Tamani sighed, then reached out and punched Shar in the shoulder. Shar didn’t even move, much less flinch. “There’s not even anything to remember! It tells you right on the screen what to do. Let’s try it again,” Tamani said, reaching into his pocket.
“No point in that,” Shar said moodily, his eyes darting toward Laurel. “I can hear you now.” He turned and walked down the path. “Best get out of sight. Would be our luck that after six months with no trolls, one would wander by as we’re standing out in the open, gawking at human trinkets.”
Tamani stood for a few seconds, phone in hand, then shoved his hands in his pockets and tromped after Shar, looking back with a shrug to make sure Laurel was following. But Laurel could see the relief in his eyes.
About ten feet into the woods, Shar drew abruptly to a halt. “So why are you here?” he asked, his face serious, playful demeanor gone. “The plan was never for you to bounce back and forth. You are supposed to maintain your post in the human world.”
Tamani sobered as well. “The situation has changed. The Huntress enrolled a faerie at Laurel’s school.”
Shar’s eyebrow twitched; a big reaction, from him. “The Huntress is back?”
Tamani nodded.
“And she has a faerie with her. How is that even possible?”
“I don’t know. Supposedly, Klea’s people found her in Japan, where she was raised by human parents. We don’t know what she’s capable of, if anything.” Tamani’s eyes darted to Laurel. “I told Laurel about the toxin. The wild faerie—Yuki—looks too young to have made something like that, but who could say for sure?”
Shar’s eyes narrowed. “How young does she look?”
“Younger than thirty. Older than ten. You know it would be impossible to say for sure. But from what I’ve observed of her behavior, she could be within a year or two of Laurel’s age.”
Laurel hadn’t even considered that. She knew faeries aged differently from humans, but the differences were most pronounced in very young faeries—like Tamani’s niece, Rowen—and middle-aged faeries, who might spend a century looking like a human in the prime of life. Yuki didn’t look out of place at Del Norte, but that only meant she was at least as old as her classmates.
Shar was frowning thoughtfully, but asked no further questions.
“Now that I know your sorry pulp isn’t crushed to death under some troll’s boot, we need to see Jamison,” said Tamani. “He’ll know what to do.”
“We do not just summon Jamison, Tam. You know that,” Shar said flatly.
“Shar, it’s important.”
Shar stepped close to Tamani, his words so quiet Laurel hardly heard them. “The last time I demanded the presence of a Winter faerie it was to save your life. I have watched other fae die when Avalon could have saved them because I knew I could not put my home at risk. We don’t call the Winters down for a chat.” He paused. “I will send a request. When they bring a response, I’ll let you know. That is all I can do.”
Tamani’s face sank. “I thought—”
“You did not think,” Shar said sternly, and Tamani’s mouth clapped shut. Shar chased his reproach with a scowl, but after a moment he sighed and his expression softened. “And that is partly my fault. If I had been able to speak to you on that ridiculous thing you wouldn’t have been so concerned, and I could have made the request days ago. I apologize.” He placed one hand on Tamani’s arm. “It is a matter of great importance, but do not forget who you are. You are a sentry; you are a Spring faerie. Even your position of great notice doesn’t change that.”
Tamani nodded solemnly, saying nothing.
Laurel stood silently for a few seconds, staring at the two fae in disbelief. Despite her assurances to Tamani that she wanted Shar to be safe, she came to see Jamison.
And she wasn’t leaving until she had.
Lifting her chin defiantly, Laurel turned and headed into the forest as fast as she could without breaking into a run.
“Laurel!” Tamani called immediately after her. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to Avalon,” she said, holding her voice as steady as she could manage.
“Laurel, stop!” Tamani said, wrapping one hand around her upper arm.
Laurel pulled her arm from his grasp, the strength of his fingers stinging against her skin. “Don’t try and stop me!” she said loudly. “You have no right!” Without pausing to look at his face, she pivoted and continued the way she had been heading. As she walked, several faeries approached the path, spears raised, but as soon as they recognized her, they backed off.
When she reached the tree that disguised the gate it was guarded by five fully armed sentries. Taking a deep breath and reminding herself that, whatever else they might do, these warriors would never actually harm her, Laurel marched up to the closest one. “I am Laurel Sewell, Apprentice Fall, scion in the human world. I have business with Jamison, the Winter faerie, advisor to Queen Marion, and I demand entrance to Avalon.”
The guards, clearly thrown by this display, bowed respectfully at the waist and turned questioning eyes to Shar, who stepped forward and also bowed. Guilt welled up in Laurel’s chest, but she forced it down.
“Of course,” Shar said softly. “I will send your request immediately. It is, however, up to the Winter faeries to decide whether they will open the gate.”
“I’m quite aware,” Laurel said, proud that her voice didn’t quaver.
Shar bowed again, not meeting her eyes. He circled to the far side of the tree and Laurel wished she could go and see what he did—how he communicated with Avalon. But following him might destroy the illusion of power that, she had to admit, she was doing an excellent job of maintaining. So she averted her eyes and tried to look bored as silent minutes ticked by.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, Shar emerged from behind the tree. “They are sending someone,” he said, his voice just a touch raspy. Laurel tried to catch his eye, but though his chin was raised as high and proud as hers, he would not meet her gaze.
“Good,” she said, as though she were not the least bit surprised. “I will need to be accompanied by my, um, guardian.” She indicated Tamani with a flick of her head. She almost tried the Gaelic word that Tamani used to refer to himself, but didn’t trust herself to say it right.
“Of course,” Shar said, eyes still glued to the ground. “Your safety is of highest priority to us. Sentries, my first twelve to the front,” he ordered.
Laurel felt rather than saw Tamani start forward, but with a quick intake of breath he planted both feet again.
Twelve sentries filed past a large knot on the tree, each placing a hand on it. Laurel remembered with a twinge of sorrow the way Shar had lifted Tamani’s nearly lifeless hand to the same knot when she’d brought him back—almost dead—after being shot by Barnes.
She tried to look unimpressed as the tree changed before her, transforming with a brilliant flash of light into the golden-barred gate that protected the faerie realm of Avalon. Beyond the gate, Laurel saw only blackness. Jamison had not yet arrived. Then, slowly, like the sun filtering out from behind a cloud, small fingers appeared and encircled the bars. A moment later the gate swung open, light flowing in to fill the space where there had been only darkness a moment before.
A girl who looked about twelve years old—if she were human, Laurel reminded herself; the young faerie was probably fourteen or fifteen—stood in the gateway, dwarfed by the height of the magnificent gate. It was Yasmine, Jamison’s protégé. Laurel lowered her eyes and inclined her head in respect. Playing the role meant stepping into all aspects of it. She straightened and glanced behind her.
And almost lost her nerve.
She hated seeing Tamani act like a Spring faerie. His hands were clasped behind his back and his eyes were downcast. His shoulders were subtly drawn forward and he looked very small, despite being half a foot taller than Laurel. Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, Laurel said, “Come on,” in the most command
ing tone she could muster, and stepped forward.
The young Winter faerie smiled up at Laurel. “Lovely to see you again,” Yasmine said, in a sweet, tinkling voice. Her gaze traveled back to Tamani and she smiled. “And Tamani. A pleasure.”
Tamani’s face softened into a smile so genuine it made Laurel’s heart ache to see it. But he bowed the moment she met his eyes, and Laurel looked away. She couldn’t bear to witness such obeisance from Tamani. Proud, powerful Tamani.
Yasmine stepped back, beckoning them forward. Laurel and Tamani passed by her, but instead of following, Yasmine greeted someone else. Laurel turned to see Shar step forward and present himself with a bow.
“Captain?” Yasmine asked.
“If I could, since you are here anyway, may I make use of the Hokkaido gate? I will be ready and waiting when you return with the scion.”
“Of course,” Yasmine said.
Shar skittered through the gate and Laurel turned to watch it close behind him, the blackness seeping in behind the bars.
“It will take just a moment for the sentries in Hokkaido to prepare for the opening,” a small, dark-haired sentry said as she bowed to Yasmine. Yasmine merely nodded as the sentries on the Avalon side gathered around the east-facing gate. Laurel had never seen any of the other gates opened.
“You’re going to see her, aren’t you?” Tamani hissed to Shar.
A sharp look was his only response.
“Don’t do it, Shar,” Tamani said. “You’re always depressed for weeks. We can’t afford that now. We need you focused.”
“It is because of the new faerie that I am going to her,” Shar said seriously. He paused and his eyes darted to Laurel. “If this new faerie was raised as a human in Japan, her appearance could be evidence of the Glamour at work. And if that is the case, they may know something. Like it or not, they have knowledge and experience that we don’t. I will do whatever it takes to protect Avalon, Tam. Especially if . . .” His voice trailed off. “Just in case,” he said in a whisper.
“Shar,” Tamani began. Then he pressed his lips together and nodded.
“Captain?” Yasmine’s silky voice interrupted them.
“Of course,” Shar said, turning away.
An arc of sentries lay just beyond the gate that Yasmine was holding open. They looked almost identical to the circle that always greeted Laurel, except that they were wearing long sleeves and heavy breeches—a strange sight among faeries. A gust of chilly air rushed through the gate, sharp enough to make Laurel gasp. She looked at Shar, but he was already striding forward, pulling a voluminous cloak out of his pack. Then he was gone, and the gate closed behind him.
“This way,” Yasmine said, heading up the meandering path that led out of the walled garden. A half-dozen guards, clad in blue, fell into step around them—Yasmine’s Am fear-faire, the young faerie’s guardians and almost constant companions. For this alone Laurel would not have wanted to be a Winter faerie, no matter how powerful they were. She valued what little privacy she had.
They walked silently, passing through the stone walls that enclosed the gates and into Avalon’s earthy resplendence. Laurel paused to savor the island’s sweet air; the sheer perfection of nature in Avalon was enough to take anyone’s breath away. Evening was already falling, and a brilliant sunset was painting itself across the Western horizon. “I’m sorry Jamison could not come and greet you himself,” Yasmine said, addressing Laurel, “but he has asked that I bring you to him.”
“Where is he?” Laurel asked. She hadn’t intended to disturb Jamison in the middle of something important.
“In the Winter Palace,” Yasmine said casually.
Laurel stopped in her tracks and looked up the hill to where the crumbling white marble spires of the Winter Palace could just be seen. She glanced back at Tamani. He stared resolutely at the ground, but a slight tremor of his hands, clasped in front of him, showed her that the thought of entering the sanctuary of the Winter faeries frightened him even more than it frightened her.
Chapter Seven
LAUREL LOOKED UP AT THE WINTER PALACE AS THEY approached it on a sharply sloped path. She had noted the green vines that supported large portions of the structure from afar, but as they drew closer she could see where tiny threads sprouted from the vines, enmeshing themselves in the shimmering white stone, encasing the castle in a lover’s embrace. Laurel had never seen a building that looked so alive!
At the top of the slope, they came to an enormous white archway. On either side sprawled the disintegrating ruins of what must have once been a magnificent wall, and as they passed into the courtyard, Laurel saw that she was surrounded by destruction. Crumbling relics—from statues and fountains to sections of the destroyed wall—jutted incongruously from the beautifully manicured lawn. Nowhere else had Laurel seen such disrepair in Avalon. Everything at the Academy was fixed as soon as it was broken, every structure meticulously maintained. Everywhere else she had visited in Avalon seemed much the same—but not the palace. Laurel couldn’t imagine why.
Inside, however, the palace was bustling with faeries dressed in crisp white uniforms, polishing every surface and watering hundreds of plants potted in elaborately crafted urns. It had the same familiar neatness and luxury that Laurel had gotten used to at the Academy.
She and Tamani followed Yasmine to the foot of a wide, grand staircase. The more steps they mounted, the quieter the chamber grew. At first Laurel thought it was a trick of acoustics, but by the time they were halfway up the staircase, the entire room was silent.
Laurel ventured a glance over her shoulder. Tamani was right behind her, but his hands, which had been trembling very slightly before, were now clasped so tightly Laurel imagined he must be hurting himself. Every faerie servant on the floor below them was staring, dusters and watering cans held limply in their unmoving hands. Even the Am fear-faire had stopped at the foot of the stairs, not following when Yasmine began her ascent.
“We’re going into the upper rooms of the Winter Palace,” Tamani whispered quietly, his voice strained. “No one goes into the upper rooms. Except Winter faeries, I mean.”
Laurel looked up to the top of the stairs. Rather than opening into a wide foyer, as she had expected, they ended in a huge set of double doors, heavily gilded where they showed through a thick hanging of vines. They were the largest doors Laurel had ever seen. They looked too big, too heavy, for Yasmine to move at all.
But the young faerie didn’t pause as she reached them. She raised both her hands in front of her, palms out, and made a gentle pushing motion toward the doors without actually touching them. There was visible effort in her movement, as though something in the air was pushing back at her, and gradually, with the rustling of greenery, the doors glided open, just wide enough to pass through single file.
Yasmine looked back at Laurel calmly, expectantly. After a moment’s hesitation, Laurel eased through the door, followed by a slightly more reluctant Tamani.
It was like walking under the canopy of the World Tree. The air was alive with magic—with power.
“We do not frequently allow other fae into the upper chambers,” Yasmine said calmly, “but Jamison felt that anything which would cause our scion to demand a meeting with him must surely call for secrecy only the upper rooms can provide.”
Laurel was starting to regret her haste and the impulsive demands she had made to get here. She wondered what Jamison would do when he discovered why they had come. Was a wild faerie in Laurel’s school worth all this concern?
“He’s back here,” Yasmine said, beckoning them through a cavernous room decorated in white and gold. An eclectic mix of items was on display atop a series of alabaster pillars—a small painting, a pearl-encrusted crown, a shiny silver cup. Laurel squinted at a long-necked lute made of a very dark wood. Cocking her head to the side, she stepped off the deep-blue carpet that streaked across the room and headed toward the lute, obeying a pull it seemed unnecessary to question. She paused before it, wanting no
thing else so much as to strum its delicate strings.
Just as she reached for it, Yasmine’s hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her arm back with surprising strength. “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” she said matter-of-factly. “My apologies, I should have warned you; we are all used to the lure. We hardly notice it anymore.”
Yasmine padded softly back to the dark-blue rug, her bare feet making no sound on the marble floor. Laurel looked back at the lute. She still wanted to play it, but the pull wasn’t quite as strong as before. She hurried away before she could dwell on it too long.
They turned a corner at the end of the vast room. By the time Laurel saw Jamison, he had already heard them coming. He turned from whatever he was doing and stepped toward them through a marble archway, gesturing broadly with both arms as he approached. From either side of the archway, two massive stone walls slid slowly together with a deep, echoing rumble. Over Jamison’s shoulder Laurel glimpsed a sword, driven point-down into a squat granite block. The blade gleamed like a polished diamond before vanishing behind the heavy slabs.
“Any luck?” Yasmine asked.
“No more than usual,” he said with a smile.
“What was that?” Laurel asked, before she thought to stop herself.
But Jamison just waved her question away. “An old problem. And like most old problems, nothing urgent. But you,” he said, smiling, “I’m happy to see you.” He extended one hand to Laurel and one to Tamani. Laurel was quick to grasp his hand in both of hers, while inclining her head respectfully. Tamani hesitated, gripped Jamison’s hand in a traditional handshake, then let his hand drop and bent formally at the waist without saying anything at all.
“Come,” Jamison said, gesturing to a small room just off the marble hall, “we can talk in here.” Laurel walked into the finely furnished room and sat on one end of a red brocade sofa. Jamison took his place in a large armchair on her left. She looked up at Tamani, who stood, hesitating. He glanced at the spot beside her, then—changing his mind, or perhaps losing his nerve—stood against the wall and folded his hands in front of him.