with a sly look in his eye, “I am sure your friend Tamani would be more than happy to answer every question you have time to ask him.” He started to turn to go.

“When will I see you again?” Laurel asked.

“I will come for you when your eight weeks are up,” he said. “And I will make sure we have some time to discuss things,” he promised. With a brief farewell he left, pulling the door shut behind him, leaving Laurel feeling starkly alone.

Standing in the middle of the room, Laurel turned in a circle, trying to take it all in. She didn’t remember this place, but there was a comfort to it – a realisation that, on some level, her tastes had not changed. Green had always been a favourite colour, and she generally chose simplicity over ornate patterns and designs. The canopy was a little girlish, but then, she had chosen it a lifetime ago.

She walked over to the desk and sat down, noting to herself that the chair was just a little too small. She pulled out drawers and found sheets of thick paper, pots of paint, quill pens, and a composition book with her name on it. It took Laurel a few seconds to realise that the name looked so familiar because it was written in her own young-girl handwriting. Hands shaking, she carefully opened the book to the first page. It was a list of Latin words Laurel suspected were plants. She flipped through the pages and found more of the same. Even the English words didn’t make much sense. How utterly discouraging to realise that she had known more at seven than she did now, at sixteen. Or twenty, she corrected herself, or however old I’m supposed to be now. She tried not to think about her actual age too much; all it did was remind her of the seven years of her faerie life now lost to her memory. She felt sixteen; as far as she was concerned, she was sixteen. Laurel put the book back and stood to walk over to the wardrobe.

Inside were several sundresses and a few ankle-length skirts made from a light, flowing material. A column of drawers revealed peasant-style blouses and fitted tops with cap sleeves. Laurel rubbed the material against her face, loving the silky soft feel of it. She tried on several and settled for a light pink sundress before continuing her exploration of the room.

She didn’t get far before she walked to the window and caught her breath at the view below her. Her room overlooked the biggest flower garden she had ever seen; rows of flowers in every imaginable hue spread out below her in a cascade of colour almost as big as the grounds in front of the Academy. Her fingers pressed against the glass as she tried to take in the whole sight at once. It struck her as a waste that a room with such a magnificent view had just been sitting, empty, for the last thirteen years.

A knock on the door startled Laurel and she hurried to answer it, adjusting her dress as she did. After taking a moment to smooth her hair, Laurel opened the door.

“Laurel, I presume?” the tall faerie said with a smooth, deep voice. He studied her. “Well, you haven’t changed all that much.”

A touch taken aback, Laurel could only stare blankly up at the faerie. She had seen pictures of herself as a child; she had changed immensely!

The tall faerie wore what looked like linen Yoga trousers and a dark green shirt made of silky fabric that hung open at the chest in a way that did not seem the least bit sensual. Laurel considered her own tendency towards tank tops to expose more of her photosynthetic skin and decided this was similar. His demeanour was distinguished, formal. A look almost completely contradicted by his lack of shoes or socks.

“I am Yeardley, professor of fundamentals. May I?” the faerie said, inclining his head.

“Oh, of course,” Laurel blustered, opening the door wider.

Yeardley strode in and the faerie behind him followed closely. “There,” Yeardley said, pointing to Laurel’s desk. The other faerie stacked the pile of books on Laurel’s desk, bowed low to both Laurel and Yeardley, and backed out of the doorway before turning to walk down the hall.

Laurel turned back to the professor, who hadn’t looked away.

“I know Jamison is eager for you to begin classes, but, to be quite frank, I cannot start you on even the most basic lessons until you have some sort of foundation on which to build.”

Laurel opened her mouth to speak, realised she was in completely over her head, and closed it again.

“I have brought you what I believe to be the most basic and essential information that is requisite to beginning your true studies. I suggest you start immediately.”

Laurel’s eyes swung over to the stack of books. “All of those?” she asked.

“No. This is only the first half. I have one more batch when you have finished. Trust me,” the faerie said, “these were as few as I could possibly justify.” He looked down at a piece of paper he had pulled from a shoulder bag. “One of our acolytes” – he looked up at her—“that’s the level you would be at, by the way, under more favourable circumstances – has agreed to be your tutor. She will be available to you during all daylight hours, and explaining such basic concepts to you will hardly be a strain, so feel free to use her. We hope you spend no more than two weeks relearning the things you have forgotten since you left us.”

Wishing she could disappear through the floor, Laurel stood with her fists clenched.

“Her name is Katya,” Yeardley continued, paying no attention to Laurel’s reaction. “I suspect she will come introduce herself soon. Don’t let her social nature distract you from your studies.”

Laurel nodded stiffly, her eyes fixed firmly on the stack of books.

“I will leave you to your reading then,” he said, turning on his bare heel. “When all the books are read, we can begin regular classes.” He paused in the doorway. “Your staff can summon me when you are finished, but don’t bother until you have read each book completely. There simply isn’t any point.” Without a goodbye he strode through the doorway and pulled the door shut behind him, a loud click filling the deep silence of Laurel’s room.

Taking a long breath, Laurel walked over to the desk and looked at the spines of some of the ancient-looking books: Fundamental Herbology, Origins of Elixirs, The Complete Encyclopedia of Defensive Herbs, and Troll Anatomy. Laurel grimaced at the last one.

She had always enjoyed reading, but these books weren’t exactly light fiction. She looked from the tall stack of books to the picture window across the room and noted that the sun had already begun its descent into the western sky.

She sighed. This was not what she had expected of today.

Chapter Three

Laurel sat cross-legged on her bed with a pair of scissors, cutting sheets of paper into makeshift note cards. It had taken her less than an hour of reading to realise that the situation demanded note cards. And highlighters. A year of studying biology with David had apparently turned her into a neurotic method-studier. But the next morning she was dismayed to discover that the “staff”, as everyone called the soft-spoken, plainly dressed servants who scurried around the Academy, had no idea what note cards were. They were, however, familiar with scissors, so Laurel was making her own note cards out of a fine card stock. The highlighters, unfortunately, were a lost cause.

A soft rap sounded at the door. “Come in,” Laurel called, worried that she would scatter bits of paper everywhere if she tried to actually get up and open it.

The door swung open and a small, blond head poked in. “Laurel?”

Having given up trying to recognise people, Laurel simply nodded and waited for the stranger to introduce herself.

The short, pixie-style haircut was followed by a bright smile that Laurel found herself automatically returning. It was a relief to see a smile directed at her. Dinner the evening before had been a complete disaster. Laurel had been summoned around seven to come down for the evening meal. She had hurried downstairs behind a faerie who had showed her the way to the dining hall – Laurel should have gotten a clue when she heard dining hall instead of cafeteria – in her sundress and bare feet, her hair still pulled back in a ponytail. The moment she entered the room Laurel realised she’d made a mistake. Everyone was dressed in button-down shirts and silk trousers, or floor-length skirts and dresses. It was practically a white-tie formal affair. Worse, she’d been pulled to the front of the room by Aurora to be welcomed back and presented to the Fall faeries. Hundreds of Fall faeries with no one better to look at than her.

Note to self: Dress for dinner.

But that was last night, and now here was a genuine smile, aimed at her.

“Come on in,” Laurel said. She didn’t particularly care who this faerie was or why she was here, just that she looked friendly.

And that she represented a reason for Laurel to take a break.

“I’m Katya,” the faerie said.

“Laurel,” she said automatically.

“Well, of course I know that,” Katya said with a little laugh. “Everyone knows who you are.”

Laurel looked self-consciously down at her lap.

“I hope you’ve found the Academy to your liking,” Katya continued, sounding like the perfect hostess. “I know I am always a bit unsettled when I have to travel. I don’t sleep well,” Katya said, coming to sit beside her on the bed.

Laurel avoided her eyes and made a noise of agreement without actually saying anything, wondering how far Katya could really have travelled within Avalon.

In truth, Laurel hadn’t slept well. She hoped it was the new environment, as Katya had suggested. But she’d been ripped awake several times by nightmares, and not just the usual ones of trolls, guns pointed at Tamani, pointing a gun at Barnes, or icy waves closing in over her head. Last night it wasn’t her running from Barnes, her feet in slow motion; it was her parents, David, Chelsea, Shar, and Tamani.

Laurel had risen from her bed and walked to the window, pressed her forehead against the cool glass, and looked down at the twinkling lights scattered throughout the darkness that spread below her. It seemed so contradictory, coming to Avalon to learn how to protect herself and her loved ones, and in so doing, leaving them vulnerable. Though if the trolls were hunting her, maybe her family was safer when she wasn’t around. The whole situation was out of her control, out of her very knowledge. She hated feeling helpless – useless.

“What are you doing?” Katya asked, pulling Laurel from her dreary thoughts.

“Making note cards.”

“Note cards?”

“Um, studying tools I use back at ho—in the human world,” Laurel said.

Katya picked up one of the homemade cards. “Are they just these small pieces of carding or is there something else I’m not seeing?”

“No. Just that. Pretty simple.”

“Then why are you doing it yourself?”

“Uh?” Laurel shook her head, then shrugged. “I needed note cards?”

Katya’s eyes were wide and innocently questioning. “Aren’t you supposed to study like mad while you’re here? That’s what Yeardley told me.”

“Yes, but note cards will help me study better,” Laurel insisted. “It’s worth the time to make them.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Katya laughed then walked over to the silver bell Aurora had pointed out yesterday and rang it. Its clear peal rolled around the room for a few seconds, leaving the air feeling almost alive.

“Wow,” Laurel said, earning a puzzled look from Katya.

A few seconds later a middle-aged faerie woman appeared in the doorway. Katya snatched the scissors out of Laurel’s hand and gathered up the pile of card stock. “We need these all to be cut into rectangles this size,” she said, handing over one of Laurel’s freshly cut cards. “And this is of utmost importance, so it needs to take priority over whatever else you were doing.”

“Of course,” the woman said with a slight curtsy, as if she were speaking to a queen and not a young faerie half her age – maybe less. “Would you like me to do them here so you can have them as they are completed, or take them elsewhere and return them when the entire task is done?”

Katya looked over at Laurel and shrugged. “It’s all right with me if she stays here; she has a point about getting them to us as soon as they’re cut.”

“That’s fine,” Laurel muttered, uncomfortable asking a grown woman to perform such a menial task.

“You can sit there,” Katya said, pointing to Laurel’s long window seat. “The light is good.”

The woman simply nodded, took the card stock to the window, and immediately set about cutting them into crisp, straight rectangles.

Katya settled herself on the bed beside Laurel. “Now show me what you do with these note cards and I’ll see how I can assist you.”

“I can cut my own cards,” Laurel whispered.

“Well, certainly, but there are far better uses of your time.”

“I imagine there are far better uses of her time too,” Laurel retorted, flicking her chin in the woman’s direction.

Katya looked up and stared candidly. “Her? I shouldn’t think so. She’s just a Spring faerie.”

Indignation built up in Laurel’s chest. “What do you mean, just a Spring faerie? She’s still a person, she has feelings.”

Katya looked very confused. “I never said she didn’t.

But this is her job.”

“To cut my note cards?”

“To do whatever duties the Fall faeries have need of. Look at it this way,” Katya continued, still in that bright, casual voice, “we probably saved her from sitting around just waiting for one of the other Falls to need something. Now come on, or we’ll lose all the time she’s saving us. Let me see which book you’re on.”

Laurel lay sprawled on her stomach, staring at her book. She was beyond reading; she’d been reading most of the morning and the words were starting to swim in front of her eyes, so staring was the best she could do. A light knock sounded from the doorway, where her intricately carved cherrywood door stood open. Laurel looked up at an elderly Spring faerie with kind, pink eyes and those perfectly symmetrical wrinkles she still wasn’t quite used to.

“You have a visitor in the atrium,” the faerie said, scarcely above a whisper. The Spring staff had been instructed to be very quiet around Laurel and avoid bothering her at all times.

The other students, too, apparently. Laurel never saw anyone but Katya, except at dinner, where she was mostly just stared at. But she was almost done with her last book – then it would be classroom time. She wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing or not, but at least it was different.

“A visitor?” Laurel said. It took a few seconds before her study-weary brain put it together. Then it was all she could do not to shout with joy. Tamani!

Laurel walked down a few flights of stairs and took a slightly longer route so she could walk through a rounded, glass hallway lined with flowers in every colour of the rainbow. They were beautiful. In the beginning that was all Laurel saw in them – gorgeous colours stretching out in brilliant sheets all across the Academy grounds. But they were more than decoration; they were the tools of the Fall faeries. She knew them now, after almost a week of studying, and named them, instinctively, in her head. The blue delphinium and red ranunculus, yellow freesia and calla lilies, speckled anthurium, and her newest favourite – cymbidium orchids with their soft white petals and dark pink centres. She let her fingers brush the tropical orchids as she passed, reciting automatically its common uses in her head. Cures poisoning from yellow flowers, temporarily blocks photosynthesis, phosphoresces when mixed correctly with sorrel.

She had very little context for the lists of facts in her head, but thanks to her “note cards” – which she wryly admitted the Spring faerie had cut more neatly than she would have – they were memorised.

Leaving the flowery hall, Laurel hurried to the staircase, practically skipping down the steps. She spotted Tamani leaning against a wall near the front entrance and somehow managed not to shriek his name and run to him. Barely.

Instead of the loose shirts and breeches that she was so accustomed to, he was wearing a sleek tunic over black trousers. His hair was combed back carefully, and his face looked different without the tousled strands decorating it. As she raised her arms to hug him, a small halting motion of Tamani’s hand stopped her. She stood, confused; then he smiled and bent slightly at the waist, his head inclined in the same gesture of deference the Spring staff insisted on using. “Pleasure to see you, Laurel.” He gestured towards the door. “Shall we?”

She looked at him strangely for a moment, but when he flicked his head towards the exit again, she set her jaw and walked out the Academy doors. They headed down the front path that, instead of being straight like most neighbourhood walks at home, meandered through patches of flowers and greenery. And, unfortunately, other Fall students. She could feel their gazes following her, and even though most tried to hide their spying behind their books, some gawked openly.

It was a long, silent walk and Laurel kept sneaking glances back at Tamani, who persisted in walking two steps behind her. She could see a mischievous grin playing at the corners of his mouth, but he said nothing. Once they crossed through the gates he stopped her with a soft hand on her back and inclined his head towards a long line of tall bushes. She walked towards them and as soon as the Academy was blocked from her view by the pokey green stems, strong arms lifted her off her feet and spun her around.

“I have missed you so much,” Tamani said, the grin she loved restored to his face.

Laurel wrapped her arms around him and held on for a long time. He was a reminder of her life outside the Academy, an anchor to her own world. The place she still called home. It was strange to realise that, over the course of a few short days, her most direct link to Avalon had now become her strongest tie to human life.

And, of course, he was himself. There was plenty to be said for that, too.

“Sorry about all that,” he said. “The Academy is very particular about protocol between Spring and Fall faeries and I would hate for you to get in trouble. Well, I guess it’s more likely I’d get in trouble, but regardless…let’s avoid trouble.”

“If we have to.” Laurel grinned and reached both hands up into his hair, mussing it until it fell into its usually chunky strands. She grabbed his hands, exhilarated to be in friendly, familiar company again. “I’m so glad you came. I thought I’d go crazy if I had to spend another night studying.”

Tamani sobered. “It’s hard work, I’m sure, but it’s important.”

She looked down at her bare feet, speckled with dark soil. “It’s not that important.”

“It is. You have no idea how much we use all the things the Fall faeries make.”

“But I can’t really do anything at all! I haven’t even started classroom work yet.” She sighed and shook her head. “I just don’t know how much I can learn in less than two months.”

“Couldn’t you come back…from time to time?”

“I guess so.” Laurel looked up again. “If I’m invited.”

“Oh, you’ll be…invited.” Tamani grinned as he said it, as though he found the word inherently amusing. “Trust me.”

His eyes met hers, and Laurel felt hypnotised. After a nervous moment she turned away and started walking. “So where are we going?” she asked, trying to cover her awkwardness.

“Going?”

“Jamison said you would take me sightseeing. I only get a few hours.”

Tamani seemed completely unprepared for this conversation. “I’m not sure he meant—”

“I have been doing nothing but memorising plants for…” Laurel paused. “Six. Straight. Days. I want to see Avalon!”

A mischievous grin lit Tamani’s face and he nodded. “Very well, then. Where would you like to go?”

“I – I wouldn’t have any idea.” Laurel turned to him. “What’s the best place in Avalon?”

He took a breath, then hesitated. After another moment he said, “Do you want to do something with other fae or just the two of us?”

Laurel gazed down the hill. Part of her just wanted to be with Tamani, but she scarcely trusted herself to spend that long alone with him. “Can’t we do some of both?”

Tamani grinned. “Sure. Why don’t we—”

She placed one index finger against his lips. “No, don’t tell me, let’s just go.”

In response, Tamani pointed down the hill and said, “Lead on.”

A little shiver of excitement passed through her as the Academy grew smaller and smaller behind them. They passed the high stone walls that enclosed the gate and soon their path diverged into roads that wound through an occasional building – but these roads weren’t paved. Instead, they were made of the same soft, black, nutrient-rich soil that covered the path from the gateway to the Academy. The soil cooled Laurel’s bare feet and energised her steps. It was ten times better than any other walk she’d ever taken.

The farther they got from the Academy, the more crowded the streets became. They entered some kind of open-air fair with hundreds of faeries congregating in doorways, browsing in facade-fronted shops and milling about kiosks hung with sparkling wares. Everything was rainbow-hued and vivid and it took Laurel a few seconds to realise that the bright, multicoloured flashes she saw weaving through the crowds were the blossoms of the Summer faeries. One faerie passed close in front of her, carrying some kind of stringed instrument and sporting a stunning blossom that resembled a tropical flower. It was bright red streaked with a sunshiny yellow and had about ten broad petals that ended in sharp angles like the purpurea Laurel had studied only yesterday. But it was enormous! The lower petals floated just inches above the ground while the top petals arched over her head like an enormous crown.

Good thing I’m not a Summer faerie, Laurel thought, recalling the work she had put into concealing her own seasonal blossom less than a year ago. That thing would never have fit under a shirt.

Everywhere she looked she saw more of the vibrant, tropical-looking blossoms, in seemingly infinite variety. The Summer faeries were dressed differently too. They wore clothes of the same light, shimmery fabric that Laurel and all her classmates wore, only cut longer and more loosely with ruffles and tassels and other adornments that, fluttered in the air or trains that swept the ground behind them. Showy, Laurel decided. Like their blossoms.

She looked back to make sure she hadn’t lost Tamani, but he was still there, two steps behind her left shoulder. “I wish you’d just lead the way,” Laurel said, tired of craning her neck to see him.

“It’s not my place.”

Laurel stopped. “Your place?”

“Please don’t make a scene,” Tamani said softly, prodding her forward again with his fingertips. “It’s just the way it is.”

“Is this a Spring faerie thing?” Laurel said, her voice raised a little.

“Laurel, please,” Tamani implored, his eyes darting from side to side. “We’ll talk about it later.”

She glared at him, but he refused to meet her eyes, so she surrendered for the moment and continued walking. She meandered through the kiosks for some time, delighting in the sparkling wind chimes and silky lengths of fabric displayed by shopkeepers who were, in some cases, dressed even more extravagantly than the crowd.

“What’s this?” she asked, picking up a stunning string of sparkling diamonds – probably real ones – intertwined with tiny pearls and delicate glass flowers.

“It’s for your hair,” a tall, crimson-haired faerie offered helpfully. With fingers encased in stark white gloves that seemed far too formal to Laurel, he touched the end where a comb was cleverly hidden behind a cluster of glass blossoms. Naturally, because he was male, he had no blossom, but his clothing suggested that he, too, was a Summer. “May I?”

Laurel looked to Tamani and he smiled and nodded. She turned and the tall faerie fixed the bauble securely in her hair, then led her to a large mirror on the opposite side of the kiosk. Laurel smiled at her reflection. The silvery strand hung just to the side of where she parted her hair, down past her shoulders. It sparkled in the sun, bringing out the shine of the natural highlights in her blond hair. “It’s beautiful,” she said breathlessly.

“Would you like to wear it, or shall I wrap it in a box?”

“Oh, I couldn’t—”

“You should,” Tamani said quietly. “It looks lovely.”

“But I…” She stepped around the tall shopkeeper and stood close to Tamani. “I have nothing to pay for it, and I’m certainly not going to let you pay for it.”

Tamani laughed quietly. “You don’t pay for goods here, Laurel. That’s a very…human thing. Take it. He’ll be complimented that you like his work.”

Laurel glanced at the shopkeeper hovering just out of earshot. “Really?”

“Yes. Tell him it pleases you and that you’ll wear it to the Academy; that’s all the payment he wants.”

It was all so unbelievable. Laurel felt nervous, momentarily unable to overcome her certainty that, any second now, a security faerie was going to pop out and arrest her. But Tamani wouldn’t pull a trick like that on her…would he?

She took one more look in the mirror, then smiled at the tall faerie, hoping it didn’t look too forced. “It’s really, really beautiful,” she said. “I’d like to wear it back to the Academy, if I may.” The faerie beamed at her and made a slight bow. Laurel hesitantly began to walk away.

No one stopped her.

It was a few minutes before Laurel got over the feeling she’d just stolen something. She started paying attention to the other browsers and many of them also removed items from the displays and kiosks without giving anything in return but compliments and gratitude. After several minutes of observing other “shoppers”, she forced herself to calm down.

“We should get something for you,” she said, turning to Tamani.

“Oh, no. Not me. I don’t shop here. My market square is down the hill a little farther.”

“Then what’s this?”

“This is Summer Square.”

“Oh,” Laurel said, panicking again. “But I’m a Fall. I shouldn’t have gotten this.”

Tamani laughed. “No, no, Winter and Fall faeries shop where they like. There are too few of them to have their own square.”

“Oh.” She thought for a minute. “So could I shop in your square too?”

“I guess you could, but I don’t know why you’d want to.”

“Why not?”

Tamani shrugged. “It’s not pretty like the Summer Square. I mean, the square’s pretty; everything in Avalon is beautiful. But we don’t need trinkets and decor. We need clothing, food, and the tools of our many trades. I get my weapons there as well as the elixirs and potions I need for my sentry kits – those things are sent down from the Academy. The Summer faeries need the flashy things; it’s part of their trade. Those in the theatre, especially. But if you look closer, particularly in some of the inside shops, you’ll find the more technical supplies. Paints and equipment for scenery, musical instruments, jewellery-making tools – that kind of thing.” He grinned. “The kiosks have all the sparkles and such in them so they catch the sun and draw more shoppers.”

They both laughed and Laurel reached up to touch the new hair comb. She wondered briefly what it would be worth back in California, and then dismissed the thought. It was nothing she’d ever sell, so it didn’t matter.

The crowd was thinning as they walked farther from the marketplace. The broad earthen road was lined with houses now, and Laurel glanced from side to side in wonder. Each dwelling was made entirely of the same kind of sugar-glass that formed the picture window in Laurel’s own room. The larger translucent orbs that opened out into the street were obviously living rooms; the slightly smaller pastel-tinged bubbles clustered on the sides and back Laurel suspected were bedrooms. Enormous curtains of pastel-coloured silk were tucked behind each dwelling, allowing the sun to shine more brightly into the remarkable buildings, but Laurel saw how they could be draped over the glass for privacy at night. Each house sparkled in the sun, and many were decorated with strings of crystals and prisms catching the light and making it dance, just like the prisms Laurel had in her room back home. The whole neighbourhood shimmered so brightly it was almost hard to look at, and Laurel realised that these were the “balloons” she’d seen from farther up the hill when she’d first arrived with Jamison. “They’re so pretty,” she mused.

“Indeed. I love to walk up through the Summer neighbourhoods.”

The sparkling dwellings began to space out, and soon Laurel and Tamani were walking downhill again. The wide road cut through a meadow of clover with patches of flowers here and there; Laurel had only seen such meadows in movies. And even though she’d gotten used to the air in Avalon – always fragrant with the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers – it was stronger out here, where the wind could freely carry each scent as it caressed her face. Laurel breathed in deeply, enjoying the invigorating breeze.

She paused when she realised Tamani wasn’t beside her any more. She glanced back. He was crouched by the side of the path, wiping his hands on the cushiony clover. “What are you doing?” she asked.

Tamani sprang to his feet, looking sheepish. “I – um, forgot my gloves,” he said quietly.

Laurel was confused for a second, then noticed that the clover looked a little sparkly. “You wear gloves to cover the pollen?” she guessed.

“It’s polite,” he said, clearing his throat.

Laurel thought back and realised that all the men in Summer Square had been wearing gloves. It made sense now. She hurried to change the subject to rescue Tamani from his obvious discomfort. “So what next?” she asked, her hand at her forehead, blocking the sun so she could see what lay farther down the road.

“I’m taking you to my favourite place in all of Avalon.”

“Really?” Laurel said, excitement causing her to forget, momentarily, that she’d asked to be surprised. “Where?”

He smiled softly. “My home. I want you to meet my mother.”

Chapter Four

A chill rippled up Laurel’s back as nervousness and confusion battled for control. “Your mother?”

“Is…that all right?”

“You told me faeries didn’t have mothers.”

Tamani opened his mouth and then closed it again, his brow furrowing – the look he always got when he was caught in a half-truth. “I never actually said faeries don’t have mothers,” he said slowly. “I said things are different here. And they are.”

“But you – I…I just assumed that since, you know, faeries come from seeds – you said you take care of yourselves!” she demanded, a little angry now.

“We do,” Tamani said, trying to appease her. “I mean, mostly. Mothering is not quite the same here as it is in the human world.”

“But you have a mother?”

He nodded, and she could tell he knew what was coming next.

“Do I have a mother? A faerie one, I mean?”

He was silent for a moment, and Laurel could see he didn’t want to say it. Finally he shrugged, a tiny, almost invisible shrug, and shook his head.

Shock and disappointment surged through her. It didn’t help that, despite the tension at home, she missed her mom acutely and was feeling more than a little homesick. Tears threatened, but Laurel refused to let them come. She spun on her heel and continued walking down the hill, glad there wasn’t anyone close by. “Why not?” she asked peevishly.

“You just don’t.”

“But you do. Why do you have one?” She knew she sounded childish and petulant, but she didn’t care.

“Because I’m not a Fall or Winter faerie.”

Laurel stopped and turned back to Tamani. “So? Are we born differently?”

Tamani shook his head.

“The seed I was born in, it was made by two faeries, right?”

Tamani hesitated, then nodded.

“Then where are they? Maybe I could—”

“I don’t know,” Tamani said, cutting her off. “No one knows. The records of it are destroyed,” he finished quietly.

“Why?”

“Fall and Winter faeries don’t stay with their parents. They are children of Avalon; children of the Crown. It’s not like in the human world,” he added. “Relationships are not the same.”

“So the relationship you have with your mother isn’t like the relationship I have with mine back home?” Laurel asked. She knew referring to someplace besides Avalon as home would bother Tamani, but she was too angry to feel bad about it.

“That’s not what I meant. When you make a seed, it’s just a seed. It is very, very precious because it is the potential for new life, but the relationship does not begin with the seed. It begins when the sprout blooms and the seedling goes home to live with its parents – but only Spring and Summer faeries live with their parents. Your…seed makers—”

“Parents,” Laurel interrupted.

“Fine. Your parents might have been disappointed when they found out you wouldn’t be their seedling, that you would never come home with them, but they would mostly celebrate their contribution to society. As far as they were concerned, you weren’t a person yet. They wouldn’t have missed you, because they didn’t know you.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes, it is.” His hand came to her shoulder, pulling her to a stop before she could turn on to the broad central road. “Because I know how unselfish you are. Would you rather you were able to experience the reunion with a long-lost set of parents who had been suffering for years missing and loving you, or would you rather they weren’t hurting while you were raised by human parents who adore you?”

Laurel swallowed. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

Tamani smiled softly and lifted a hand to her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and letting his thumb rest on her cheek. “Trust me, it’s no picnic missing you. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

Without meaning to, Laurel leaned into Tamani’s hand. He shifted forward until his forehead rested on hers, hands cupping the sides of her face, then trailing slowly down her neck. Only when the tip of his nose brushed hers – ever so softly – did she realise he was about to kiss her. And that she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to stop him.

“Tam,” she whispered. His lips were just a breath away from hers.

His fingers tightened ever so softly against her neck, but he stopped and pulled back. “Sorry,” he said. He moved his face, letting his lips fall instead on her forehead before pulling away and pointing back down the wide road that cut through the meadow. “Let’s keep going. I should probably get you back to the Academy in another hour or so.”

Laurel nodded, not sure which emotion was strongest. Relief. Disappointment. Loneliness. Regret.

“How…how did my parents know I would be a Fall faerie?” Laurel asked, trying to find a more neutral subject.

“Your sprout opened in the Fall,” Tamani said simply. “All faeries emerge from their sprout in the season of their powers.”

“Sprout?”

“The flower you were born from.”

“Oh.”

Laurel had nothing else to ask without bringing the subject back to faerie parentage, so she was silent, trying to absorb this new development – and Tamani followed her lead. They walked a little farther until the pedestrian traffic thickened and more houses began to dot the road. These were different from the ones she’d seen around the Summer Square. They had the same climbing vines that decorated much of the Academy – the ones with flowers that opened when the moon came up. But rather than the transparent walls she was used to, these buildings were made of wood and bark – sturdy leantos, small houses, a few cottages with loosely thatched roofs. They were charming and quaint and every other fairy-tale word she’d ever heard used to describe small homes. But a sense of difference permeated the air.

“Why aren’t these houses transparent?” Laurel asked.

“These are Spring faerie homes,” Tamani replied, still hovering at her left shoulder.

“And…?”

“And what?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Summer faeries need to photosynthesize enormous amounts of sunlight in order to create their illusions and the light needed for fireworks. They need to be exposed to every hour of sunlight possible. Plus,” he added after a brief pause, “these houses are easier to build and keep up. There are a lot of us, after all.”

“How many Spring faeries are there?”

Tamani shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. Somewhere around eighty per cent of the population.”

“Eighty? Really? How many Summer faeries?”

“Oh, I’d guess fifteen per cent. Probably a smidge more.”

“Oh.” She didn’t ask about Fall faeries. She could do the math. Tamani had told her that Winter faeries were the rarest of all, with maybe one born in a generation, but Fall faeries were apparently rare enough. Laurel supposed that subconsciously she’d also realised there were fewer Fall faeries, but she hadn’t understood just how limited their numbers were. No wonder they didn’t have their own square.

The housing was growing dense, and other faeries were teeming around them now. Some were gloved and carried gardening implements, several quite alien to Laurel despite her mother’s passion for plant life. Others busied themselves outside their homes washing clothing too delicate to be their own. Laurel noticed several carts laden with food, from raw fruits and vegetables to fully prepared meals wrapped in grape leaves or the petals of some enormous flower that smelled vaguely like gardenias.

One Spring faerie who hurried by was carrying a staff like a shepherd’s crook, with a small pot dangling from the curved top. At least a dozen vials of liquid were strapped across his chest. Laurel cast a questioning glance over her shoulder, but Tamani just pointed one finger forward with a smile.

Laurel turned and realised that the low murmur of the crowd was rising in pitch and timbre. But only when a cloud of buzzing insects materialised, seemingly from nowhere, did Laurel understand why. She bit off a shriek as she found herself enveloped in a cloud of extremely active honeybees.

As quickly as they had come, they were gone. Laurel turned to watch the swarm disappear into the crowd, following the Spring faerie with the shepherd’s crook. Laurel recalled from her reading several ways animals and insects “and other lower life-forms” could be influenced and even controlled by scent. She momentarily pondered the usefulness of tame bees to a society of plants, but her musing was derailed by Tamani’s laughter.

“Sorry,” he said with a chuckle. A smile still ticked at the side of his mouth. “But you should have seen your face.”

Laurel’s instinct was to be mad, but she suspected her face had looked pretty funny. “Am I going the right way?” she asked, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

“Yes, I’ll let you know when it’s time to turn.”

“We’re in Spring now, right? Why does it matter if you walk behind me? It makes me feel lost.”

“I apologise,” Tamani said, his voice tense. “But this is the way things are around here. You walk behind a faerie who is more than one rank above you.”

She paused and Tamani almost bumped into her. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” She turned to Tamani. “And I won’t do it.”

Tamani sighed. “Look, you’re privileged enough to have standards like that; I’m not.” He glanced at the crowd flowing around them and finally said, quietly, “If I don’t do it, it’s not you who gets in trouble, it’s me.”

Laurel didn’t want to let it go, but she didn’t want Tamani to be punished for her ideals, either. With one more glance at his downcast eyes, Laurel turned and continued walking. She was increasingly aware of how much she stood out; much more so than in Summer Square. Aside from their various trade implements, everyone around her looked…well…like Tamani. They were dressed in simple, canvas-like material, mostly cut into breeches or calf-length skirts. But as with all faeries, they were attractive and neat. Rather than looking like a stereotypical working class – with worn faces or shabby clothes – they looked more like actors pretending to be working class.

Much less charming was the way everyone who caught her eye stopped their conversation, smiled, and did the same slight-bend-at-the-waist thing Tamani had done when he’d met her at the Academy. As she and Tamani passed, their chatter would begin again. Several greeted Tamani and tried to say something. He waved them away, but one word in particular kept floating to Laurel’s ears.

“What’s a Mixer?” she asked once there was a break in the crowd.

Tamani hesitated. “It’s a little weird to explain.”

“Oh, well, never mind then, because explaining weird things to me has definitely never been part of this relationship.”

Her sarcasm brought a sheepish smile to Tamani’s face. “It’s kind of a Spring faerie thing,” he said elusively.

“Oh, come on,” she said. Then added teasingly, “Tell me or I’ll walk beside you.”

When he didn’t respond, she slowed down and then quickly spun away from his hand and repositioned herself right by his side.

“Fine,” he said in a whisper, pushing her gently back up in front of him. “A Mixer is a Fall faerie. It’s not a bad name or anything,” he continued in a rush. “It’s just a…nickname. But it’s something we would never call a Fall to their face.”

“Mixer?” Laurel said experimentally, liking the feel of it on her tongue. “Because we make things,” she said, laughing. “It’s fitting.”

Tamani shrugged.

“What’s a Summer?”

Now Tamani cringed a bit. “A Sparkler.”

Laurel laughed, and several of the cheerily clad Springs glanced her way before returning to their work with a little too much of an air of purpose. “What about Winters?”

Tamani shook his head. “Oh, we would never take Winter faeries so lightly. Never,” he added emphatically.

“What do you call yourselves?” she asked.

“Ticers,” Tamani said. “Everyone knows that.”

“Maybe everyone in Ticer-ville,” Laurel said. “But I didn’t.”

Tamani snorted when she said Ticer-ville. “Well, now you do.”

“What does it mean?” Laurel asked.

“Ticer, like en-tice-ment. It’s what we all do. Well, what we can do, anyway. Mostly only sentries ever use it.”

“Oh,” Laurel said with a grin. “Ticer. Got it. Why do only sentries use it?”

“Um,” he began uncertainly, “remember last year when I tried to use it on you?”

“Oh, that’s right! I’d almost forgotten.” She turned to him in mock anger. “I was mad at you!”

Tamani chuckled and shrugged. “Point is, it didn’t work very well because you’re a faerie. So only sentries – and specifically sentries who work outside Avalon – ever really have a chance to use it on non faerie creatures.”

“Makes sense.” Her curiosity sated, Laurel began walking again. Soft fingers touched her waist, guiding her through the still-heavy crowds.

“To the right here,” Tamani said. “We’re almost there.”

Laurel was glad to find herself turning down a much less crowded side street. She felt conspicuous and self-conscious and wished she had asked the tall faerie at the kiosk to put the hair jewels in a box. No one else here was wearing anything even remotely similar. “Are we there yet?”

“That house up there,” Tamani said, gesturing. “The one with the big flower boxes up front.”

They approached a small but charming house made from a hollowed-out tree, though the tree wasn’t like anything Laurel had ever seen before. Instead of a thick trunk growing straight up, it had a wide base and grew out in a round shape, like an enormous wooden pumpkin. The trunk narrowed again at the top and continued to grow up, sprouting branches and leaves that shaded the house. “How does it grow like that?”

“Magic. This house was a gift to my mother from the Queen. Winter faeries can ask the trees to grow any way they please.”

“Why did your mother get a gift from the Queen?”

“As a thank-you for years of distinguished service as a Gardener.”

“A gardener? Aren’t there a ton of gardeners?”

“Oh, no. It’s a very specialised field. One of the most prestigious positions a Spring faerie can aspire to.”

“Really?” Laurel said sceptically. She’d seen dozens of gardeners just around the Academy.

Tamani looked at her strangely for a moment before understanding blossomed across his face. “Not like human gardeners. We would call those Tenders here, and yes, there are a lot of them. I suppose you might call my mother a…a midwife.”

“A midwife?”

If Tamani heard the question, he made no sign. He knocked softly on the ash door of the strange tree house. Then, without waiting for a response, he opened it. “I’m home.”

A squeal sounded from inside the house and a flutter of colourful skirts wrapped itself around Tamani’s legs. “Oh, my goodness, what is this?” He detangled the young faerie and lifted her over his head. “What is this thing? I think it’s a Rowen flower!” The little girl squealed as Tamani tucked her against his chest.

The girl looked like she was maybe a year old, scarcely more than an infant. But she walked steadily and her eyes betrayed intelligence. Intelligence and, Laurel felt certain without knowing why, mischief.

“Have you been a good girl today?” Tamani asked.

“Of course,” the young faerie said, far more articulately than Laurel would have thought possible for a child so small. “I’m always a good girl.”

“Excellent.” He turned his gaze towards the inside of the house. “Mother?” he called.

“Tam! What a surprise. I didn’t know you were coming today.” Laurel looked up and felt suddenly shy as an older female faerie walked into the room. The woman was beautiful, with a lightly lined face, pale green eyes just like Laurel’s, and a broad smile that was beaming at Tamani. She didn’t seem to have noticed Laurel yet, half hidden behind him in the doorway.

“I didn’t know myself until this morning.”

“No matter,” the woman said, taking Tamani’s face in both hands and kissing his cheeks.

“I brought company,” Tamani said, his voice suddenly quiet.

The woman turned to Laurel and, for a second, concern masked her face. Then recognition dawned and she smiled. “Laurel. Look at you; you’ve hardly changed a bit.”

Laurel smiled back, but her face fell when Tamani’s mother inclined her head and bent at the waist.

Tamani must have felt Laurel stiffen, because he squeezed his mother’s hand and said, “Laurel’s had enough formality for one day. She’s just herself in this house.”

“All the better,” Tamani’s mother said with a smile. Then she stepped forward and took Laurel’s face, just like she had Tamani’s moments before, and kissed both cheeks. “Welcome.”

Tears sprang to Laurel’s eyes. It was the warmest greeting she’d had from anyone except Tamani since arriving in Avalon. It made her miss her own mother acutely. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“Come in, come in; no need to stand in the doorway. We have windows enough for that,” Tamani’s mother said, shooing them in. “And since we’re doing away with the formality, you can just call me Rhoslyn.”

Chapter Five

The inside of the house was similar to the dormitory Laurel lived in, except that everything looked simpler. Buttercups specially treated to glow in the evenings – with ash bark and essence of lavender, Laurel recited automatically in her head – hung from the rafters and swung gently back and forth with the slight breeze coming in from the six open windows around the room. Instead of silk, the curtains were made from a material that looked more like cotton, and the coverings on the chairs throughout the room were the same. The floors were a soft wood rather than plush carpeting, and Laurel carefully dusted off her feet on the thick mat before stepping into the house. Several watercolour paintings hung from the walls in bevelled frames.

“These are beautiful,” Laurel said, leaning forward to get a closer look at one that featured a flowerbed full of very tall stems with a single bud at the top of each, ready to bloom.

“Thank you,” Rhoslyn said. “I’ve taken up painting since retiring. I enjoy it.”

Laurel turned to another painting, this one featuring Tamani. She smiled at the way Rhoslyn had so perfectly caught his brooding features. His eyes were serious in the painting, and he was looking at something just beyond the frame. “You’re very good,” Laurel said.

“Nonsense. I’m just entertaining myself with some cast-off Summer supplies. Still, you can never go wrong when you’re painting a subject as handsome as our Tamani,” she said, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Laurel looked at them – Rhoslyn, even smaller than Laurel, gazing proudly at Tamani, Tamani balancing the little faerie on his hip as she clung to his chest. Laurel momentarily felt disappointed realising he had a life that didn’t include her; but she chided herself immediately. Most of her own life did not include him, so it was selfish to wish for more from him than she was willing or able to give herself. She smiled at Tamani and pushed away her gloomy thoughts.

“Is this your sister?” Laurel asked, pointing to the faerie child.

“No,” Tamani said, and Rhoslyn laughed.

“At my age?” she said with a smile. “Earth and sky, no. Tam is my youngest and I was a bit old even for him.”

“This is Rowen,” Tamani said, poking the little girl’s ribs. “Her mother is my sister.”

“Oh. Your niece,” Laurel said.

Tamani shrugged. “We don’t really use terms here for anything other than mother, father, brother, and sister. Beyond that, we all belong to each other, and we help out with everyone’s children.” He tickled the little faerie, and she squealed in delight. “Rowen here may get extra attention from us because she is more closely connected than other seedlings, but we don’t stake claims beyond that. We’re all family.”

“Oh.” It was a concept Laurel both liked and disliked. It would be fun to have a whole society of people who considered themselves part of your family. But she would miss the ties she had to her admittedly sparse extended family.

Laurel blinked in surprise at a small creature that looked like a purple squirrel with pink butterfly wings perched on Rowen’s shoulder. Laurel was sure it hadn’t been there a few moments ago. As she watched, Rowen whispered to the thing, then laughed quietly, as if sharing a friendly joke.

“Tamani?” Laurel whispered, not taking her eyes from the strange thing.

“What?” Tamani responded, following her gaze.

“What is that thing?”

“That’s her familiar,” Tamani responded, suppressing a grin. “At least for the moment. She changes it regularly.”

“Is there any need to tell you I’m totally confused?”

Tamani found a stool and sat, setting Rowen back on the floor. He stretched his legs out in front of him. “Think of it as a not-so-imaginary imaginary friend.”

“It’s imaginary?”

“It’s an illusion.” He grinned as Laurel continued to look flustered. “Rowen,” Tamani said, his voice warm, “is a Summer faerie.”

Rowen smiled shyly.

Rhoslyn beamed. “We’re very proud of her.”

“Creating an illusionary playmate is one of the first manifestations of a Summer faerie’s magic. Rowen’s been making hers since about two weeks out of her sprout. It’s like having a special blanket or pet plaything but way more fun. For one thing, my favourite toys never moved like that.”

Laurel eyed the purple squirrel-thing warily. “So it’s not real?”

“Only slightly more real than any other faerie’s imaginary friend.”

“That’s amazing.”

Tamani rolled his eyes. “Amazing, nothing. You should see the heroic rescuers she conjures up to save her from the monster under the bed.” He paused. “Which is also her creation.”

“Where are her parents?”

“They’re up in Summer this afternoon,” Rhoslyn said. “Rowen is almost of the age to begin training, and they’re making arrangements with her director.”

“So young?”

“She’s almost three,” Tamani replied.

“Really?” Laurel said, studying the girl as she played on the floor. “She looks so much younger,” she said quietly. She paused. “And acts much older. I was going to ask you about that.”

Rowen stared up at Laurel. “I’m just like all the other fae my age. Aren’t I?” She directed her question to Tamani.

“You’re perfect, Rowen.” He scooped her on to his lap, and the pink-and-purple thing settled on to the top of his head.

Laurel forced herself to look away, although she did wonder if it was rude to stare, if the thing you were staring at wasn’t really there. “Let me tell you something about Laurel,” Tamani said to Rowen. “She’s very special. She lives in the human world.”

“Just like you,” Rowen said matter-of-factly.

“Not exactly like me,” Tamani said, laughing. “Laurel lives with the humans.”

Rowen’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes. In fact, she didn’t even know she was a faerie until last year, when she blossomed.”

“What did you think you were?” Rowen asked.

“I thought I was human, like my parents.”

“That’s silly,” Rowen said dismissively. “How could a faerie be a human? Humans are strange. And scary,” she added after a short pause. Then she whispered conspiratorially, “They’re animals.”

“They’re not so scary, Rowen,” Tamani said. “And they look just like us. If you didn’t know anything about faeries, you might think you were a human too.”

“Oh, I could never be a human,” Rowen responded soberly.

“Well, you’ll never have to be,” Tamani said. “You’re going to be the most beautiful Summer faerie in Avalon.”

Rowen smiled and lowered her eyelids demurely and Laurel had no doubt Tamani was right. With her soft, curly brown hair and long lashes, she was as pretty as any baby Laurel had ever seen. Then she opened her rosebud mouth wide into a yawn.

“Nap time, Rowen,” Rhoslyn said.

Rowen’s face fell and she started to pout. “But I want to play with Laurel.”

“Laurel will be back another time,” Rhoslyn said, her eyes darting to Laurel’s as if to test the validity of that promise. Laurel nodded quickly, not certain if it was the truth. “You can sleep in Tam’s bed,” Rhoslyn added when Rowen still hung back. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said to Tamani, who shook his head.

The little faerie’s face brightened considerably and Rhoslyn herded her down the narrow hall, leaving Tamani and Laurel alone.

“Is she really only three?” Laurel asked.

“Aye. And very normal for a faerie her age,” Tamani said, lounging in the broad armchair. It was fascinating for Laurel to watch him. She had never seen him quite so at ease.

“You told me that faeries age differently, but I…” Her voice trailed off.

“You didn’t believe me?” Tamani said with a grin.

“I believed you. Just, seeing it is something else.” She looked over at him. “Are faeries ever babies?”

“Not in the sense that you mean.”

“And I was older than Rowen when I went to live with my parents?”

Tamani nodded, a small smile flirting with the corners of his mouth. “You were seven. Just barely.”

“And you and I – we went to school together?”

He chuckled. “What good would Fall faerie classes have done me?”

“So how did I know you?”

“I spent a lot of time at the Academy with my mother.”

As if sensing she was being spoken of, Rhoslyn walked back into the room with cups of warm heliconia nectar. Laurel had tasted it once at the Academy, where she was informed that the sweet beverage was a favourite in Avalon and often hard to come by. She felt complimented to be served it now.

“What is a Gardener?” Laurel asked, addressing Rhoslyn now. “Tamani said it was like a midwife.”

Rhoslyn clicked her tongue disparagingly. “Tamani and his human words. Can’t say I know what a midwife is, but a Gardener is a Tender who nurtures germinating sprouts.”

“Oh.” But Laurel was still confused. “Don’t the parents take care of them themselves?”

Rhoslyn shook her head. “Not enough time. Sprouts need constant and very specialised tending. We all have daily tasks to do, and if every mother took off a year or longer to tend her sprout, too many jobs would go undone. Besides, a couple might decide to make a seed just to get out of a year of work, and new life is far too important to be undertaken for so frivolous a reason.”

Laurel wondered what Rhoslyn would have to say about the many frivolous reasons humans found for having babies, but she remained silent.

“Sprouts are nurtured in a special garden at the Academy,” Rhoslyn continued, “like all the other important plants and flowers. Spring and Summer seedlings learn to work by watching others, often their own parents, so Tamani spent a lot of time at the Academy with me.”

“And I was there?”

“Of course. From the time your sprout opened, just like all the other Fall faeries.”

Laurel looked up at Tamani and he nodded. “From the very first day. Like I said. They don’t know you.”

Laurel nodded forlornly.

“Laurel’s having a little difficulty with her lack of fae parents,” Tamani explained quietly.

“Oh, don’t fret,” Rhoslyn chided. “The separation is an important part of your upbringing. Parents would just get in the way.”

“What? How?” Laurel asked, a little disturbed by the casual tone that Rhoslyn – a mother herself – was using to dismiss Laurel’s unknown parents.

“Chances are good your parents were Spring faeries; they would have had no idea how to teach a young Fall seedling. A Fall must be free from these kinds of random attachments with lower faeries,” she said calmly, as if she were not speaking of herself. “They must learn to cultivate their minds to do the work they’re expected to perform. Fall faeries are very important to our society. After even this short time at the Academy, surely you must see that.”

Laurel’s mind latched on to the phrase random attachments. Parents were far more than that. Or at least they should be.

Despite the cosiness of Tamani’s home, Laurel found herself wanting to flee the conversation. “Tamani,” she said abruptly, “we’ve walked so far; I’m worried that we’ll be late getting back to the Academy.”

“Oh, don’t concern yourself,” Tamani said. “We’ve been walking along a big circle, just catching the edges of the settled districts. We’re not far from the Queen’s woods now, and that borders the grounds of the Academy. Still,” he continued, addressing his mother now, “we should be going. I promised the Academy staff this would be a short visit.” Tamani looked at Laurel with concern in his eyes, but she looked away.

“Of course,” Rhoslyn said warmly, completely unaware of the tension she had created. “Come back anytime, Laurel. It was lovely to see you again.”

Laurel smiled numbly. She felt Tamani’s fingers twine through hers, tugging her towards the door.

“Will you be back, Tam?” Rhoslyn asked just before they crossed the threshold.

“Yes. I have to return to the gate at sunrise, but I’ll stay tonight.”

“Good. Rowen should be gone by the time you come back. I’ll make sure your bed is ready.”

“Thank you.”

Laurel said goodbye and turned, leading the way back to the main road they had walked down only a short hour before. When Tamani released Laurel’s hand and resumed his place a few steps behind her, she grumbled incoherently and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Please don’t be this way,” Tamani said quietly.

“I can’t help it,” Laurel said. “The way she talked, she—”

“I know it’s not what you’re used to, Laurel, but that’s how it is here. I’m sure none of your classmates give it a second thought.”

“They don’t know any better. You do.”

“Why? Because I know how humans do it? You’re assuming that your way is better.”

“It is better!” Laurel said, whirling around to face him.

“Maybe for humans,” Tamani countered in a strong, quiet voice. “But humans are not faeries. Faeries have different needs.”

“So you are saying you like this? Taking faeries away from their parents?”

“I’m not saying either is better. I haven’t lived around humans nearly enough to judge. But consider this,” he said, placing one hand on her shoulder, his touch softening the edge of his words. “What if we lived here in Avalon like you do in the human world? Every time some Springs get a Fall seedling, it gets to live with them. They get to raise her. Except that she leaves them to go and study at the Academy for twelve hours a day. They never see her. They don’t understand anything she’s doing. On top of that, they don’t have a garden at their house – a garden she needs to do her classwork – so now she’s gone for fourteen, sixteen hours a day. They miss her; she misses them. They never see one another. Eventually they are like strangers, except that, unlike now, the parents know what they are missing out on. And it hurts, Laurel. It hurts them, and it hurts her. Tell me how that’s better.”

Laurel stood in shock as the logic sank in. Could he be right? She hated even considering it. And yet, it had a certain brutal efficiency she couldn’t deny.

“I’m not saying it’s better,” Tamani said, his voice gentle. “I’m not even saying you have to understand, but don’t think us devoid of emotion because we separate uppers from lowers. We have our reasons.”

Laurel nodded slowly. “What about fathers?” she asked, her tone quiet now, the anger gone. “Do you have a father?”

Tamani fixed his gaze firmly on the ground. “I did,” he said, his voice low and slightly choked.

Guilt rushed over her. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to…I’m sorry.” She touched his shoulder, wishing there was something more she could do.

Tamani’s jaw was clenched, but he forced a smile, anyway. “It’s all right. I just miss him. It’s only been about a month.”

A month. Right when he would have been expecting her to come visit him at the land. But I didn’t come. Her chest felt empty. “I…I didn’t know.” She paused.

He smiled. “It’s fine, really. We all knew it was coming.”

“Really? What did he die of?”

“He didn’t die, really. It’s kind of the opposite of dying.”

“What does that mean?”

Tamani took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he looked up at Laurel again, he was his old self – his mourning hidden away. “I’ll show you sometime. It’s something you have to see to understand.”

“But can’t we – ?”

“We don’t have time today,” Tamani said, cutting her off with a tone that had just a hint of tightness beneath it. “Come on. I’d better get you back so they’ll let me take you again next time.”

“Next week?” Laurel said hopefully.

Tamani shook his head. “Even if I had that much Avalon leave, they won’t let you away from your studies. In a few weeks.”

Laurel found the concept of “Avalon leave” strangely disconcerting – but not as disconcerting as being cooped up in the Academy indefinitely. A few weeks? He may as well have said forever. She could only hope that her next phase of education would pass the time more quickly than sitting in her room with a stack of textbooks.

Chapter Six

Laurel studied her appearance in the mirror the next morning, wondering just what, exactly, an acolyte-level student was supposed to look like. After the fiasco of her first dinner in Avalon, she had taken pains to dress appropriately, but asking anyone what to wear never got her more than a smiling encouragement to wear “whatever you find most comfortable”. She considered her hair – pulled up in a ponytail – then untied the ribbon, letting it fall back down around her shoulders. As she was sweeping it up again, a knock sounded at her door. She opened it and peered out at Katya’s smiling face.

“I thought I’d come show you where to go, for your first official day of classes,” Katya said brightly.

“That would be great,” Laurel said, smiling in relief. She glanced at Katya’s outfit – a long, flowing skirt and a sleeveless, scoop-necked top. Laurel was wearing a calf-length sundress made out of a light material that swung in the breeze and rustled about her legs when she walked. She decided her outfit was similar enough to Katya’s that she wouldn’t look completely out of place.

“Are you ready, then?” Katya asked.

“Yeah,” Laurel said. “Just let me grab my bag.” She shouldered her backpack, which got a sidelong glance from Katya. With its thick, black zippers and nylon weave – not to mention the Transformers patch David had ironed on to it a few months back as a joke – it contrasted sharply with Katya’s canvas shoulder bag. But Laurel had nothing else to carry her note cards in; besides, it was comforting to carry her old, familiar backpack.

They headed out the door and, after a few turns, started down a long hallway lined with sugar-glass windows that flashed in the sunrise and projected the girls’ reflections on the opposite windows. Laurel studied their reflections as they walked, and for a moment lost track of which was her own. Katya was about Laurel’s height and also had blond hair, though hers was short and curled at cute angles all around her head. Most of the other faeries at the Academy coloured their hair and eyes by manipulating their diets, so red- and green- and blue-haired faeries far outnumbered plain blondes and brunettes. It was an interesting approach to fashion that, under other circumstances, Laurel thought she might enjoy. As it was, she had her hands full with the nuances of the unofficial dress code.

They reached a set of double doors from which emanated the scent of rich, damp earth. “We’ll be here for today,” Katya said. “We meet in different places, depending on our projects. But class is in here about half the time.” She pulled open the door, and a wave of chatter drifted out.

Behind the door was a room unlike any classroom Laurel had ever seen. She would ordinarily have called it a greenhouse. Planter boxes full of various greenery lined the perimeter of the huge room, under tall windows that stretched from ceiling to floor; skylights were mounted into the sharply pitched roof, and the whole room was tropically warm and humid. Laurel was immediately grateful for the light material of her sundress, and understood why her wardrobe contained so many like it.

There were no desks, though there was a long table running down the middle of the room full of lab equipment. Laurel could imagine David geeking out over it: beakers and vials, droppers and slides, even several instruments resembling microscopes, and rows and rows of bottles filled with colourful liquids.

But not a desk to be seen. Laurel was a little surprised to realise that this was a relief. Reminded her of her homeschooling days.

The faeries themselves sent a thrill of nervousness down Laurel’s back. The buzz of conversation, slightly muffled by the abundant greenery, filled the room; perhaps a hundred faeries were milling about, clustered together in front of planter boxes or standing in circles and chatting. According to Aurora, the acolytes Laurel was here to study with could be anywhere from fifteen years old to forty, depending on their talent and dedication, so how much she had in common with her classmates was anyone’s guess. She didn’t recognise hardly anyone in the room; just a face here and there from the dinners. This put her at a significant disadvantage because she was sure most of them would remember her from before – would remember her as someone she herself did not.

As Laurel stood with her feet frozen to the damp stone floor, Katya waved at a group of female faeries standing around what looked like a large pomegranate bush. “It will be a few minutes before the professors arrive,” she said, “and I want to check on my pear tree before they get here. Do you mind?”

Laurel shook her head. Mind? I wouldn’t know what else to do.

Katya walked over to a planter box with a small, leafy tree in it and pulled a composition book out of her shoulder bag.

Pear, Laurel thought automatically. For healing; neutralises most poisons. The juice from the blossoms protects against dehydration. “What are you doing with this?” she asked.

“Trying to make it grow faster,” Katya said, squinting at several marks on the trunk of the small sapling. “It’s a fairly rudimentary potion, but I just can’t quite get the knack of it.” She picked up a vial of dark green liquid and held it up to the sun. “If you need a potion to cure ailments, I’m your Mixer.” Laurel blinked at Katya’s casual use of the word; after all, Tamani had suggested it was a Spring faerie word, and even implied it wasn’t entirely polite. Katya apparently thought otherwise. “But simply enhancing already functional aspects grows knots in my mind,” Katya finished, not noticing Laurel’s reaction.

Laurel let her gaze wander around the room. Some of the faeries looked up to meet her eyes, some glanced away, others smiled, and a few just stared outright until it was Laurel who finally had to look away. But when she met the gaze of a tall, purple-eyed faerie with a straight, dark brown fringe, Laurel was surprised to find herself at the sharp end of a pointed glare. The tall faerie tossed her long hair over her shoulder and, rather than simply looking away, turned all the way around and presented Laurel with her back.

“Hey, Katya,” Laurel whispered. “Who’s that?”

“Who?” Katya asked, a little distracted.

“Across the room. Long dark hair. Purple roots and eyes.”

Katya glanced over quickly. “Oh, that’s Mara. Did she give you a look? Just ignore her. She has issues with you.”

“With me?” Laurel almost squeaked. “She doesn’t even know me!”

Katya bit at her bottom lip, hesitant. “Listen,” she said quietly, “no one really likes to talk about how much you don’t remember. We all make the memory potions,” she added quickly, before Laurel could interrupt. “We learn how, as initiates. I made my first successful batch when I was ten. But they’re supposed to be for humans, trolls – you know, animals. They don’t work the same in faeries.”

“Like being immune to enticement?” Laurel asked.

“Not exactly. If faeries were immune to Fall magic, we wouldn’t be able to use beneficial potions. But potions made for animals don’t function the same in plants, and who in their right mind would specifically brew a potion to rob memories from another fae? I mean, Fall faeries did study faerie poisons in the past – long before I sprouted – but there was a faerie who…she took it too far,” Katya said, her voice almost a whisper. “So it’s strongly discouraged now. You have to have special permission to even read the books about it. You’re a special case, because they didn’t want you to be able to reveal anything to the humans, even by accident. But still, having an amnesiac faerie around – to be frank, a victim of magic we’re not even allowed to study any more – you’re kind of a walking taboo. No offence.” She flicked her head towards Mara. “Mara hates it the worst. A few years ago she applied to study faerie poisons and was refused, even though she’s the best in the class and already an expert with animal poisons.”

“And she hates me because of that?” Laurel asked, confused.

“She hates that you are evidence of a potion she doesn’t know how to make. But on top of that, she knows you, or did. Almost all of us in here did, to one extent or another.”

“Oh,” Laurel said softly.

“Before you ask, I didn’t really know you before you were selected as the scion, and even then it was only from a distance. But Mara,” she said, flicking her head towards the tall, statuesque faerie, “was pretty good friends with you.”

“Really?” Laurel said, feeling both stupid that she had to find out from someone else who her friends were and mystified that having been friends with someone in the past could justify such a glare.

“Yes, but Mara was in the running to be the scion too, and she was really upset when you got the spot instead of her. She saw it as a failure instead of what it really was – that you fit the parameters better than she did. Being blond apparently was the clincher,” Katya said with a wave of her hand. “‘Humans like blond babies,’ they said.”

Laurel choked a little at that, coughing to clear her throat and drawing quite a bit of attention from the other faeries. Even Mara turned her head to glare at Laurel once more.

“I suspect she’s been out to prove herself ever since,” Katya said. “She’s really talented; rose to acolyte way earlier than most of us. She’s just about ready to become a journeyman, and as far as I’m concerned, the sooner the better.” Katya turned back to her tree. “She can go study with them,” she muttered.

Laurel angled her body that way too but kept peering at Mara out of the corner of her eye. The slender, languid faerie lounged against the counter with the grace and beauty of a ballerina, but her eyes took in the whole room, weighed it in the balance, and seemed to find it wanting. Could they have ever really been friends?

An entourage of middle-aged-looking faeries strode into the room, the one in the lead clapping her hands for the students’ attention. “Gather, please,” she said in a surprisingly quiet voice. But the sound carried throughout the room, which had gone completely silent. Every faerie had stopped talking and turned to the instructors as they entered.

Well, Laurel thought, that’s way different from at home.

The faeries walked in from all sides of the room to gather in a large circle around the twenty or so teachers. The faerie who had called everyone together took the lead. “Anyone starting a new project today?”

A few hands went up. As soon as they did, the other faeries shuffled and made room for them to come to the front. One at a time each faerie – or sometimes a small group – described the project they were starting, its purpose, how they planned to go about doing it, how long they thought it would take, and other details. They fielded a few questions from the staff and even some from the other students.

The projects all sounded very complex, and the faeries kept using phrases Laurel didn’t understand; phrases like monastuolo receptors and eukaryotic resistance matrices and capryilic hleocræft vectors. After a few minutes of this her attention began to wander. She glanced around the circle as the faeries made their presentations. The other faeries were standing quietly, listening. No one fidgeted; hardly anyone whispered, and even when they did, it seemed to be about the project being described. It was almost half an hour before all the new projects were accounted for, and everyone remained quiet and attentive.

It was a little creepy.

“Did anyone complete a project yesterday?” the instructor asked, once everyone had reported. A few more hands went up, and again the crowd shuffled to bring those students to the front.

As the faeries reported on their finished projects, Laurel glanced round the classroom with fresh eyes. The plants that grew here were as varied as those growing outside, but they seemed more haphazard in their diversity. Many were surrounded by sheaves of paper, scientific equipment, or fabrics strategically draped to filter the sunlight. This wasn’t a greenhouse, really; it was a laboratory.

“When I observed your project last week, it didn’t seem to be going well.” One of the professors, a male faerie with a deep, rich voice, was questioning a small brunette faerie who looked quite young.

“It wasn’t,” the faerie said simply, without any kind of shame or self-consciousness. “In the end, the project was a complete failure.”

Laurel cringed, waiting for the derisive whispers and giggles.

But they didn’t come.

She glanced around. The other faeries were paying very close attention. In fact, several were nodding as the faerie described various aspects of her failure. No one seemed discouraged in the least. Another big – and rather refreshing – difference from home.

“So what do you have planned now?” the same teacher questioned.

The young faerie didn’t miss a beat. “I have more studying to do to determine why the serum didn’t work, but once that is complete, I would like to start again. I’m determined to find a way to restore the use of the viridefaeco potion to Avalon.”

The instructor thought about this for a moment. “I’ll approve that,” he finally said. “One more round. Then you will need to return to your regular studies.”

The young faerie nodded and said thank you before returning to the circle.

“Anyone else?” the head instructor asked. The faeries looked around for raised hands, but there were none. “Before you disperse,” the instructor said, “I think you are all aware that Laurel has returned to us, even if only for a short while.”

Eyes turned to Laurel. She got a few smiles but mostly curious stares.

“She will be with us for the next several weeks. Please allow her to observe you freely. Answer her questions. There is no need for her to decant anything, particularly if it is a delicate undertaking, but please take the time to explain to her what you are doing, how, and why. Dismissed.” She clapped her hands once more, and the faeries dispersed.

“What now?” Laurel whispered to Katya. The buzz of conversation had returned to the room, but whispering still felt appropriate to Laurel after the silence of the last hour.

“We go work,” Katya said simply. “I have two long-term projects I’m working on right now, and then repetition work.”

“Repetition work?”

“Making simple potions and serums for the other faeries in Avalon. We learn how to make them when we’re quite young, but they only trust the higher level students to prepare the products that are actually distributed among the populace. We have monthly quotas and I’ve been so focused on my pear tree that I’m a little behind.”

“You all just…work? On whatever you want?”

“Well, advanced projects need to be approved by the faculty. They’ll wander through here and check up on us periodically. But yes, we decide on our own projects.”

The whole process reminded Laurel of the years she’d spent being homeschooled by her mother, building a curriculum around her personal interests and learning everything at her own pace. She smiled at the memory, even though she had long since stopped begging her mom to return to homeschooling – thanks in no small part to David and her friend Chelsea.

But here Laurel didn’t have a project of her own, and wandering the room didn’t seem like it would help her actually learn anything. Even after two weeks of memorising plant uses, she simply didn’t know enough to ask meaningful questions of the students. So she was relieved when she saw a familiar face enter the room – an emotion she had doubted she would ever feel upon seeing the stern face of Yeardley, the fundamentals instructor.

“Is she ready?” Yeardley asked, addressing Katya instead of her.

Katya smiled and prodded Laurel forward. “She’s all yours.”

Laurel followed Yeardley to a station at the table lined with equipment. Without so much as a greeting, he began to quiz her on the second batch of books she had been reading the past week. She didn’t feel complete confidence in any of her answers, but Yeardley seemed pleased enough with her progress. He reached into his own shoulder bag and pulled out…more books.

Disappointment washed over her. “I thought I was done reading,” Laurel said before she could stop herself.

“You are never done,” Yeardley said, as if it were a bad word. “Each caste has its essential nature. The essence of Spring magic is social; it trades on empathy. Summer faeries must hone their sense of aesthetics; without art, their magic is thin indeed. The essence of our magic is intellect; knowledge gleaned through careful study is the reservoir from which our intuition draws its power.”

That didn’t sound like magic to Laurel. Mostly it sounded like a lot of hard work.

“That said, these are my books, not yours.”

Laurel managed to stifle a sigh of relief.

“Laurel.”

She looked up at the tone of his voice. It wasn’t stern, the way it had been a moment earlier. It was tense – worried, even – but there was a softness to it that hadn’t been there before.

“Normally at this point I would begin teaching you rudimentary potions. Lotions, cleansing serums, nutritional tonics – that sort of thing. The things we teach novices. But you’re going to have to come back at a less important time and learn those or catch up on your own. I’m going to teach you defensive herbology. Jamison insisted, and I’m in full agreement with his decision.”

Laurel nodded, feeling a rush run through her. Not just from excitement at starting actual lessons, but because of the reason for the acceleration: the threat of the trolls. This was what she’d been waiting for.

“Most of what I teach you will be beyond your abilities to replicate, likely for quite some time, but it will be a start. I expect you to work hard, for your own sake more than mine.”

“Of course,” Laurel replied earnestly.

“I’ve had you reading about a variety of plants and their uses. What you may not yet realise is that making potions, serum, elixirs, and the like is not simply about mixing essences together in the right amounts. There is always a general guideline – a recipe, if you will – but the process as well as the result will differ from one Fall faerie to the next. What we teach in the Academy is not about recipes, but following your intuition – trusting the ability that is your birthright, and using your knowledge of nature to enhance the lives of everyone in Avalon. Because the most essential ingredient in any mixture is you – the Fall faerie. No one else can do what you do, not even if they follow your rituals with unerring precision.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a small pot with a little green plant growing in it, its buds tightly closed.

“You must learn to feel the very core of the nature you work with,” he continued, touching the plant gently, “and to form a connection with it, so close, so intimate, that you know not only how to bend its components to your will” – he searched through a row of bottles and picked one up, opening it and dabbing a drop of its contents on his finger—“but to unlock its potential and allow it to thrive as no one else can.” He carefully touched each of the closed blossoms with his wet finger and as he pulled his hand away, the tiny buds opened to reveal bright purple flowers.

He looked up into Laurel’s wide eyes. “Shall we begin?”

Chapter Seven

Laurel knelt on the bench in front of her window with her nose pressed against the glass, squinting at the path that led to the front gates of the Academy. Tamani said he’d arrive at eleven o’clock, but she couldn’t help but hope he would come early.

Disappointed, she wandered back to her work – today, a monastuolo serum that was clearly going horribly wrong. But Yeardley insisted that seeing her failures through to the end, even when she knew they were doomed, would teach her better what not to do. It seemed like a waste of time to Laurel, but she had learned not to second-guess Yeardley. Despite his gruff exterior, the past month had shown her another side of him. He was obsessed with herbology and nothing delighted him more than a devoted student. And he was always, always right. Still, Laurel remained sceptical of this particular rule.

She was about to sit down and toss in the next component when someone knocked on her door. Finally! Taking a moment to check her hair and clothes in the mirror, Laurel took a deep breath and opened her door to Celia, the familiar Spring faerie who had not only cut her note cards but done hundreds of little favours for her over the last few weeks.

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