Wild

“Yasmine has gone to bed,” Jamison said as they crossed beneath a dragon-arched entryway, “so I will open the gate for you.” He laughed. “But these old stems move much slower than your young ones. You go down to the Academy. I will head to the Gate Garden and we will meet there in a short while.”

Laurel and Tamani left the courtyard some fifty paces ahead of Jamison. As soon as they were out of earshot Laurel slowed her steps, falling back to share the broad pathway with Tamani. “I should have told him this was my idea,” she blurted.

“It wasn’t your idea,” Tamani said quietly. “It was mine, earlier this week.”

“Yeah, but I was the one who pushed it and got us in today. I let Jamison scold you and he should have been scolding me.”

“Please,” Tamani said with a grin on his face, “I’d take a scolding for you any day and call it a privilege.”

Laurel looked away flustered, and hurried her pace. Moving downhill helped the walk go quickly and soon the lights of the Academy came into view through the darkness, guiding their steps. Laurel looked up at the imposing grey structure and a smile spread across her face.

When had the Academy started to look like home?

Chapter Eight

While the Winter Palace slumbered, the Academy hummed along, both students and staff. If nothing else, there was always someone working on a mixture that had to be cured by starlight. As they walked toward the staircase Laurel waved at a few faeries she knew and their eyes widened upon seeing her. But true to their carefully honed discipline, they returned to their projects without comment and left Laurel and Tamani alone.

As soon as Laurel’s foot touched the bottom step, a tall female faerie scuttled over to them. She was dressed in the unassuming clothes of the Spring staff. “I’m sorry, but it’s far past visiting hours. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

Laurel looked over in surprise. “I’m Laurel Sewell,” she said.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you go up, Laurelsule,” the faerie said firmly, squishing Laurel’s first and last name together.

“I’m Laurel. Sewell. Apprentice. I’m going up to my room.”

The faerie’s eyes widened and she immediately bowed at the waist. “My most abject apologies. I’ve never seen you before. I didn’t recognise—”

“Please,” Laurel said, cutting her off. “It’s fine. We’ll be done soon and then I’ll be gone again.”

The faerie looked mortified. “I hope I didn’t offend you – there’s no reason you can’t stay!”

Laurel forced herself to smile warmly at the faerie – surely a new Spring, worried about being demoted from her position. “Oh, no, it wasn’t you at all. I’m needed back at my post.” She hesitated. “Could you. . . could you alert Yeardley that I am here? I need to speak to him.”

“In your room?” the faerie clarified, eager to please.

“That would be perfect, thank you.”

The faerie dropped into a deep curtsy – first to Laurel and then to Tamani – before hurrying off towards the staff quarters.

Tamani wore a strange expression as Laurel led him upstairs and down the hall. A smile blossomed on her face when she saw the curlicues of her name engraved on her familiar cherry door. She turned the well-oiled doorknob – that neither had nor needed a lock – and entered her room.

Everything was just as she’d left it, though she knew the staff must come in to dust regularly. Even the hairbrush she’d forgotten was still lying in the middle of her bed. Laurel picked it up with a grin and thought about bringing it back with her, but decided to tuck it away instead. A spare. After all, she’d bought another one when she got home.

She looked around for Tamani. He was lingering in the doorway.

“Well, come in,” she said. “You should know by now that I don’t bite.”

He looked up at her then shook his head. “I’ll wait here.”

“No, you won’t,” Laurel said sternly. “When Yeardley comes I’ll have to close the door so we don’t wake the other students. If you’re not in here you’ll miss the entire conversation.”

At that Tamani went ahead and entered her room, but he left the door open and stayed within arm’s reach of the door frame. Laurel shook her head ruefully as she walked over and closed the door. She paused, hand on the knob, and looked up at Tamani. “I’ve been meaning to apologise for the way I acted earlier,” she said softly.

Tamani looked confused. “What do you mean? I told you, I don’t care if Jamison blames me, I—”

“Not that,” Laurel said, looking down at her hands. “Pulling rank at the land. Snapping at you, acting lofty. That’s all it was, an act. None of the other sentries were going to take me seriously if I didn’t act like a pain-in-the-ass Mixer with a superiority complex.” She hesitated. “So I did. But it was all fake. I don’t – I don’t think that way. You know that; I hope you know that. I don’t approve of other fae thinking that way either and – anyway, that’s an argument with no end.” She took a breath. “The point is, I’m sorry. I never meant it.”

“It’s fine,” Tamani mumbled. “I need to be reminded of my place now and again.”

“Tamani, no,” Laurel said. “Not with me. I can’t change the way the rest of Avalon treats you – not yet, anyway. But with me, you are never just a Spring faerie,” she said, touching his arm.

He looked up at her, but only for a second before his eyes focused on the ground again, a deep crease between his eyebrows.

“Tam, what? What’s wrong?”

He met her eyes. “The Spring faerie down there, she didn’t know what I was. She just knew I was with you and I guess she assumed I was a Mixer too.” He hesitated. “She bowed to me, Laurel. Bowing is what I do. It was weird. I – I kinda liked it,” he admitted. He continued on, his confession spilling out with gathering momentum. “For just those few seconds, I wasn’t a Spring faerie. She didn’t look at a sentry uniform and immediately put me in my place. It – it felt good. And bad,” he tacked on. “All at the same time. It felt like—” His words were cut off by a soft knock at the door.

Disappointment flooded through Laurel as their conversation was cut short. “That’ll be Yeardley,” she said softly. Tamani nodded and took his place against the wall.

Laurel opened the door and was assaulted by a mass of pink silk. “I thought I heard you!” Katya squealed, throwing her arms round Laurel’s neck. “And I could hardly believe it. You didn’t tell me you were coming back so soon.”

“I didn’t know myself,” Laurel said, grinning. It was impossible not to smile around Katya. She was wearing a silky, sleeveless nightgown, its back cut low to accommodate the blossom Katya would have in another month or so. She had grown her blonde hair down to her shoulders, which made her look even younger.

“Either way, I’m glad you’re here. How long can you stay?”

Laurel smiled apologetically. “Just a few minutes, I’m afraid. Yeardley is on his way up, and once I’m done speaking with him I need to get back to the gate.”

“But it’s dark,” Katya protested. “You should at least stay the night.”

“It’s still afternoon in California,” Laurel said. “I really do need to get home.”

Katya grinned playfully. “I guess if you must.” She looked at Tamani, her eyes a touch flirtatious. “Who’s your friend?”

Laurel reached out to touch Tamani’s shoulder, prompting him to step forward a little. “This is Tamani.”

To Laurel’s dismay, Tamani immediately dropped into a respectful bow.

“Oh,” Katya said, realisation dawning on her. “Your soldier friend from Samhain, right?”

“Sentry,” Laurel corrected.

“Yes, that,” Katya said dismissively. She grabbed both of Laurel’s hands and didn’t give Tamani another look. “Now come over here and tell me what in the world you are wearing.”

Laurel laughed and allowed Katya to feel the stiff fabric of her denim skirt, but she shot Tamani an apologetic grimace. Not that it mattered; he was back to standing against the wall and averting his eyes.

Katya flounced down on the bed, the silken folds of her nightgown tracing her graceful curves, its low back revealing so much perfect skin. It made Laurel feel plain in her cotton tank top and skirt, and inspired a fleeting wish that she hadn’t brought Tamani upstairs. But she brushed the thought aside and joined her friend. Katya prattled on about inconsequential things that had happened in the Academy since Laurel’s departure only last month, and Laurel smiled. Just over a year ago, she wouldn’t have believed that the daunting, unfamiliar Academy was somewhere she might laugh and talk with a friend. But then, she had felt the same way about public school the year before that.

Things change, she told herself. Including me.

Katya sobered suddenly and reached out to place her fingertips on each side of Laurel’s face. “You look happy again,” Katya said.

“Do I?” Laurel asked.

Katya nodded. “Don’t mistake me,” she said, in that formal way Katya had, “it was lovely to have you here this summer, but you were sad.” She paused. “I didn’t want to pry. But you’re happy again. I’m glad.”

Laurel was silent – surprised. Had she been sad? She ventured a glance at Tamani, but he didn’t seem to be listening.

A sharp rap sounded at the door and Laurel jumped off her bed and hurried to open it. There stood Yeardley, tall and imposing, wearing only a loose pair of drawstring breeches. His arms were folded across his bare chest and, as usual, he wasn’t wearing shoes.

“Laurel, you asked for me?” His tone was stern, but there was warmth in his eyes. After two summers of working together he seemed to have grown a soft spot for her. Not that you could tell by the amount of class work he gave her. He was – above all else – a demanding tutor.

“Yes,” Laurel answered quickly. “Please come in.”

Yeardley walked to the centre of the room and Laurel began to shut the door.

“Do you need me to leave?” Katya asked quietly. Laurel looked down at her friend. “No – no, I don’t think so,” Laurel said, glancing at Tamani. “It’s really not a secret; not here, anyway.”

Tamani met her eyes. There was tension in his face, and Laurel half expected him to contradict her, but after a moment he looked away and shrugged. She turned back to Yeardley.

“I need a way to test a faerie’s, um, season.” Laurel would not use the word caste. Not in front of Tamani. Preferably not ever.

“Male or female?”

“Female.”

Yeardley shrugged, nonchalant. “Watch for her blossom. Or for pollen production on males in the vicinity.”

“What about a faerie who hasn’t blossomed yet?”

“You can go to the records room – it’s just downstairs – and look her up.”

“Not here,” Laurel said. “In California.”

Yeardley’s eyes narrowed. “A faerie in the human world? Besides yourself, and your entourage?”

Laurel nodded.

“Unseelie?”

The Unseelie were still a mystery to Laurel. No one would talk about them directly, but she had gathered from bits and pieces that they all lived in an isolated community outside one of the gates. “I don’t think so. But there is some. . . confusion regarding her history, so we can’t be sure.”

“And she doesn’t know what season she is?”

Laurel hesitated. “If she does, it’s not something I can ask her.”

Comprehension dawned on Yeardley’s face. “Ah, I see.” He sighed and pressed his fingers against his lips, contemplating. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone ask for such a thing. Have you, Katya?”

When Katya shook her head, Yeardley continued. “We keep meticulous records of every seedling in Avalon, so this problem presents a unique challenge. But there must be something. Perhaps you could formulate a potion of your own?”

“Am I ready for that?” Laurel asked hopefully.

“Almost certainly not,” Yeardley said in his most matter-of-fact tone. “But practice needn’t always lead to success, after all. I think it would be good for you to begin learning the basic concepts of fabrication. And this seems a fine place to start. An identification powder, like Cyoan,” he said, referencing a simple powder that identified humans and non-humans. “Except you would have to figure out what separates the castes on a cellular level, and I’m unaware of much research in that area. It simply doesn’t lead anywhere.”

“What about thylakoid membranes?” Katya asked softly. As one, they all turned to face her.

“What was that?” Yeardley asked.

“Thylakoid membranes,” Katya continued, a little louder this time. “In the chloroplasm. The thylakoid membranes of Sparklers are more efficient. For lighting their illusions.”

Yeardley cocked his head to the side. “Really?”

Katya nodded. “When I was younger we sometimes stole the phosphorescing serums for the lamps and. . . um. . . drank them. It would make us glow in the dark,” she said, lowering her lashes as she related the childish antic. “I. . . had a Summer friend, and she did it with us one day. But instead of glowing for one night, she glowed for three days. It took me years to figure out why.”

“Excellent, Katya,” Yeardley said, a distinct note of pleasure in his voice. “I would like to discuss that more fully with you in the classroom sometime this week.”

Katya nodded eagerly.

Yeardley turned back to Laurel. “It’s a start. Focus on plants with phosphorescing qualities that could show evidence of a more efficient thylakoid, and try to repeat the kind of reaction you get with Cyoan powder. I will work personally with Katya, here at the Academy.”

“But what if she’s not a Summer faerie?”

“Then you would be twenty-five per cent closer to your goal, would you not?”

Laurel nodded. “I need to write this down,” she said, not wanting to admit to Yeardley that she had no idea what Katya was talking about. But David probably would. Laurel grabbed a few note cards from her desk where – after last summer – the staff always kept them stocked, and sat by Katya. Katya spoke quietly as Laurel wrote down the basics and fervently hoped that the biological terminology was the same in Avalon as the human world.

“Experiment when you can, and we’ll see what Katya and I can come up with here,” Yeardley said. “I’m afraid that’s all I can do for you tonight. Glad to see you again, Laurel.”

Stifling her disappointment, Laurel smiled after Yeardley as he left the room, closing the door behind him. After the near-fit she’d thrown getting here, the whole visit felt very unproductive.

“Did you hear that?” Katya said, her voice low but excited. “He’s going to work with me personally. I’m part of your entourage now,” she added, taking Laurel’s hand. “I am going to help with a potion that might be used in the human world. I’m so excited!”

She grabbed Laurel’s shoulder, pulled her in, and kissed both cheeks quickly before darting towards the door. “Next time you’re here,” she said, poking her head back through the doorway, “come see me first, OK?” She clicked the door shut behind her, leaving the room feeling quiet and empty.

“We’d better hurry,” Laurel said to Tamani, walking past him without looking him in the face. She didn’t want him to see her discouragement.

After a short and silent walk back to the gateway, they approached Jamison’s circle of Am fear-faire, all standing at attention, but Jamison did not stir from his quiet conversation with Shar. After a few seconds, both men nodded, then looked up at Laurel and Tamani.

“Did your visit to the Academy bear fruit?” Jamison asked.

“Not yet, but hopefully soon,” Laurel replied.

“Are you ready then?” Jamison asked.

They nodded and Jamison reached out for the gate. As it swung open he looked first at Shar, then at Tamani. “The Huntress and the Wildflower should be watched closely, but do not let them consume your attention. What remains of Barnes’s horde will surely be looking for an opportunity to strike. If you need anything – reinforcements, supplies, anything – you have but to ask.”

“We will need more sentries. For the Wildflower,” Tamani said. Here, away from the Palace and the Academy, he was confident again, speaking easily and standing tall.

“Of course,” Jamison replied. “Anything you need and more. We will keep Laurel safe, but she needs to remain in Crescent City. Especially if we are to see how these events will play out.”

Laurel was a little uncomfortable with how close that sounded to Laurel is the bait. But Tamani had never failed her before, and she had no reason to believe he would do so now.

Chapter Nine

As soon as the gate closed, Tamani turned to Shar, hoping – and doubting – that his old friend was OK. “So, did you get what you were after?”

Shar shook his head. “Not really. But I probably got what I deserved.”

Don’t be so hard on yourself, Tamani thought, but he said nothing. Never did. However difficult it was for Shar to visit Japan, Tamani doubted the experience was half as bad as the emotional torment he always put himself through afterwards.

“Who did you go to see, Shar?” Laurel asked.

Shar met her question with silence. Tamani placed a hand at the small of Laurel’s back and gently urged her to walk a little faster. Now was not the time to be asking Shar about Hokkaido.

They stopped at the edge of the woods and a grin played at the corners of Shar’s mouth. “Hurry,” he teased Tamani. “The sun will be setting soon and you have school tomorrow.”

Tamani swallowed his frustration. He hated his stupid classes and Shar knew it. “Just answer your blighting phone next time, OK?” Tamani said, getting in a parting shot.

Shar’s hand flitted to the pouch where his phone was stowed, but he said nothing.

Once he and Laurel were in the convertible, Tamani pulled back on to the highway and set his cruise control considerably lower than he had on the way to the land. The sun was still an hour from setting, the breeze was cool, and he had Laurel in the car. No need to hurry.

They travelled a way in silence before Laurel finally asked, “Where did Shar go?”

Tamani hesitated. It wasn’t really his place to spill Shar’s secrets, and technically he was only supposed to tell Laurel things she needed to know to fulfil her mission. But he preferred to think of that particular order as a strongly worded preference – and besides, it was at least plausible that the Unseelie had something to do with Yuki’s appearance. “He went to go see his mother.”

“In Hokkaido?”

Tamani nodded.

“Why does she live in Japan? Is she a sentry there?” Tamani shook his head, a tiny, sharp movement. “His mother is Unseelie.”

Laurel sighed. “I don’t even know what that means!”

“She’s been cast out,” Tamani said, trying to figure out a better way to say it – something that sounded less harsh.

“Like, an exile? That’s what Unseelie means?”

“Not. . . exactly.” Tamani bit his bottom lip and sighed. Where to begin? “Once upon a time,” he began, remembering that humans liked to start their most accurate histories this way, “there were two faerie courts. Their rivalry was. . . complicated, but it boiled down to human contact. One court was friendly to humans – the humans called them Seelie. The other court sought to dominate humans, enslave them, torment them for amusement, or kill them for sport. They were the Unseelie.

“Somewhere along the way, a rift developed in the Seelie Court. There were some fae who believed that the best thing we could do for the humans was leave them alone. Isolationists, basically.”

“Isn’t that how the fae live now?”

“Yes,” Tamani said. “But they never used to. The Seelie even made treaties with some human kingdoms – including Camelot.”

“But that failed, right?” asked Laurel. “That’s what you said at the festival last year.”

“Well, it worked for a while. In some ways the pact with Camelot was a huge success. With Arthur’s help, the Seelie drove the trolls out of Avalon for good and hunted the Unseelie practically to extinction. But eventually, things. . . fell apart.”

It pained Tamani to gloss over so much detail, but when it came to the Unseelie, it was hard to decide where one explanation ended and another began. And it would take him hours to explain everything that had gone wrong in Camelot. Especially considering that, even in Avalon, the story was ancient enough for its accuracy to be disputed. Some claimed that the memories collected in the World Tree kept their history pure, but – having conversed with the Silent Ones himself – Tamani did not think it gave answers straight enough to qualify as historical facts.

He would have to do his best with what he had.

“When the trolls overran Camelot, it was taken as final proof that even our most well-intentioned involvement with humans was doomed to end in disaster. The isolationists rose to power. Everyone else was branded Unseelie.”

“So part of the Seelie Court became the new Unseelie Court?”

Tamani frowned. “Well, there hasn’t been an Unseelie ‘Court’ in more than a thousand years. But Titania was dethroned, Oberon crowned as rightful king, and the universal decree was that, for the good of the human race, the fae would leave humans alone forever. Everyone was summoned back to Avalon, Oberon created the gates, and for the most part we’ve been isolated ever since. But the idea that faeries should meddle in human affairs – as benefactors or

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.