“What do you mean, scouting?”
He glanced over at her for a second before his eyes returned to the tree. “Leaving the gate. Venturing out to get a better lay of the land.” He shook his head. “We haven’t seen a single troll in weeks. And somehow, I don’t think it’s because they’ve suddenly given up on Avalon,” he said with a tense laugh. He sobered. “I’m looking for the reason why, but there’s only so much I can do. I’m not human—I don’t know how to blend in to the human world. So I can’t get all the information I want. I’m—I’m missing something,” he said firmly. “I know it. I can feel it.” He shrugged. “But I don’t know what it is or where to find it.”
Laurel glanced at the tree. “Why don’t you ask them?” she asked, pointing.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. The tree’s not omniscient, nor is it a fortune-teller. It’s the combined wisdom of thousands of years, but it’s never been outside of Avalon.” He shook his head. “Even the Silent Ones can’t help me with this. I have to do it myself.”
They lay there for several minutes, sprawled back, enjoying the warm sunshine. “Tam?” Laurel asked hesitantly.
“Hmm?” Tamani’s eyes were closed and he looked almost asleep.
“Do…” Laurel hesitated. “Do you get tired of being a Spring faerie?”
His eyes popped open wide for a second before he closed them again. “How so?”
She was quiet, trying to think of a way to ask without insulting him. “No one thinks Spring faeries are as good as anyone else. You have to bow, and serve, and walk behind me. It’s not fair.”
Tamani was quiet for a while, his tongue running along his bottom lip as he thought. Finally he said, “Do you get tired of people thinking you’re a human?”
Laurel shook her head.
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “I look like a human; it makes sense.”
“No, that’s the logical reasoning for why people think you are a human. I want to know why it doesn’t bother you.”
“Because everyone has always thought I was a human. I’m used to it,” she said, the words out of her mouth before she realized she had walked right into his trap.
He grinned. “See? It’s the same thing. I’ve always been a Spring faerie; I’ve always acted like a Spring faerie. May as well ask me if I’m tired of being alive. This is my life.”
“But don’t you, on some level, realize it’s wrong?”
“Why is it wrong?”
“Because you’re a person, just like everyone else here. Why should what kind of faerie you are define your social status?”
“I think the way human social status is defined is just as outrageous. More, maybe.”
“How so?”
“Doctors, lawyers—why are they so respected?”
“Because they’re educated. And doctors save people’s lives.”
“So you pay them more, and they have a higher place in society, right?”
Laurel nodded.
“How is this any different? Fall faeries are more educated; they save lives too. Winter faeries do even more: They keep Avalon safe from outsiders, protect our gateways, keep us from being discovered by humans. Why shouldn’t they be more revered?”
“But it’s just happenstance. No one chooses to be a Spring faerie.”
“Maybe not, but you choose to work as hard as you do. All the Falls do. It’s not like you just sit around and mix up an occasional potion. You’ve told me how much you study. Every Fall studies hard. Even if they don’t choose to be a Fall faerie, they choose to work and hone their skills to help me. If that’s not worth my respect, I don’t know what is.”
It did make sense, sort of. But it still rubbed Laurel the wrong way. “It’s not just that Fall and Winter faeries are revered,” she said, “it’s that Spring faeries are looked down on. There are so many of you,” she said, her conscience pricking a little when she remembered that Katya had said the same thing only a short time before—though not in quite the same tone of voice. “The Winter faeries may protect Avalon, but it’s the Spring faeries who make it function. You guys do almost all the jobs. I mean, Summers do the entertaining and such, but who makes the food, who builds the roads and houses, who sews and washes all my clothes?” she asked, her voice starting to rise. “You do. Spring faeries do! You’re not nothing; you’re everything.”
Something in Tamani’s eyes told her she’d hit a soft spot. His jaw was tight and he took a few moments to think before answering. “Maybe you’re right,” he said softly, “but that’s just the way it is. It’s the way it’s always been. The Spring faeries serve Avalon. We’re happy to serve,” he added, a touch of pride coloring his tone. “I’m happy to serve,” he added. “It’s not like we’re slaves. I’m a completely free faerie. Once my duties are done, I can do what I want and go where I please.”
“Are you free?” Laurel asked.
“I am.”
“How free?”
“As free as I want to be,” he replied a little hotly.
“Are you free to walk beside me?”
He was silent.
“Are you free to be anything more than a friend to me? If,” and she stressed the if heavily, “I ever decided to live in Avalon and wanted to be with you, would you be free enough to do that?”
He glanced over at her for a second before his eyes returned to the tree. “Leaving the gate. Venturing out to get a better lay of the land.” He shook his head. “We haven’t seen a single troll in weeks. And somehow, I don’t think it’s because they’ve suddenly given up on Avalon,” he said with a tense laugh. He sobered. “I’m looking for the reason why, but there’s only so much I can do. I’m not human—I don’t know how to blend in to the human world. So I can’t get all the information I want. I’m—I’m missing something,” he said firmly. “I know it. I can feel it.” He shrugged. “But I don’t know what it is or where to find it.”
Laurel glanced at the tree. “Why don’t you ask them?” she asked, pointing.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. The tree’s not omniscient, nor is it a fortune-teller. It’s the combined wisdom of thousands of years, but it’s never been outside of Avalon.” He shook his head. “Even the Silent Ones can’t help me with this. I have to do it myself.”
They lay there for several minutes, sprawled back, enjoying the warm sunshine. “Tam?” Laurel asked hesitantly.
“Hmm?” Tamani’s eyes were closed and he looked almost asleep.
“Do…” Laurel hesitated. “Do you get tired of being a Spring faerie?”
His eyes popped open wide for a second before he closed them again. “How so?”
She was quiet, trying to think of a way to ask without insulting him. “No one thinks Spring faeries are as good as anyone else. You have to bow, and serve, and walk behind me. It’s not fair.”
Tamani was quiet for a while, his tongue running along his bottom lip as he thought. Finally he said, “Do you get tired of people thinking you’re a human?”
Laurel shook her head.
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “I look like a human; it makes sense.”
“No, that’s the logical reasoning for why people think you are a human. I want to know why it doesn’t bother you.”
“Because everyone has always thought I was a human. I’m used to it,” she said, the words out of her mouth before she realized she had walked right into his trap.
He grinned. “See? It’s the same thing. I’ve always been a Spring faerie; I’ve always acted like a Spring faerie. May as well ask me if I’m tired of being alive. This is my life.”
“But don’t you, on some level, realize it’s wrong?”
“Why is it wrong?”
“Because you’re a person, just like everyone else here. Why should what kind of faerie you are define your social status?”
“I think the way human social status is defined is just as outrageous. More, maybe.”
“How so?”
“Doctors, lawyers—why are they so respected?”
“Because they’re educated. And doctors save people’s lives.”
“So you pay them more, and they have a higher place in society, right?”
Laurel nodded.
“How is this any different? Fall faeries are more educated; they save lives too. Winter faeries do even more: They keep Avalon safe from outsiders, protect our gateways, keep us from being discovered by humans. Why shouldn’t they be more revered?”
“But it’s just happenstance. No one chooses to be a Spring faerie.”
“Maybe not, but you choose to work as hard as you do. All the Falls do. It’s not like you just sit around and mix up an occasional potion. You’ve told me how much you study. Every Fall studies hard. Even if they don’t choose to be a Fall faerie, they choose to work and hone their skills to help me. If that’s not worth my respect, I don’t know what is.”
It did make sense, sort of. But it still rubbed Laurel the wrong way. “It’s not just that Fall and Winter faeries are revered,” she said, “it’s that Spring faeries are looked down on. There are so many of you,” she said, her conscience pricking a little when she remembered that Katya had said the same thing only a short time before—though not in quite the same tone of voice. “The Winter faeries may protect Avalon, but it’s the Spring faeries who make it function. You guys do almost all the jobs. I mean, Summers do the entertaining and such, but who makes the food, who builds the roads and houses, who sews and washes all my clothes?” she asked, her voice starting to rise. “You do. Spring faeries do! You’re not nothing; you’re everything.”
Something in Tamani’s eyes told her she’d hit a soft spot. His jaw was tight and he took a few moments to think before answering. “Maybe you’re right,” he said softly, “but that’s just the way it is. It’s the way it’s always been. The Spring faeries serve Avalon. We’re happy to serve,” he added, a touch of pride coloring his tone. “I’m happy to serve,” he added. “It’s not like we’re slaves. I’m a completely free faerie. Once my duties are done, I can do what I want and go where I please.”
“Are you free?” Laurel asked.
“I am.”
“How free?”
“As free as I want to be,” he replied a little hotly.
“Are you free to walk beside me?”
He was silent.
“Are you free to be anything more than a friend to me? If,” and she stressed the if heavily, “I ever decided to live in Avalon and wanted to be with you, would you be free enough to do that?”
