Illusions

by Aprilynne Pike

  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.”

  Tamani looked at Jamison, his expression guarded, and Laurel felt guilt smolder inside of her—after all, she was the one who had been so insistent. She had wanted Jamison’s advice so badly.

  “We could not have foreseen this turn of events. But,” Jamison said, raising one finger, “you may find that less has changed than you think. You already saw Klea as a possible threat to Laurel’s safety, did you not?”

  Tamani nodded silently.

  “So perhaps this Yuki is as well. But,” he continued, his tone intense, “if that is the case, then the place you need to be—the place you must be—is at Laurel’s side in Crescent City. Not here.” Jamison placed both hands on Tamani’s shoulders and Tamani’s gaze fell to the floor. “Be confident, Tam. You have always had a sharp mind and keen intuition. Use it. Decide what needs to be done, and do it. I gave you that authority when I sent you.”

  Tamani’s head bobbed up and down, an infinitesimal nod.

  Laurel wanted to speak up, to tell Jamison it was her fault, not Tamani’s, but her voice died in her throat. She wished, strangely, that they hadn’t come at all. Being reprimanded, even gently, had to be difficult enough without an audience to compound his embarrassment. She wanted to say something, to defend him—but she couldn’t find the words.

  “I do have one suggestion,” Jamison said as he guided them back toward the large double doors that led to the foyer. “It would be wise to discern this wildflower’s caste—as a precaution, but also in case she can be of use to you.”

  That possibility hadn’t occurred to Laurel. Whatever Klea was doing, if they could win Yuki over, perhaps she could be the key to unlocking Klea’s secrets. But if she’s too young to blossom—

  Before Laurel could voice her question, Jamison turned to address her. “Discovering her powers could be difficult. A stop at the Academy, to consult with your professors, might be in order. Then back to California,” he said firmly. “I don’t like the idea of you so far from your sentries after sunset. But a quick visit should still get you back to the gate in plenty of time. I know it is later here,” he added, gesturing to a picture window that looked out on a black, velvety sky with stars beginning to appear.

  Jamison escorted them through the gilded doors—which opened wide without so much as a flick of his wrist—and all the way down to the foyer. It was mostly empty now, soft phosphorescing flowers beaming dimly throughout the capacious room. Jamison’s entourage of Am fear-faire, however, were ready and waiting. They closed in around him as soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

  “Yasmine has gone to bed,” Jamison said as they crossed beneath a dragon-arched entryway, “so I will open the gate for you.” He laughed. “But these old stems move much slower than your young ones. You go down to the Academy. I will head to the Gate Garden and we will meet there in a short while.”

  Laurel and Tamani left the courtyard some fifty paces ahead of Jamison. As soon as they were out of earshot Laurel slowed her steps, falling back to share the broad pathway with Tamani. “I should have told him this was my idea,” she blurted.

  “It wasn’t your idea,” Tamani said quietly. “It was mine, earlier this week.”

  “Yeah, but I was the one who pushed it and got us in today. I let Jamison scold you and he should have been scolding me.”

  “Please,” Tamani said with a grin on his face, “I’d take a scolding for you any day and call it a privilege.”

  Laurel looked away, flustered, and hurried her pace. Moving downhill helped the walk go quickly and soon the lights of the Academy came into view through the darkness, guiding their steps. Laurel looked up at the imposing gray structure and a smile spread across her face.

  When had the Academy started to look like home?

  Chapter Eight

  WHILE THE WINTER PALACE SLUMBERED, THE ACADEMY hummed along, both students and staff. If nothing else, there was always someone working on a mixture that had to be cured by starlight. As they walked toward the staircase Laurel waved at a few faeries she knew and their eyes widened upon seeing her. But true to their carefully honed discipline, they returned to their projects without comment and left Laurel and Tamani alone.

  As soon as Laurel’s foot touched the bottom step, a tall female faerie scuttled over to them. She was dressed in the unassuming clothes o
f the Spring staff. “I’m sorry, but it’s far past visiting hours. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

  Laurel looked over in surprise. “I’m Laurel Sewell,” she said.

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you go up, Laurelsule,” the faerie said firmly, squishing Laurel’s first and last name together.

  “I’m Laurel. Sewell. Apprentice. I’m going up to my room.”

  The faerie’s eyes widened and she immediately bowed at the waist. “My most abject apologies. I’ve never seen you before. I didn’t recognize—”

  “Please,” Laurel said, cutting her off. “It’s fine. We’ll be done soon and then I’ll be gone again.”

  The faerie looked mortified. “I hope I didn’t offend you—there’s no reason you can’t stay!”

  Laurel forced herself to smile warmly at the faerie—surely a new Spring, worried about being demoted from her position. “Oh, no, it wasn’t you at all. I’m needed back at my post.” She hesitated. “Could you . . . could you alert Yeardley that I am here? I need to speak to him.”

  “In your room?” the faerie clarified, eager to please.

  “That would be perfect, thank you.”

  The faerie dropped into a deep curtsy—first to Laurel and then to Tamani—before hurrying off toward the staff quarters.

  Tamani wore a strange expression as Laurel led him upstairs and down the hall. A smile blossomed on her face when she saw the curlicues of her name engraved on her familiar cherry door. She turned the well-oiled doorknob—that neither had nor needed a lock—and entered her room.

  Everything was just as she’d left it, though she knew the staff must come in to dust regularly. Even the hairbrush she’d forgotten was still lying in the middle of her bed. Laurel picked it up with a grin and thought about bringing it back with her, but decided to tuck it away instead. A spare. After all, she’d bought another one when she got home.

  She looked around for Tamani. He was lingering in the doorway.

  “Well, come in,” she said. “You should know by now that I don’t bite.”

  He looked up at her then shook his head. “I’ll wait here.”

  “No, you won’t,” Laurel said sternly. “When Yeardley comes I’ll have to close the door so we don’t wake the other students. If you’re not in here you’ll miss the entire conversation.”

  At that Tamani went ahead and entered her room, but he left the door open and stayed within arm’s reach of the door frame. Laurel shook her head ruefully as she walked over and closed the door. She paused, hand on the knob, and looked up at Tamani. “I’ve been meaning to apologize for the way I acted earlier,” she said softly.

  Tamani looked confused. “What do you mean? I told you, I don’t care if Jamison blames me, I—”

  “Not that,” Laurel said, looking down at her hands. “Pulling rank at the land. Snapping at you, acting lofty. That’s all it was, an act. None of the other sentries were going to take me seriously if I didn’t act like a pain-in-the-ass Mixer with a superiority complex.” She hesitated. “So I did. But it was all fake. I don’t—I don’t think that way. You know that; I hope you know that. I don’t approve of other fae thinking that way either and—anyway, that’s an argument with no end.” She took a breath. “The point is, I’m sorry. I never meant it.”

  “It’s fine,” Tamani mumbled. “I need to be reminded of my place now and again.”

  “Tamani, no,” Laurel said. “Not with me. I can’t change the way the rest of Avalon treats you—not yet, anyway. But with me, you are never just a Spring faerie,” she said, touching his arm.

  He looked up at her, but only for a second before his eyes focused on the ground again, a deep crease between his eyebrows.

  “Tam, what? What’s wrong?”

  He met her eyes. “The Spring faerie down there, she didn’t know what I was. She just knew I was with you and I guess she assumed I was a Mixer too.” He hesitated. “She bowed to me, Laurel. Bowing is what I do. It was weird. I—I kinda liked it,” he admitted. He continued on, his confession spilling out with gathering momentum. “For just those few seconds, I wasn’t a Spring faerie. She didn’t look at a sentry uniform and immediately put me in my place. It—it felt good. And bad,” he tacked on. “All at the same time. It felt like—” His words were cut off by a soft knock at the door.

  Disappointment flooded through Laurel as their conversation was cut short. “That’ll be Yeardley,” she said softly. Tamani nodded and took his place against the wall.

  Laurel opened the door and was assaulted by a mass of pink silk. “I thought I heard you!” Katya squealed, throwing her arms around Laurel’s neck. “And I could hardly believe it. You didn’t tell me you were coming back so soon.”

  “I didn’t know myself,” Laurel said, grinning. It was impossible not to smile around Katya. She was wearing a silky, sleeveless nightgown, its back cut low to accommodate the blossom Katya would have in another month or so. She had grown her blond hair down to her shoulders, which made her look even younger.

  “Either way, I’m glad you’re here. How long can you stay?”

  Laurel smiled apologetically. “Just a few minutes, I’m afraid. Yeardley is on his way up, and once I’m done speaking with him I need to get back to the gate.”

  “But it’s dark,” Katya protested. “You should at least stay the night.”

  “It’s still afternoon in California,” Laurel said. “I really do need to get home.”

  Katya grinned playfully. “I guess if you must.” She looked at Tamani, her eyes a touch flirtatious. “Who’s your friend?”

  Laurel reached out to touch Tamani’s shoulder, prompting him to step forward a little. “This is Tamani.”

  To Laurel’s dismay, Tamani immediately dropped into a respectful bow.

  “Oh,” Katya said, realization dawning on her. “Your soldier friend from Samhain, right?”

  “Sentry,” Laurel corrected.

  “Yes, that,” Katya said dismissively. She grabbed both of Laurel’s hands and didn’t give Tamani another look. “Now come over here and tell me what in the world you are wearing.”

  Laurel laughed and allowed Katya to feel the stiff fabric of her denim skirt, but she shot Tamani an apologetic grimace. Not that it mattered; he was back to standing against the wall and averting his eyes.

  Katya flounced down on the bed, the silken folds of her nightgown tracing her graceful curves, its low back revealing so much perfect skin. It made Laurel feel plain in her cotton tank top and skirt, and inspired a fleeting wish that she hadn’t brought Tamani upstairs. But she brushed the thought aside and joined her friend. Katya prattled on about inconsequential things that had happened in the Academy since Laurel’s departure only last month, and Laurel smiled. Just over a year ago, she wouldn’t have believed that the daunting, unfamiliar Academy was somewhere she might laugh and talk with a friend. But then, she had felt the same way about public school the year before that.

  Things change, she told herself. Including me.

  Katya sobered suddenly and reached out to place her fingertips on each side of Laurel’s face. “You look happy again,” Katya said.

  “Do I?” Laurel asked.

  Katya nodded. “Don’t mistake me,” she said in that formal way Katya had, “it was lovely to have you here this summer, but you were sad.” She paused. “I didn’t want to pry. But you’re happy again. I’m glad.”

  Laurel was silent—surprised. Had she been sad? She ventured a glance at Tamani, but he didn’t seem to be listening.

  A sharp rap sounded at the door and Laurel jumped off her bed and hurried to open it. There stood Yeardley, tall and imposing, wearing only a loose pair of drawstring breeches. His arms were folded across his bare chest and, as usual, he wasn’t wearing shoes.

  “Laurel, you asked for me?” His tone was stern, but there was warmth in his eyes. After two summers of working together he seemed to have grown a soft spot for her. Not that you could tell by the amount of class work he gave her. He w
as—above all else—a demanding tutor.

  “Yes,” Laurel answered quickly. “Please come in.”

  Yeardley walked to the center of the room and Laurel began to shut the door.

  “Do you need me to leave?” Katya asked quietly.

  Laurel looked down at her friend. “No . . . no, I don’t think so,” Laurel said, glancing at Tamani. “It’s really not a secret; not here, anyway.”

  Tamani met her eyes. There was tension in his face, and Laurel half expected him to contradict her, but after a moment he looked away and shrugged. She turned back to Yeardley.

  “I need a way to test a faerie’s, um, season.” Laurel would not use the word caste. Not in front of Tamani. Preferably not ever.

  “Male or female?”

  “Female.”

  Yeardley shrugged, nonchalant. “Watch for her blossom. Or for pollen production on males in the vicinity.”

  “What about a faerie who hasn’t blossomed yet?”

  “You can go to the records room—it’s just downstairs—and look her up.”

  “Not here,” Laurel said. “In California.”

  Yeardley’s eyes narrowed. “A faerie in the human world? Besides yourself, and your entourage?”

  Laurel nodded.

  “Unseelie?”

  The Unseelie were still a mystery to Laurel. No one would talk about them directly, but she had gathered from bits and pieces that they all lived in an isolated community outside one of the gates. “I don’t think so. But there is some . . . confusion regarding her history, so we can’t be sure.”

  “And she doesn’t know what season she is?”

  Laurel hesitated. “If she does, it’s not something I can ask her.”

  Comprehension dawned on Yeardley’s face. “Ah, I see.” He sighed and pressed his fingers against his lips, contemplating. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone ask for such a thing. Have you, Katya?”

  When Katya shook her head, Yeardley continued. “We keep meticulous records of every seedling in Avalon, so this problem presents a unique challenge. But there must be something. Perhaps you could formulate a potion of your own?”