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.
Yasmine lingered in the doorway.
Jamison looked up. “Yasmine, thank you for escorting my guests. We have a great deal of training tomorrow. The sun has nearly set and I don’t want you exhausted.”
Laurel saw the beginnings of a pout form on Yasmine’s lips, but at the last second she pulled it back. “Of course, Jamison,” she said politely, then slowly withdrew, sneaking one last peek before disappearing around the corner. In that moment Laurel was sharply reminded that, in spite of being powerful and revered, Yasmine was still only a child—and so was Laurel, especially to someone as ancient and wise as Jamison.
“So,” Jamison said once Yasmine’s footsteps had faded, “what can I do for you?”
“Well,” Laurel said shyly, increasingly certain that her actions back at the gate had been rash and unjustified. “It’s important,” she blurted finally, “but I don’t know that it justifies all this,” she said, gesturing to the grandeur surrounding them.
“Better overprepared than overconfident,” Jamison said. “Now tell me.”
Laurel nodded, trying to stifle her sudden rush of nerves. “It’s Klea,” she began. “She’s back.”
“I did expect that.” Jamison nodded. “Surely you didn’t think we’d seen the end of her?”
“I didn’t know,” Laurel said defensively. “I thought maybe—” She cut herself off. That wasn’t the point. She cleared her throat and straightened. “She brought someone with her. A faerie.”
This time Jamison’s eyes widened and he glanced at Tamani. Tamani met the old faerie’s gaze, but said nothing, and after a moment Jamison returned his attention to Laurel. “Go on.”
Laurel related Klea’s story—how Yuki was found as a seedling, how trolls had killed her parents. “Klea asked me to keep an eye on her. To be her friend, I guess. Because she knows I managed to escape from the trolls before.”
“Klea,” Jamison said softly. He looked at Laurel. “What does she look like?”
“Uh . . . she’s tall. She has short auburn hair. She’s thin, but not skinny. She wears a lot of black,” Laurel finished with a shrug.
Jamison was studying her, unblinking—a tingling sensation made her forehead warm. It was so subtle that Laurel wondered if it was just her imagination. After a moment his gaze grew unnerving, but as Laurel turned to Tamani for guidance, Jamison straightened and sighed. “Never was my particular talent,” he murmured, sounding disappointed.
Laurel touched her forehead. It felt cool. “What did you just—”
“Do come sit,” Jamison said, turning away from her question to address Tamani. “I feel I have to shout with you standing so far away.”
Swiftly, but with a jerkiness that spoke of reluctance, Tamani pushed away from the wall and took a seat beside Laurel.
“Any sign this faerie has hostile intentions?” Jamison asked.
“No. Actually, she seems rather shy. Reserved,” Tamani said.
“Any outward signs of power?”
“Not that I’ve observed,” Tamani said. “Klea claims Yuki doesn’t have any abilities beyond being a plant. She called her a dryad, but we have no way of knowing whether that’s a ruse.”
“Is there any reason for us to believe this wild faerie is a threat to Laurel or to Avalon?”
“Well, no, not yet, but—at any point—” Tamani stopped talking and Laurel saw him fix his jaw the way he always did when he was trying to put his emotions in check. “No, sir,” he said.
“All right, then.” Jamison stood, and Laurel and Tamani rose to their feet in response. Tamani started to turn and Jamison stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not saying you were wrong to come, Tam.”
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.
Yasmine lingered in the doorway.
Jamison looked up. “Yasmine, thank you for escorting my guests. We have a great deal of training tomorrow. The sun has nearly set and I don’t want you exhausted.”
Laurel saw the beginnings of a pout form on Yasmine’s lips, but at the last second she pulled it back. “Of course, Jamison,” she said politely, then slowly withdrew, sneaking one last peek before disappearing around the corner. In that moment Laurel was sharply reminded that, in spite of being powerful and revered, Yasmine was still only a child—and so was Laurel, especially to someone as ancient and wise as Jamison.
“So,” Jamison said once Yasmine’s footsteps had faded, “what can I do for you?”
“Well,” Laurel said shyly, increasingly certain that her actions back at the gate had been rash and unjustified. “It’s important,” she blurted finally, “but I don’t know that it justifies all this,” she said, gesturing to the grandeur surrounding them.
“Better overprepared than overconfident,” Jamison said. “Now tell me.”
Laurel nodded, trying to stifle her sudden rush of nerves. “It’s Klea,” she began. “She’s back.”
“I did expect that.” Jamison nodded. “Surely you didn’t think we’d seen the end of her?”
“I didn’t know,” Laurel said defensively. “I thought maybe—” She cut herself off. That wasn’t the point. She cleared her throat and straightened. “She brought someone with her. A faerie.”
This time Jamison’s eyes widened and he glanced at Tamani. Tamani met the old faerie’s gaze, but said nothing, and after a moment Jamison returned his attention to Laurel. “Go on.”
Laurel related Klea’s story—how Yuki was found as a seedling, how trolls had killed her parents. “Klea asked me to keep an eye on her. To be her friend, I guess. Because she knows I managed to escape from the trolls before.”
“Klea,” Jamison said softly. He looked at Laurel. “What does she look like?”
“Uh . . . she’s tall. She has short auburn hair. She’s thin, but not skinny. She wears a lot of black,” Laurel finished with a shrug.
Jamison was studying her, unblinking—a tingling sensation made her forehead warm. It was so subtle that Laurel wondered if it was just her imagination. After a moment his gaze grew unnerving, but as Laurel turned to Tamani for guidance, Jamison straightened and sighed. “Never was my particular talent,” he murmured, sounding disappointed.
Laurel touched her forehead. It felt cool. “What did you just—”
“Do come sit,” Jamison said, turning away from her question to address Tamani. “I feel I have to shout with you standing so far away.”
Swiftly, but with a jerkiness that spoke of reluctance, Tamani pushed away from the wall and took a seat beside Laurel.
“Any sign this faerie has hostile intentions?” Jamison asked.
“No. Actually, she seems rather shy. Reserved,” Tamani said.
“Any outward signs of power?”
“Not that I’ve observed,” Tamani said. “Klea claims Yuki doesn’t have any abilities beyond being a plant. She called her a dryad, but we have no way of knowing whether that’s a ruse.”
“Is there any reason for us to believe this wild faerie is a threat to Laurel or to Avalon?”
“Well, no, not yet, but—at any point—” Tamani stopped talking and Laurel saw him fix his jaw the way he always did when he was trying to put his emotions in check. “No, sir,” he said.
“All right, then.” Jamison stood, and Laurel and Tamani rose to their feet in response. Tamani started to turn and Jamison stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not saying you were wrong to come, Tam.”
