At that, David turned and looked at Tamani. It was the first real response he’d gotten from David since the start of their “suspension.” He even opened his mouth to say something, then clamped it shut again and turned away.
“You may as well say it. We’re supposed to be working out our differences, right?” Tamani chuckled. “Though maybe these aren’t the differences they had in mind.”
David eyed Tamani, ignoring the jest.
Tamani was suddenly struck by just how young David looked. He forgot, sometimes, that David, Laurel, and their friends were younger, in some ways much younger, than Tamani. He was posing as a school-age human, but in truth he was an officer in the Guard. He knew his place, he knew his role, with a certainty some humans never achieved. The amount of freedom human children had must be paralyzing. No wonder they took so long to become adults.
“I’m just trying to help you understand, that’s all,” Tamani said.
“I don’t need your help.”
Tamani nodded. He wasn’t fond of David, but it was hard to hate him when he was no longer an obstacle to be overcome. In many ways, Tamani could sympathize. And he certainly couldn’t fault David’s taste.
Fifteen minutes passed in total silence. Then half an hour. Tamani was wondering if he could get away with just disappearing for the last half hour when David spoke.
“A lot of people can’t have children—Laurel’s parents, for example.”
Tamani had already forgotten he’d even mentioned children. It seemed odd that, after almost two whole days of silence, David would latch on to this particular point. “Granted, but—”
“So they adopt. Or they just stay together the two of them. You don’t have to have children to be happy.”
“Maybe not,” Tamani allowed. “But she’s also going to live a hundred years longer than you. You really want to make her watch you die? You want to adopt children and make her watch them die, of old age, while she still looks forty?”
“You think I haven’t thought about that? Life is like that. I mean, not for you, since you have your perfect medicines or whatever.” He said the words mockingly and Tamani suppressed his anger—hadn’t David benefited from faerie elixirs himself? “But that’s how it is here. You don’t know if you’re going to die next month or next week or in eighty years. It’s a chance you take and it’s worth it if you really love each other.”
“Sometimes love isn’t enough.”
“That’s just something you tell yourself,” David said, looking Tamani full in the face. “It makes you sure you’ll win in the end.”
That stung a little; it was something he had told himself, frequently, over the last few years. “I’ve always been sure I was going to win,” Tamani said softly. “I only wanted to know when.”
David made a soft scoffing sound and looked away.
“Do you remember what I said, about Lancelot?”
“He was Guinevere’s faerie guardian,” David said, “at least according to your version of the story.”
Tamani sighed. The boy was being difficult, but at least he was listening. “Fear-gleidhidh does mean ‘guardian,’ but maybe not in the sense you’re thinking. Fear-gleidhidh is as much a . . . an overseer as a protector. Lancelot’s job included protecting Guinevere’s life, but it was also his job to protect Avalon—to do whatever he had to do so that Guinevere could succeed in her mission. To see to it that she didn’t back out.”
“And you’re Laurel’s Fear-gleidhidh.”
“I don’t know how much Laurel has told you about this, but I knew her . . . before. From the day Laurel left Avalon, I did everything I could to become her appointed guardian. Every choice I’ve made in life—every minute of training—was in pursuit of that position. Because I wanted whoever was out here watching her to be someone who loved her—not some indifferent taskmaster. Who better to guide and protect her than someone who loved her as much as I do?”
David shook his head ruefully and started to speak.
Tamani cut him off. “But I was wrong.”
Interest and suspicion showed in David’s eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Love clouded my judgment. I knew she valued her privacy, so even though she never knew she was being watched, I scaled down observation at the cabin. Her family moved away while I wasn’t looking. Until she came back, I was afraid I’d failed Avalon and Laurel both. We posted sentries here, and I wanted to come—but I wanted to be near Laurel as much as I wanted to protect her—maybe more. So I stayed away because I wanted to come for the wrong reason, and I convinced myself that a bad reason was the same as a bad choice. And now I’m here, and I have to say, watching her with you has been misery. Loving her so much has made me very bad at my job. Like that night with the trolls. I should have gone after them. But I couldn’t leave her.”
“What if there had been trolls waiting around the corner? What if the first group had been there to simply lure you away?”
Tamani shook his head. “I should have trusted my backups. Don’t get me wrong, I intend to do my job. But my reasons for being here are different than the faux-noble ideals I once had. I would die to keep her safe, and I used to think that made me special. But the fact is, so would any of the sentries. And sometimes I wonder if Laurel would be safer with someone else as her Fear-gleidhidh.”
“So why don’t you quit?” David asked.
Tamani laughed and shook his head. “I can’t quit.”
“No, really. If you think she’s safer, wouldn’t it be your duty to quit?”
“It doesn’t work like that. I took a life oath that bound me to Laurel. This is my job until I die.”
“Forever?”
Tamani nodded. “If Laurel is outside Avalon, at any time, she is my responsibility. So if she decides to stay with you and the two of you go traipsing off to college, guess who’s coming along?” Tamani pointed an index finger at the ceiling, then spun it to point at himself.
“What!”
“One way or another. I’ll watch her from a distance, silently and without her knowledge, if that’s what it takes. And no matter how long you live—I’ll be around when you’re gone. I get to spend my entire life either with Laurel, or watching over her while she’s with someone else. Bliss or torture—there’s really no middle ground.”
“Forgive me for saying I hope it’s torture,” David said wryly.
“Oh, I understand,” Tamani said. “And I don’t begrudge you your feelings. But in all that time I worked to become her Fear-gleidhidh, I never imagined that my feelings for Laurel would make me a poor protector. And sometimes it gets the better of me and I do things I know I shouldn’t.” He hesitated. “Like hitting innocent bystanders just to make myself feel better. That was very unprofessional of me and I apologize.”
David raised an eyebrow. “Unprofessional?”
“Yes,” Tamani replied.
David snickered, coughed, then laughed full-out. “Unprofessional,” he muttered.
Humans have the strangest sense of humor.
“Well, I’m not sorry,” David said, but his grin was good-natured. “I wanted to hit you, you wanted me to hit you—I’d say we both got what we wanted.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
The two sat looking at each other for a few seconds before they both started laughing.
“Look at us,” said David. “We’re so pathetic. Our lives revolve around her. I—” He paused and looked down at the floor, obviously a little embarrassed. “I thought I was going to die when she broke up with me.”
Sincerely, Tamani nodded. “I know the feeling.”
“Thing is, even when you were gone, you were never really gone,” David said. “She missed you, all the time. Sometimes I’d catch her staring off into space and ask her what she was thinking about, and she would smile and say ‘nothing,’ but I knew she was thinking about you.” He leaned forward. “When you showed up in September, I think I hated you more at that moment than anything in my whole life.
”
“A bit of your own medicine, if you ask me,” Tamani said, trying not to show just how pleased he was. “Laurel carried a picture of you in her pocket—she had it when I saw her in Avalon two summers back. And I hated that even those few times when I had her to myself—completely to myself—you were there too.”
“Do you think she knows we know?”
“If she didn’t before, she does now,” Tamani said, the melancholy slipping in again. “That’s why she’s not with either of us. I’ve wondered if it’s as much to keep the peace between us as to give her the space she needs.” Tamani hesitated then added, “You should go make up with her.”
“Are you serious?”
“I said make up, not get back together,” Tamani said, working to keep the edge from his voice. “She would be happy if the two of you were friends again. I want her to be happy. I’m going out tracking with Shar after school and into the night—I’ll stay away; you go make nice.”
David was silent for a minute. “What do you get out of this?”
“I want you to tell her I sent you.”
“Ah, so Laurel is happy and you get brownie points for making peace.”
“You’re pretty sharp. For a human,” Tamani said, not hiding his grin.
David just shook his head. “You know what I hate almost as much as the thought of losing Laurel to you?” David asked.
“What?” Tamani braced himself for whatever David had to say.
“That this lame-ass work-your-problems-out thing actually worked.”
Tamani chuckled as the final bell rang. “I wouldn’t go that far, mate,” he said. “I still don’t like you.” But he couldn’t help but smile as he said it.
Laurel cautiously opened the front door to find David with a single zinnia in his hand.
“Hi,” he said awkwardly. Then he thrust the flower in her direction. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was a jerk, and I really let my temper run away with me and it was so completely inappropriate and I would break up with me too.”
Laurel stood there staring at the proffered flower for a long moment before taking it with a sigh. “I’m sorry too,” she said softly.
“You? What do you have to be sorry for?” David asked.
“I should have listened to Chelsea. She told me you were having a hard time with Tamani and I just figured you would get over it. I should have taken her seriously. Taken you seriously. I’m sorry I let it get this far.”
David rubbed at the back of his neck. “It was never that big of a deal. Chelsea lets me vent to her. And that’s what it was, most of the time. Venting.”
“Yeah, but you should have been able to vent to me. I totally cut off any kind of negative talk and I should have asked you how you really felt and then listened. That’s what a good girlfriend does.” Laurel looked down at her feet. “Forget girlfriend, that’s what a good friend does.”
“I don’t think you owe me an apology, but I appreciate it anyway,” David said. “And, well, I hope that we can get past this and put it behind us.” He hesitated. “Together.”
“David,” Laurel said, and she saw from the crestfallen expression on his face that he knew what she was going to say. “I don’t think I’m ready to be ‘us’ again.”
“Are you with Tamani, then?” David asked, eyes downcast.
“I’m not with anyone,” Laurel said, shaking her head. “We’re seventeen, David. I like you, and I like Tamani, and I think maybe I need to stop worrying about ‘forever’ for a little while. I’m having a hard enough time deciding if I’m going to go to college next year, never mind who I should be with for the rest of my life.”
David had a strange look on his face, but Laurel rushed on.
“Between Yuki and Klea and trolls and finals and colleges and—” She groaned. “I just can’t do it right now.”
“It sounds like you need a friend,” David murmured, his eyes fixed on the doormat.
Laurel was surprised by the relief that surged through her. The tears were on her cheeks before she even realized it. “Oh, man,” she said, trying to wipe them away subtly, “I need a friend so badly right now.”
David stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him, his cheek pressed against the top of her head. Laurel felt every worry of the day seep away as she absorbed the warmth from his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, scared now at how close she had come to losing his friendship. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“I want you to know that I have every intention of convincing you to be my girlfriend again,” David said, releasing her and taking a step back. “I’m trying to be honest, you know.”
Laurel rolled her eyes and laughed.
“But until then,” he said, more serious now, “I’ll be your friend, and I’ll wait.”
“I was beginning to think you would never speak to me again.” She watched, confused, as David’s face flushed red.
“I . . . had some encouragement. Tamani sent me,” he finally said.
“Tamani?” Laurel asked, certain she hadn’t heard right.
“We actually had a good talk today and he said he’d stay away so I could come apologize.”
Laurel contemplated this. “Why would he do that?”
“Why else? To score points with you,” David said with a snort.
Laurel shook her head, but she had to give him credit; it had worked. “I called you the other day,” Laurel admitted.
“I saw that. You didn’t leave a message.”
“I got mad at your voice mail.”
David chuckled.
“I got my SAT scores.”
He nodded shortly. This was almost as important to him as it was to her. “Me too. I still didn’t beat Chelsea, though. How about you?”
Laurel smiled as she told him about her vastly improved scores and the possibilities they brought with them. And for a few moments, it was like nothing had changed—because, Laurel realized, David had always been her friend first. And maybe that was the biggest difference between him and Tamani. With David the friendship had come first—with Tamani, it had always been the heat. She wasn’t sure she could imagine life without either extreme. Did choosing between them mean leaving one of those behind forever? It wasn’t a thought that made her happy, so for the moment she pushed it to the side and enjoyed the one she had here in front of her.
“You want to come in?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
TAMANI SAT VERY STILL, HIS EYES SCANNING THE forest for movement as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. This was the ideal time to spot trolls—as their “day” was just beginning and the long shadows offered plenty of places to lurk. Wherever they were hiding, it had to be nearby—the trolls they’d wounded always seemed to head in this direction. But the few square miles of forest sandwiched between two human neighborhoods had yielded nothing but frustration. Tamani ground his teeth. He had promised Aaron he would make things right and, eye of the Goddess, he was going to!
“Please, Tam, for all your training in stealth, even a half-deaf troll would hear those teeth grinding,” came a flat, almost bored-sounding voice from lower down the conifer Tamani had climbed for a better view.
Tamani sighed.
“You’re spreading yourself too thin,” Shar added, sounding more concerned now. “Three nights in a row. I worry for you.”
“I don’t normally go for so long,” Tamani said. “I just want to make use of you while you’re here. Normally I do one night on, one night off.”
“That still has you not sleeping half of your nights.”
“I sleep a little while on watch.”
“Very little, I imagine. You know catching trolls isn’t your job,” Shar went on, his voice so low Tamani could barely hear him. He’d said the same thing the last two nights as well.
“How better to protect Laurel?” Tamani asked hotly.
“That’s an excellent question,” Shar said. He had climbed almost as high as Tamani now. “Do you intend t
o harrow yourself to death with it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You had a choice. Follow the trolls, or stay with Laurel. You stayed with Laurel. I don’t know if you made the best possible choice, but you made a defensible choice, particularly with Laurel unconscious and unable to defend herself. If you’d made a different choice, maybe you could have followed those trolls back to their lair. Or maybe the chase would be fruitless, as it has been so far. I’m sorry that Aaron disagreed with your decision, but you can’t let it take root in you like this. You have to move on.”
Tamani shook his head. “Aaron was almost there. Laurel would have made it home fine. And I could have been one step closer to eliminating the ultimate threat against her.”
“It’s easy to think that, because she did make it safely home. But who’s to say there weren’t more trolls waiting for you to leave Laurel alone? Or that Yuki or Klea weren’t waiting for the same thing?”
“That seems remarkably unlikely,” Tamani muttered.
“Aye. But you’re Fear-gleidhidh. Your job is to anticipate even the most unlikely threat. Above all else, your job is to keep Laurel alive and on task.”
“I would leave everything and join the World Tree tomorrow if she died,” Tamani said.
“I know,” Shar whispered through the darkness.
An hour passed, then two, and the fae said nothing as they scanned the forest. Tamani felt his eyes start to droop, a weariness settling into him that seemed to reach all the way to his core. He’d stayed out two nights in a row often enough, but three was pushing it. Shar had slept during the day, but aside from a brief nap at school while Mr. Robison was out of the room, and a few short stints in the tree, Tamani had not slept since the night he’d forced himself to leave Laurel’s bed—obeying her request even though he knew that as long as he left before dawn, she would never know. He closed his eyes now, thinking of that last sight of her, her blond hair spilling out over her pillowcase like the softest of corn silk, her mouth, even in sleep, turned up ever so slightly at the corners.
His eyes fluttered open at the crunch of dry leaves. At first he thought it was only another deer. But the sound came again, and again. Those footsteps were too heavy to be made by anything so graceful.
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