“Of course,” the woman said with a slight curtsy, as if she were speaking to a queen and not a young faerie half her age—maybe less. “Would you like me to do them here so you can have them as they are completed, or take them elsewhere and return them when the entire task is done?”
Katya looked over at Laurel and shrugged. “It’s all right with me if she stays here; she has a point about getting them to us as soon as they’re cut.”
“That’s fine,” Laurel muttered, uncomfortable asking a grown woman to perform such a menial task.
“You can sit there,” Katya said, pointing to Laurel’s long window seat. “The light is good.”
The woman simply nodded, took the card stock to the window, and immediately set about cutting them into crisp, straight rectangles.
Katya settled herself on the bed beside Laurel. “Now show me what you do with these note cards and I’ll see how I can assist you.”
“I can cut my own cards,” Laurel whispered.
“Well, certainly, but there are far better uses of your time.”
“I imagine there are far better uses of her time too,” Laurel retorted, flicking her chin in the woman’s direction.
Katya looked up and stared candidly. “Her? I shouldn’t think so. She’s just a Spring faerie.”
Indignation built up in Laurel’s chest. “What do you mean, just a Spring faerie? She’s still a person, she has feelings.”
Katya looked very confused. “I never said she didn’t. But this is her job.”
“To cut my note cards?”
“To do whatever duties the Fall faeries have need of. Look at it this way,” Katya continued, still in that bright, casual voice, “we probably saved her from sitting around just waiting for one of the other Falls to need something. Now come on, or we’ll lose all the time she’s saving us. Let me see which book you’re on.”
Laurel lay sprawled on her stomach, staring at her book. She was beyond reading; she’d been reading most of the morning and the words were starting to swim in front of her eyes, so staring was the best she could do. A light knock sounded on the doorway, where her intricately carved cherrywood door stood open. Laurel looked up at an elderly Spring faerie with kind, pink eyes and those perfectly symmetrical wrinkles she still wasn’t quite used to.
“You have a visitor in the atrium,” the faerie said, scarcely above a whisper. The Spring staff had been instructed to be very quiet around Laurel and avoid bothering her at all times.
The other students, too, apparently. Laurel never saw anyone but Katya, except at dinner, where she was mostly just stared at. But she was almost done with her last book—then it would be classroom time. She wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing or not, but at least it was different.
“A visitor?” Laurel asked. It took a few seconds before her study-weary brain put it together. Then it was all she could do not to shout with joy. Tamani!
Laurel walked down a few flights of stairs and took a slightly longer route so she could walk through a rounded, glass hallway lined with flowers in every color of the rainbow. They were beautiful. In the beginning that was all Laurel saw in them—gorgeous colors stretching out in brilliant sheets all across the Academy grounds. But they were more than decoration; they were the tools of the Fall faeries. She knew them now, after almost a week of studying, and named them, instinctively, in her head. The blue delphinium and red ranunculus, yellow freesia and calla lilies, speckled anthurium, and her newest favorite—cymbidium orchids with their soft white petals and dark pink centers. She let her fingers brush the tropical orchids as she passed, reciting automatically its common uses in her head. Cures poisoning from yellow flowers, temporarily blocks photosynthesis, phosphoresces when mixed correctly with sorrel.
She had very little context for the lists of facts in her head, but thanks to her “note cards”—which she wryly admitted the Spring faerie had cut more neatly than she would have—they were memorized.
Leaving the flowery hall, Laurel hurried to the staircase, practically skipping down the steps. She spotted Tamani leaning against a wall near the front entrance and somehow managed not to shriek his name and run to him. Barely.
Instead of the loose shirts and breeches that she was so accustomed to, he was wearing a sleek tunic over black pants. His hair was combed back carefully, and his face looked different without the tousled strands decorating it. As she raised her arms to hug him, a small halting motion of Tamani’s hand stopped her. She stood, confused; then he smiled and bent slightly at the waist, his head inclined in the same gesture of deference the Spring staff insisted on using. “Pleasure to see you, Laurel.” He gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”
She looked at him strangely for a moment, but when he flicked his head toward the exit again, she set her jaw and walked out the Academy doors. They headed down the front path that, instead of being straight like most neighborhood walks at home, meandered through patches of flowers and greenery. And, unfortunately, other Fall students. She could feel their gazes following her, and even though most tried to hide their spying behind their books, some gawked openly.
It was a long, silent walk and Laurel kept sneaking glances back at Tamani, who persisted in walking two steps behind her. She could see a mischievous grin playing at the corners of his mouth, but he said nothing. Once they crossed through the gates he stopped her with a soft hand on her back and inclined his head toward a long line of tall bushes. She walked toward them and as soon as the Academy was blocked from her view by the pokey green stems, strong arms lifted her off her feet and spun her around.
Katya looked over at Laurel and shrugged. “It’s all right with me if she stays here; she has a point about getting them to us as soon as they’re cut.”
“That’s fine,” Laurel muttered, uncomfortable asking a grown woman to perform such a menial task.
“You can sit there,” Katya said, pointing to Laurel’s long window seat. “The light is good.”
The woman simply nodded, took the card stock to the window, and immediately set about cutting them into crisp, straight rectangles.
Katya settled herself on the bed beside Laurel. “Now show me what you do with these note cards and I’ll see how I can assist you.”
“I can cut my own cards,” Laurel whispered.
“Well, certainly, but there are far better uses of your time.”
“I imagine there are far better uses of her time too,” Laurel retorted, flicking her chin in the woman’s direction.
Katya looked up and stared candidly. “Her? I shouldn’t think so. She’s just a Spring faerie.”
Indignation built up in Laurel’s chest. “What do you mean, just a Spring faerie? She’s still a person, she has feelings.”
Katya looked very confused. “I never said she didn’t. But this is her job.”
“To cut my note cards?”
“To do whatever duties the Fall faeries have need of. Look at it this way,” Katya continued, still in that bright, casual voice, “we probably saved her from sitting around just waiting for one of the other Falls to need something. Now come on, or we’ll lose all the time she’s saving us. Let me see which book you’re on.”
Laurel lay sprawled on her stomach, staring at her book. She was beyond reading; she’d been reading most of the morning and the words were starting to swim in front of her eyes, so staring was the best she could do. A light knock sounded on the doorway, where her intricately carved cherrywood door stood open. Laurel looked up at an elderly Spring faerie with kind, pink eyes and those perfectly symmetrical wrinkles she still wasn’t quite used to.
“You have a visitor in the atrium,” the faerie said, scarcely above a whisper. The Spring staff had been instructed to be very quiet around Laurel and avoid bothering her at all times.
The other students, too, apparently. Laurel never saw anyone but Katya, except at dinner, where she was mostly just stared at. But she was almost done with her last book—then it would be classroom time. She wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing or not, but at least it was different.
“A visitor?” Laurel asked. It took a few seconds before her study-weary brain put it together. Then it was all she could do not to shout with joy. Tamani!
Laurel walked down a few flights of stairs and took a slightly longer route so she could walk through a rounded, glass hallway lined with flowers in every color of the rainbow. They were beautiful. In the beginning that was all Laurel saw in them—gorgeous colors stretching out in brilliant sheets all across the Academy grounds. But they were more than decoration; they were the tools of the Fall faeries. She knew them now, after almost a week of studying, and named them, instinctively, in her head. The blue delphinium and red ranunculus, yellow freesia and calla lilies, speckled anthurium, and her newest favorite—cymbidium orchids with their soft white petals and dark pink centers. She let her fingers brush the tropical orchids as she passed, reciting automatically its common uses in her head. Cures poisoning from yellow flowers, temporarily blocks photosynthesis, phosphoresces when mixed correctly with sorrel.
She had very little context for the lists of facts in her head, but thanks to her “note cards”—which she wryly admitted the Spring faerie had cut more neatly than she would have—they were memorized.
Leaving the flowery hall, Laurel hurried to the staircase, practically skipping down the steps. She spotted Tamani leaning against a wall near the front entrance and somehow managed not to shriek his name and run to him. Barely.
Instead of the loose shirts and breeches that she was so accustomed to, he was wearing a sleek tunic over black pants. His hair was combed back carefully, and his face looked different without the tousled strands decorating it. As she raised her arms to hug him, a small halting motion of Tamani’s hand stopped her. She stood, confused; then he smiled and bent slightly at the waist, his head inclined in the same gesture of deference the Spring staff insisted on using. “Pleasure to see you, Laurel.” He gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”
She looked at him strangely for a moment, but when he flicked his head toward the exit again, she set her jaw and walked out the Academy doors. They headed down the front path that, instead of being straight like most neighborhood walks at home, meandered through patches of flowers and greenery. And, unfortunately, other Fall students. She could feel their gazes following her, and even though most tried to hide their spying behind their books, some gawked openly.
It was a long, silent walk and Laurel kept sneaking glances back at Tamani, who persisted in walking two steps behind her. She could see a mischievous grin playing at the corners of his mouth, but he said nothing. Once they crossed through the gates he stopped her with a soft hand on her back and inclined his head toward a long line of tall bushes. She walked toward them and as soon as the Academy was blocked from her view by the pokey green stems, strong arms lifted her off her feet and spun her around.
