He looked up into Laurel’s wide eyes. “Shall we begin?”
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 skeptical 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 favors for her over the last few weeks.
“There’s someone here for you down in the atrium,” she said, inclining her head. No matter how many times Laurel asked them not to, the Spring faeries always found a way to bow to her.
Laurel thanked her for the message and slipped out the door. Every step she took made her feel a bit lighter. It wasn’t that she disliked her lessons—on the contrary, now that she understood them better, they were fascinating. But she had been right about one thing from the start: It was a lot of work. She studied with Yeardley for a full eight hours each day, observed the Fall faeries for several hours, and each night she had more reading to do as well as practicing potions, powders, and serums. She was occupied from sunrise to sunset, with only a short break for dinner right at the end of the day. Katya assured her it wasn’t like that for all Falls; that they worked and studied “only” about twelve hours a day. Even that seemed way excessive to Laurel.
But at least they got time off. Laurel didn’t.
“I will admit that the amount of work expected of you is a just a little excessive,” Katya said one day—a huge concession from the studious, loyal Fall. She was rather like David in that way. But when Laurel had tried to compliment her by saying so, Katya had been mortally offended at being compared to a human.
So when Tamani’s note arrived three days ago requesting Laurel’s company for an afternoon, she had been ecstatic. Just a small break, but it was a welcome chance to rejuvenate herself and prepare for one last grueling week of study before she went back to her parents.
Laurel was distracted enough that she almost missed Mara and Katya standing at the railing of a landing that overlooked the atrium.
“He’s here again,” Mara said, disdain dripping from her perfect ruby lips. “Can’t you make him wait outside?”
Laurel raised one eyebrow. “If I had it my way, he’d meet me in my bedroom.”
Mara’s eyes widened and she glared at Laurel, but Laurel had grown only too accustomed to vaguely menacing looks from this statuesque beauty. Things had not gotten better since that first surprising glare in the lab. Laurel generally just avoided looking at Mara at all. And even the one time Laurel had asked her a question about her project—fittingly, research on a cactus—Mara had simply turned her back and pretended not to hear.
With her head held high, Laurel walked on without another word.
Katya fell into step with her. “Don’t bother with her,” she said, her tone warm. “Personally, I think it’s rather brave of you.”
Laurel glanced at Katya. “What do you mean, brave?”
“I don’t know many Spring faeries outside of our staff.” Katya shrugged. “Especially soldiers.”
“Sentries,” Laurel corrected automatically, not really sure why.
“Still. They just seem so…coarse.” She paused and peeked over the railing into the atrium, where Tamani would be waiting. “And there are so many of them.”
Laurel rolled her eyes.
“Of course, the two of you have known each other for a long time, so I suppose it’s different.”
Laurel nodded, although it was only a partial truth. As far as she could remember, she had known Tamani for less than a year. But a year was a lot longer than she could remember knowing any of the Fall faeries she now saw every day. “Well, I’ll see you later,” Laurel said brightly, the weariness of the last several weeks nothing more than a wispy memory.
“How long will you be?” Katya asked with wide eyes.
As long as I can, she thought. But to Katya she said, “I don’t know. But if I don’t see you tonight, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Katya didn’t look convinced. “I really don’t think you should go alone. Perhaps Caelin could accompany you.”
Laurel suppressed the urge to roll her eyes again. By some fluke, Caelin was the only male Fall near Laurel’s age. And even with his puny stature and squeaky voice, he insisted on playing the role of protector for all his “ladies,” as he had dubbed them. The last thing she needed was him hanging around trying to prove he was better than every other male they encountered. Which was exactly what Caelin would do.
She didn’t even want to think about how Tamani would react.
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 skeptical 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 favors for her over the last few weeks.
“There’s someone here for you down in the atrium,” she said, inclining her head. No matter how many times Laurel asked them not to, the Spring faeries always found a way to bow to her.
Laurel thanked her for the message and slipped out the door. Every step she took made her feel a bit lighter. It wasn’t that she disliked her lessons—on the contrary, now that she understood them better, they were fascinating. But she had been right about one thing from the start: It was a lot of work. She studied with Yeardley for a full eight hours each day, observed the Fall faeries for several hours, and each night she had more reading to do as well as practicing potions, powders, and serums. She was occupied from sunrise to sunset, with only a short break for dinner right at the end of the day. Katya assured her it wasn’t like that for all Falls; that they worked and studied “only” about twelve hours a day. Even that seemed way excessive to Laurel.
But at least they got time off. Laurel didn’t.
“I will admit that the amount of work expected of you is a just a little excessive,” Katya said one day—a huge concession from the studious, loyal Fall. She was rather like David in that way. But when Laurel had tried to compliment her by saying so, Katya had been mortally offended at being compared to a human.
So when Tamani’s note arrived three days ago requesting Laurel’s company for an afternoon, she had been ecstatic. Just a small break, but it was a welcome chance to rejuvenate herself and prepare for one last grueling week of study before she went back to her parents.
Laurel was distracted enough that she almost missed Mara and Katya standing at the railing of a landing that overlooked the atrium.
“He’s here again,” Mara said, disdain dripping from her perfect ruby lips. “Can’t you make him wait outside?”
Laurel raised one eyebrow. “If I had it my way, he’d meet me in my bedroom.”
Mara’s eyes widened and she glared at Laurel, but Laurel had grown only too accustomed to vaguely menacing looks from this statuesque beauty. Things had not gotten better since that first surprising glare in the lab. Laurel generally just avoided looking at Mara at all. And even the one time Laurel had asked her a question about her project—fittingly, research on a cactus—Mara had simply turned her back and pretended not to hear.
With her head held high, Laurel walked on without another word.
Katya fell into step with her. “Don’t bother with her,” she said, her tone warm. “Personally, I think it’s rather brave of you.”
Laurel glanced at Katya. “What do you mean, brave?”
“I don’t know many Spring faeries outside of our staff.” Katya shrugged. “Especially soldiers.”
“Sentries,” Laurel corrected automatically, not really sure why.
“Still. They just seem so…coarse.” She paused and peeked over the railing into the atrium, where Tamani would be waiting. “And there are so many of them.”
Laurel rolled her eyes.
“Of course, the two of you have known each other for a long time, so I suppose it’s different.”
Laurel nodded, although it was only a partial truth. As far as she could remember, she had known Tamani for less than a year. But a year was a lot longer than she could remember knowing any of the Fall faeries she now saw every day. “Well, I’ll see you later,” Laurel said brightly, the weariness of the last several weeks nothing more than a wispy memory.
“How long will you be?” Katya asked with wide eyes.
As long as I can, she thought. But to Katya she said, “I don’t know. But if I don’t see you tonight, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Katya didn’t look convinced. “I really don’t think you should go alone. Perhaps Caelin could accompany you.”
Laurel suppressed the urge to roll her eyes again. By some fluke, Caelin was the only male Fall near Laurel’s age. And even with his puny stature and squeaky voice, he insisted on playing the role of protector for all his “ladies,” as he had dubbed them. The last thing she needed was him hanging around trying to prove he was better than every other male they encountered. Which was exactly what Caelin would do.
She didn’t even want to think about how Tamani would react.
