Trial at the Faire

by Laurel Wanrow

  Trial at the Faire

  The Windborne Series

  Laurel Wanrow

  Copyright © 2021 by Laurel Wanrow

  All rights reserved.

  Please purchase only authorized editions.

  First Edition: July 2021

  ISBN 978-1-943469-26-0

  Copy Edit by Joyce Lamb

  Cover Design by Deranged Doctor Design

  Created with Vellum

  Trial at the Faire is a fun, action-adventure novella in the Windborne YA fantasy series, set two summers before the events of The Witch of the Meadows and two months after Double Rescue.

  The story contains read-between-the-lines, minor spoilers for book 1.

  The Windborne Series

  Double Rescue (prequel novella)

  Trial at the Faire (prequel novella)

  The Witch of the Meadows

  Guardian of the Pines

  Lost Whisperer of the Seas

  Keepers of the Sea Cliffs

  Solstice Gifts (holiday short story)

  To receive updates of new releases, sneak peeks and giveaways, like the exclusive prequel novella Double Rescue, sign up for Laurel's Newsletter.

  To the zoom writing partners who kept each other sane during COVID-19.

  Contents

  1. The Challenge of a Trial

  2. Hang the Study of Human Differences

  3. Vying for an Opportunity

  4. Playing at Human

  5. A Chivalrous Rivalry

  6. Upended Plans

  7. Right Place for the Wrong Reason

  8. A Test of Confidence

  9. Trust Paid Off

  Thank you!

  Preview of Double Rescue, a Windborne series prequel novella

  Books by Laurel Wanrow

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  The Challenge of a Trial

  The Cairnkin Village Medieval Faire Reenactment, Scotland

  Late August, in modern times

  “All at once now! Heave!”

  Muscles tightening, Raven of the Meadows heaved the bulky material from the ground. In the dim morning light, the other fellows did the same around the big tent. Their chaperones ducked inside with the center pole and lifted the roof into a peak. Raven hauled on the nearest rope and trudged away from his side of the limp fabric. The pavilion unfolded and ballooned out. The canvas monstrosity was a round, antiquated-looking thing of stripes, though it was newly made to fit the style of medieval faires.

  Magic would have made this task easier, if only they were allowed to use it.

  “Hold her there,” called Ms. Scallop, a cousin of Raven’s grandmother. She came trotting around the pavilion’s perimeter, the tail of her triangular shawl flapping at the waist of her ankle-length skirt. She gave his rope a curt nod, loosening gray curls from her kerchief as she swung away. “Gentlemen, you may install the framing spokes!” Ms. Scallop directed the adults from the tent’s doorway, then turned to the youths again. “Quick, lasses, get these ropes staked!”

  Raven hung on to his rope, keeping it taut. Please, let it be Willow who comes to my side.

  Hammering rang out all around them on the grounds of the old house. Other faire vendors rushed about, unloading crates and tables from automobiles and setting up tents, though none was as colorful as Ms. Scallop’s pink and blue curiosity.

  This faire seemed to be a big to-do, even larger than their gatherings at home on the Isle of Giuthas. Cairnkin Village apparently held its medieval faire every August on the grounds of its historic manor house. Raven had learned about it only a few weeks ago. This was a human place, on human land, and not the kind of affair the Windborne paid any mind to.

  Well, most Windborne. Gran’s cousin Scallop made her living selling her spun woolens to humans. She was one of the few Windborne he’d heard of who actually lived on human land. He thought she was mad to live here and forever conceal her powers. Sadly, Gran didn’t agree. When she’d learned about this faire and how people dressed up in historic costumes and tried to mimic the speech of their ancestors, she’d decided it’d be the perfect trial for the isle’s youths to test their skills at not being detected as wizards.

  Raven, however, was more worried about winning Willow’s approval than he was about passing the trial, and he planned to spend as much time with her today as possible.

  As if he’d magicked his wish into being, Willow of the Forest appeared around the pavilion, her blond hair blowing loose in the wind. Her long, pink dress reminded him of the apple blossoms that bloomed on the isle, and indeed, it had flowers embroidered over it, blue, green and a yellow that matched her amber eyes.

  They’d been lifelong friends, but somehow earlier this summer he’d noticed her more. The way she walked, the way her hair always looked so soft… He was taken with the urge to catch a lock of it now and tell her how he admired it so much that he’d been growing his own hair longer. Instead, he smiled at her. “At least we won’t have a hard time finding her booth again.” He gestured to the rows of plainer, solid-color pavilions going up on either side and across from them. “Outrageous colors, huh?”

  Willow glanced up. “I like it. We never have anything as pretty at home.”

  Blast. He’d blown it. Already. “I, uh, aye, it works.” By the Orb, have you nothing better to say? Practically the first thing he’d uttered to her today, and he’d sounded like a git.

  Flipping her skirt out of the way, Willow dropped near his feet, shoved a stake into the grass and hammered, doing an impressive job, too, especially considering it was by hand. Luckily, their wizard mentors had trained them to do things physically, for those times when Windborne magic was short. Or for when they might be among nonmagical humans.

  Once Willow was done, she took the end of his rope and tied it around the stake. She rose and smiled up at him. Then she tugged a strand of his shoulder-length hair. “Your hair has grown quite long.”

  He swallowed. Did he dare tell her? She seems to care for me more than the other fellows, but maybe that’s all in my head?

  “Its length fits right in with the other dressed-up fairegoers, and soon you’ll be able to tie it back,” she said. “I’ve never seen you wear this shirt before either.”

  Blessed Orb, she’d noticed. For a moment, all he could do was grin and smooth his hands down the oversize brown dress shirt with the stand-up collar and lacings at the throat. “’Tis my dad’s. Gran said if I pulled it in with a belt”—he tucked his thumbs behind the leather—“it’d pass for a tunic.” He’d matched the belt to his knee boots and tucked his trousers into them. Half the crafters’ clothes weren’t as authentic-looking as their dressier Windborne clothing.

  Willow nodded. “You’d think Lady Lark has been to one of these faires before.”

  He and Willow were alone, just the two of them between the high canvas walls. This was his chance. “Will you take a turn with me when we’re sent off to buy food? I think I’ve got their coins figured out, but I don’t want to lose any of my trade credit—”

  “It’s simple tens.” Coral of the Seas barreled around the side of the tent, brown braids swinging and knee boots showing beneath the hem of her blue skirt. “A hundred pence to a pound. The coins have the amounts on them. Surely you can keep that in your head?” The younger—and much shorter—lass reached up to tap Raven’s cheek, but he lurched back.

  “Coral, I swear—”

  “Ah-ah!” She shook a finger at him, all the while grinning smugly. “Careful. Wouldn’t want your temper to”—she leaned closer— “show.”

  He darted a look at his hands. No glow.

  Coral giggled.

  The little stinker. He loomed over her. “Just wait un
til we’re back on the isle,” he muttered so only she could hear.

  “Aye.” She winked, not at all intimidated by his greater height. “Just wait.” She knelt, dampening her skirt in the wet grass, and tugged at the knot Willow had tied. “Blimey, Willow! A granny knot? This will never hold!” In a trice, she had it undone—

  Raven reached to catch the loosening rope just as Coral yanked it tight, and the friction burned his finger. He kept his grunt to himself.

  Coral retied it. “Thank the… Um, good thing Lady Lark sent me around to check them.”

  “Oh dear,” Willow said. “Redo my other, please.” She grasped Coral’s arm and steered her around the tent’s perimeter.

  Raven followed a few steps behind. He could go along and hold the rope, though Coral would overrun the conversation again and get in more digs at him. Before he was close enough, Willow clasped the rope and held the section of the tent upright as well as he could have. Right, chap, the lass is more than capable, magically and physically. Even Coral was.

  He’d spent many sleepless nights listing reasons Willow would refuse to try a prebond trial with him, the courting agreement in which teens could also test how their magic worked together. She had far more experience in caring for her habitat than he did—she’d been learning the care of the Forest from her mother since eighth year, while he’d begun his apprenticeship at the customary tenth year. She remembered every spell she ever learned, while he had to practice repeatedly. To his knowledge, she’d never angered a single elder…unlike him. His latest mishap at the start of summer—a complete accident, and the bird was progressing fine now!—had put him under the scrutiny of every elder at any lesson.

  Why would she be interested in prebonding with me when I have such a rotten reputation?

  Raven rechecked his fingers, though there’d been no sign of magic. After the elders had threatened them with months of a quash—a grounding of their magic—if they showed anything magical in this human village, he’d locked his energy out of his hands. Even so, he hadn’t gone as far as to lock it away in its storage cores. He wasn’t a child. At fifteenth year, he could control his magic, thank the Or—

  Argh! No doubt, he, of any of them, would get in trouble for spouting a Windborne curse.

  If he wanted to fix his reputation, he ought to start with passing this trial at fitting in among human society. Which meant he couldn’t get into one bit of trouble today. Aside from no use of magic, the trial tasks were easy enough: help Ms. Scallop with her craft sales and lambs, talk to strangers in a human manner and purchase food. No mention of magic, use of magical terms or references to any of their Windborne doings. He simply had to pay attention to everything he said and did.

  Skirting around the tent in the opposite direction from Willow—though that was the last thing he wanted to do—Raven returned to Ms. Scallop’s wagon, where the others from the isle were unloading the spinning wheel and woolen goods.

  Among the group, Beri swung around with a crate, his movement sending his rusty-red hair flying up. Upon seeing Raven, he wrinkled his freckled nose. About time you joined us, he thought-spoke. Get your mooning in?

  Beri? snapped Dad.

  Eyes widening, Beri froze, then darted his gaze over his shoulder. At the front of the wagon, Raven’s dad, Merlin, and Gran were both staring.

  Blast. Beri had mistakenly used their family channel instead of privately sending the message. He and Beri might not be true brothers, but they’d become just as close in the seven years since Beri’s parents died. Dad was equally strict with both of them, and now his eyebrows went up in a warning.

  Undoubtedly, they weren’t supposed to be sending messages at all. But Dad hadn’t told them to shut down their thought-speaking channels.

  Gran beckoned them over to the space next to a fence and hedgerow where Ms. Scallop’s horses were tied.

  Blast, blast, blast. Maybe she’d meant only Beri? As Beri put down the crate and walked back, Gran continued to stare at Raven.

  He went, too. They might cajole Dad, but never Gran, the opposite of what most folks expected of a gray-haired woman barely five feet tall. Today, she wore one of her yellow-green homemade dresses topped by an apron, shawl and a fancy old cloak pin in a decent imitation of a medieval costume.

  Beside tiny Gran, Dad towered above them at over six feet tall. He held the leads of four lambs they’d brought for visitors to pet, fitting in perfectly with this faire in his leather trousers and vest. He’d trimmed his black beard and tied back his long hair.

  When Raven and Beri stopped before them, Gran leaned forward and waited until they ducked their heads to hers. “No private conversations,” she hissed. “Act human.”

  “Do as Lark says,” said Dad. “None of…that.”

  “Aye, sir. Sorry, ma’am,” Beri mumbled and threw Raven a glare.

  “S’not my fault,” Raven snapped back. “Sheesh, you’re not happy about it, but since we’re here, make an effort to have fun, would you?” At Dad’s look, he shut his mouth. They’d all been telling Beri to relax. He knew.

  “We will discuss it at home.” Gran sliced her hand through the air to end the conversation. A metal chain glinted beneath her shifting shawl when she moved.

  Raven hesitated. Did I really see that?

  She gestured toward the wagon. “Could you lads take the pen panels for the lambs and set them up at the tent? Then return to settle the animals with their hay.”

  When her shawl moved again, Raven saw the familiar chain slipping from her neck. “Gran?” he whispered. “Something is broken. Are you wearing…” How could he say this without speaking any forbidden words? “An extra necklace?”

  Gran patted her neckline, and as her fingers found the chain ends and traced a rod-shaped lump, her eyes grew wide. She glanced around, then drew Raven toward her side like a shield. Nodding to Beri, she moved close to Dad despite the lambs scampering around his legs. Beri stepped into place on the fourth side to completely enclose the four of them.

  “I, uh…” Gran drew a shuddering breath. “I canna believe it. I seem to have forgotten to leave…it at Scallop’s house. And now the chain is broken. What should I do?” She clutched a fold of fabric wrapping her fallen peregrinator, a magical traveling device that was definitely forbidden to carry outside of their Windborne enclave.

  Curses. They’d covered this in their preparation lessons. If a magical device got lost in the human world, the wizard responsible would face more than their enclave council. The breach would go to the Windborne’s Department of Magical Regulation, and the DMR didn’t take magical leaks lightly. The entire enclave would be restricted from travel until a review had been made. But Gran’s device wasn’t lost. It was just…out. Raven couldn’t think. He certainly couldn’t joke. This was serious, adult territory.

  Beri leaned in. “Perhaps I should fetch Ms. Scallop. She lives among them. She would know what to do.” At Dad’s nod, he was off.

  In minutes, he’d brought back Ms. Scallop. She carried a wad of wool and a paper envelope in her hand and a tote bag slung over her shoulder.

  “Wrap it in here.” Ms. Scallop thrust the wool at Gran. “We shall secure it in one of my sample envelopes and keep it in the cashbox for safety. Someone will be with the box at all times.”

  They surrounded Gran again while she nestled the broken chain and the three-inch-long glass rod—it had yellow-green swirls throughout it, the same color as Gran’s magic—in the wool and did as her cousin had said. Ms. Scallop locked the envelope in the bottom of her slender metal cashbox and returned it to her bag. She gave Gran a consoling hug. “Nothing need be said.”

  Well, that didn’t seem as safe as Gran carrying the device in her pocket, but Raven wasn’t an elder. What did he know?

  Dad put a hand to each of their shoulders. “Lads, our family is done with mishaps for the day. Best get back to setting up.”

  “Aye,” Beri murmured, and they turned to go.

  Raven grinned. “Yep, I’
m ready to move on.” To Willow and spending time with her. He spotted her across the car park, returning on the path from the crafters’ tents.

  His ready smile slid off.

  Willow was walking back with Salm of the Seas. That wasn’t unusual. They were supposed to stay together. And Salm, Coral’s seventeenth-year brother, was jabbering on in his typical carefree way. Only this time, he was leaning down for the conversation, with a most attentive tilt to his head and his hand at Willow’s elbow.

  What is going on there?

  2

  Hang the Study of Human Differences

  Beri unloaded the pen panels from the wagon bed with Raven’s help and divided the fencing between them. He hoisted up his half and checked the crafter car park for moving automobiles. A few new ones had parked at the far end, but the way was clear. They needed to go now. Yet Raven hadn’t picked up his panels. He was restacking them while looking around.

  Was there a problem?

  Across the field, people called to each other and laughed loudly in the still morning. Their automobile and trailer doors creaked and banged. It was bloody hard to tell if there was a problem.

  Stick together, they’d been told. Help each other out.

  Every action on this day had to be planned and careful. Beri had protested leaving the safety of their enclave from the moment the elders announced this field trip, but Merlin wouldn’t hear of his staying home. Merlin had advised him to enjoy the human festival and study the differences in the humans’ lives.