“My dear Laurel,” Jamison said, his eyes, now green to match his robes, sparkling. “I’m so happy you’ve come.” He clapped Tamani on the shoulder. “And you, m’boy. It’s been too many months since I’ve seen you. Overworking yourself at that gate of yours, I imagine.”
Tamani smiled, shedding some of his brooding air. “Indeed, sir. Laurel keeps us busy with her mischief.”
“I imagine she does,” Jamison said with a grin. The sound of stringed instruments being tuned filled the vast coliseum. “I had best take my seat,” Jamison said. But before he turned he lifted his hands to Laurel’s face, gently framing her cheeks with his fingers. “I’m so glad you were able to join us,” he said, his voice a quiet whisper. Then he was gone, the rich green of his robes rustling away through the crowd.
Tamani nudged Laurel toward seats on the far end of the large balcony, where Katya was waving at them.
“Who’s that little girl?” Laurel asked, craning her neck to watch Jamison hand something to the girl before taking his seat.
“That’s Yasmine. She’s a Winter faerie.”
“Oh. Will she be the Queen someday?”
Tamani shook his head. “Doubtful. She’s too close in age to Marion. Same thing happened with Jamison and Cora, the late Queen.”
“There’s only three Winter faeries in all of Avalon?”
“Only three. And often fewer.” Tamani smiled. “My mother was the Gardener for both Marion and Yasmine. Yasmine blossomed just months before my mother retired. Very few Gardeners have the honor of tending two Winter faeries.” He tilted his head toward the young Winter faerie. “I got to know Yasmine a little before she was sent to the Winter Palace. Sweet thing. Good heart, I think. Jamison is very fond of her.”
Just then a small but elaborately dressed faerie stepped out from behind the massive curtains that stretched across the stage. The crowd hushed.
“Get ready,” Tamani whispered in her ear. “You’ve never seen anything like this.”
TWENTY-TWO
THE CURTAINS OPENED TO REVEAL AN EXQUISITE forest scene with bright beams of multicolored lights shining down in soft circles. Laurel realized that there was no way to dim the light in the coliseum—and no need either. Everything on the stage seemed to glow from within—brighter, clearer, more real even than Laurel’s immediate surroundings. She was riveted; surely this was Summer magic at work.
Two faeries knelt in the middle of the stage, their arms wrapped around each other, and soft, romantic music drifted up from the orchestra. They looked pretty much like regular ballet dancers, the man with perfect, mocha-colored skin, well-defined arms, and closely cut hair, the woman with long, lean limbs, her auburn hair pulled tightly back. The couple rose and began dancing on soft, bare feet.
“No toe shoes?” Laurel whispered to Tamani.
“What are toe shoes?”
Okay, no, obviously, Laurel thought. But she could see how it was ballet nonetheless. The movements were flowing and graceful, with long stretches and lifts worthy of any human contortionist. Though for principal dancers in such an important show, they did seem a little ungraceful. Their feet plodded a bit and their movements felt very heavy. Still, they were quite good. It took a few minutes into the pas de deux before Laurel realized what seemed so out of place.
“What’s up with the beard?” she asked Tamani. The male dancer was wearing a black beard that blended in with his costume, but as Laurel watched, she realized it trailed almost down to his waist.
Tamani softly cleared his throat and for a second Laurel thought he was going to avoid her question entirely. “You have to understand,” he finally whispered. “Most of these faeries have never seen a real human. Their idea of what a human looks like is almost as distorted as what humans think of faeries. Faeries are”—he searched for the right word—“intrigued by the idea that humans grow fur on their faces. It’s very animalistic.”
Laurel suddenly realized that she had never seen a faerie with a beard. The idea simply hadn’t occurred to her. She thought about how Tamani’s face was always smooth and soft—without the gritty hint of stubble that David’s usually had. She’d never actually noticed before.
“The dancers who are playing humans also move less gracefully, to show that they are animals, not faeries,” Tamani continued.
Turning her attention back to the play, Laurel watched the dancers rise and fall with just that hint of plodding. Knowing now that it was deliberate, she appreciated the talent it must take—to gracefully portray a lack of grace. She banished to the back of her mind a handful of angry thoughts about perpetuating stereotypes. Those would have to wait.
Two more bearded dancers entered the stage, and the woman tried to hide behind her partner. “What’s happening?” Laurel asked.
Tamani pointed to the original couple. “That’s Heather and Lotus. They’re secret lovers, but Heather’s father there”—he pointed to an older faerie with a bushy brown beard shot through with gray—“orders her to marry Darnel instead. The human custom of parents arranging marriages is ridiculous, by the way.”
“Well, they don’t anymore. At least not where I come from.”
“Still.”
Laurel watched as the two men departed and Heather and Lotus came together for a mournful duet. The music was like nothing Laurel had ever heard before and she felt tears building up in her eyes for these star-crossed humans who danced so beautifully to the orchestra’s woeful refrain.
Tamani smiled, shedding some of his brooding air. “Indeed, sir. Laurel keeps us busy with her mischief.”
“I imagine she does,” Jamison said with a grin. The sound of stringed instruments being tuned filled the vast coliseum. “I had best take my seat,” Jamison said. But before he turned he lifted his hands to Laurel’s face, gently framing her cheeks with his fingers. “I’m so glad you were able to join us,” he said, his voice a quiet whisper. Then he was gone, the rich green of his robes rustling away through the crowd.
Tamani nudged Laurel toward seats on the far end of the large balcony, where Katya was waving at them.
“Who’s that little girl?” Laurel asked, craning her neck to watch Jamison hand something to the girl before taking his seat.
“That’s Yasmine. She’s a Winter faerie.”
“Oh. Will she be the Queen someday?”
Tamani shook his head. “Doubtful. She’s too close in age to Marion. Same thing happened with Jamison and Cora, the late Queen.”
“There’s only three Winter faeries in all of Avalon?”
“Only three. And often fewer.” Tamani smiled. “My mother was the Gardener for both Marion and Yasmine. Yasmine blossomed just months before my mother retired. Very few Gardeners have the honor of tending two Winter faeries.” He tilted his head toward the young Winter faerie. “I got to know Yasmine a little before she was sent to the Winter Palace. Sweet thing. Good heart, I think. Jamison is very fond of her.”
Just then a small but elaborately dressed faerie stepped out from behind the massive curtains that stretched across the stage. The crowd hushed.
“Get ready,” Tamani whispered in her ear. “You’ve never seen anything like this.”
TWENTY-TWO
THE CURTAINS OPENED TO REVEAL AN EXQUISITE forest scene with bright beams of multicolored lights shining down in soft circles. Laurel realized that there was no way to dim the light in the coliseum—and no need either. Everything on the stage seemed to glow from within—brighter, clearer, more real even than Laurel’s immediate surroundings. She was riveted; surely this was Summer magic at work.
Two faeries knelt in the middle of the stage, their arms wrapped around each other, and soft, romantic music drifted up from the orchestra. They looked pretty much like regular ballet dancers, the man with perfect, mocha-colored skin, well-defined arms, and closely cut hair, the woman with long, lean limbs, her auburn hair pulled tightly back. The couple rose and began dancing on soft, bare feet.
“No toe shoes?” Laurel whispered to Tamani.
“What are toe shoes?”
Okay, no, obviously, Laurel thought. But she could see how it was ballet nonetheless. The movements were flowing and graceful, with long stretches and lifts worthy of any human contortionist. Though for principal dancers in such an important show, they did seem a little ungraceful. Their feet plodded a bit and their movements felt very heavy. Still, they were quite good. It took a few minutes into the pas de deux before Laurel realized what seemed so out of place.
“What’s up with the beard?” she asked Tamani. The male dancer was wearing a black beard that blended in with his costume, but as Laurel watched, she realized it trailed almost down to his waist.
Tamani softly cleared his throat and for a second Laurel thought he was going to avoid her question entirely. “You have to understand,” he finally whispered. “Most of these faeries have never seen a real human. Their idea of what a human looks like is almost as distorted as what humans think of faeries. Faeries are”—he searched for the right word—“intrigued by the idea that humans grow fur on their faces. It’s very animalistic.”
Laurel suddenly realized that she had never seen a faerie with a beard. The idea simply hadn’t occurred to her. She thought about how Tamani’s face was always smooth and soft—without the gritty hint of stubble that David’s usually had. She’d never actually noticed before.
“The dancers who are playing humans also move less gracefully, to show that they are animals, not faeries,” Tamani continued.
Turning her attention back to the play, Laurel watched the dancers rise and fall with just that hint of plodding. Knowing now that it was deliberate, she appreciated the talent it must take—to gracefully portray a lack of grace. She banished to the back of her mind a handful of angry thoughts about perpetuating stereotypes. Those would have to wait.
Two more bearded dancers entered the stage, and the woman tried to hide behind her partner. “What’s happening?” Laurel asked.
Tamani pointed to the original couple. “That’s Heather and Lotus. They’re secret lovers, but Heather’s father there”—he pointed to an older faerie with a bushy brown beard shot through with gray—“orders her to marry Darnel instead. The human custom of parents arranging marriages is ridiculous, by the way.”
“Well, they don’t anymore. At least not where I come from.”
“Still.”
Laurel watched as the two men departed and Heather and Lotus came together for a mournful duet. The music was like nothing Laurel had ever heard before and she felt tears building up in her eyes for these star-crossed humans who danced so beautifully to the orchestra’s woeful refrain.
