Spells

by Aprilynne Pike

  The coliseum walls had been grown around a steeply inclined depression in the top of the hill. She stood now on an expansive mezzanine, an outgrowth of tightly woven branches that extended from the coliseum’s living walls. Except for three ornate golden chairs on a dais at the center of the mezzanine, all the seats were wooden, cushioned in red silk and complete with armrests that grew seamlessly from the floor. They had clearly been arranged with attention to view rather than the most efficient seating capacity.

  Fifty feet away, Laurel saw faeries crowding through the main entrance and descending into the ground floor, which was little more than a grassy hillside. There was no seating below the mezzanine, but faeries crowded together amicably, jostling to get as close as they could to the biggest stage Laurel had ever seen. It was draped in silky white curtains that glittered with thousands of crystals that swung gently in the breeze, casting rainbows over the entire theater. From above, sunlight poured through a thin canopy of gauzy material that billowed and waved with the wind. It softened the glare of the sun without blocking out its beneficial rays.

  And everywhere she looked Laurel saw shimmering diamonds, swatches of golden silk, elaborate tapestries celebrating the history of Avalon. Dark corners were lit with gold orbs like the one Tamani had used on Laurel more than a year ago, after she’d been thrown in the Chetco. Here and there, wreaths of flowers or piles of fruit adorned randomly distributed pillars of wood or stone.

  Laurel took a deep breath and began walking forward, wondering where to sit. After a few seconds, she looked back, sensing Tamani was no longer with her. He remained by the archway, looking as though he intended to stay there.

  “Hey!” she said, striding back to him. “Come on, Tam.”

  He shook his head. “It’s just for the show. I’ll wait for you here, and we’ll go to the revelries afterward.”

  “No,” Laurel said. She walked to his side and laid a hand on his arm. “Please come with me,” she said quietly.

  “I can’t,” Tamani said. “It’s not my place.”

  “I say it’s your place.”

  “Take it up with the Queen,” Tamani said sardonically.

  “I will.”

  Alarm filled his voice now. “No, Laurel. I can’t. I’ll just cause trouble.”

  “Then I’ll stay here with you,” she said, slipping her hand into his.

  Tamani shook his head again. “This is my place. There”—he gestured to the red silk seating at the lip of the mezzanine—“is yours.”

  “Jamison will be here, Tam. We’ll both insist you be allowed to sit with me. I’m sure of it.”

  Tamani’s eyes flitted back and forth between Laurel, the Fall faeries milling around the mezzanine, and the crush of Spring faeries pouring through the main entrance. “Fine,” he said with a sigh.

  “Thank you!” Laurel said, pushing impulsively up onto her toes to kiss his cheek. As soon as she did, she wished she hadn’t. She pulled back a few inches and couldn’t seem to go any farther. Tamani turned his head to look her full in the face. He was so close, their noses almost touched. His breath caressed her lips, and she felt herself leaning toward him.

  Tamani turned his face away. “Lead on,” he said in a voice so quiet Laurel barely heard him.

  So Laurel led Tamani down the steps of the mezzanine, and this time he followed. But the nervous, almost frightened Tamani following her was a stranger to Laurel. His cockiness was gone, his confidence sapped; he looked like he was trying to disappear into his cloak.

  Laurel stopped and turned to him, her hands on the sides of his arms, not speaking until he finally raised his eyes to hers. “What is wrong?”

  “I shouldn’t be here,” he whispered. “I don’t belong here.”

  “You belong with me,” Laurel said firmly. “I need you at my side.”

  He looked down at her, an edge of fear in his eyes that she’d never seen before. Not even when Barnes shot him. “It’s not my place,” he insisted again. “I don’t want to be that faerie.”

  “What faerie?”

  “The kind who latches on to a girl above his station, consumed by ambition like a common animal. That’s not what I’m doing; my oath to you, it’s not. I just wanted to meet you afterward. I didn’t plan this.”

  “Is this because you’re a Spring faerie?” she asked sharply. The buzz of the crowd kept their conversation relatively private, but she lowered her voice just the same.

  Tamani refused to meet her gaze.

  “It is! Not only do they think you’re a second-class—oh, excuse me, fourth-class citizen—you think you are too. Why?”

  “It’s just the way things are,” Tamani muttered, still not looking at her.

  “Well, it’s not the way they should be!” Laurel hissed. She grabbed both of Tamani’s shoulders and forced him to look at her. “Tamani, you are twice the faerie of any Fall faerie in the Academy. There’s no one I would rather have by my side in all of Avalon.” She gritted her teeth before continuing, knowing it would hurt him, but it might be the only thing he would listen to. “And if you care about me half as much as you claim, then it should matter way more to you what I think than what they think.”

  The eyes staring into hers darkened. A long moment passed before he nodded. “Okay,” he said, his voice still quiet.

  She nodded but didn’t smile. It wasn’t a smiling moment.

  He trailed behind her, his black cape swirling around his feet. Now he brooded silently but with a determined air.

  “Laurel!” came a familiar voice. Laurel turned to see Katya, resplendent in a silk dress that accentuated her figure. Pale pink petals matching the shade of her dress stood out over Katya’s shoulders. Her light blond hair lay perfectly around her face, and she wore a sparkling silver comb over her left ear.

  “Katya.” Laurel smiled.

  “I hoped you might come to this!” Katya said. “It’s the very best festival to come to all year long.”

  “Is it?” Laurel asked.

  “Of course. The start of the New Year! New goals, new studies, new class placements. I look forward to it all year long.” She twined her arm through Laurel’s and pulled her toward the far end of the mezzanine. “I think Mara’s finally going to be elevated to journeyman tomorrow,” she said with a giggle. Her eyes flitted over to where the dark-eyed Fall stood in a stunning purple dress with a neckline cut far lower than Laurel would have ever dared in public. Like Katya, Mara was in bloom, a modest, six-pointed star resembling a narcissus flower setting off the color of her dress.

  Laurel looked back to make sure Tamani was following and gave him a quick smile when he met her eyes.

  “You brought him?” Katya said in a whisper.

  “Of course,” Laurel said at full volume.

  Katya smiled, only a little tightly. “Silly of me. You certainly need a guide. You’ve never been to one of these. I should have thought. I’ll see you after the show, okay?” Katya waved happily, then turned and disappeared into a small group of faeries, most of whom Laurel recognized from the Academy. A few of them were staring at her unashamedly. She had been so busy looking at the scenery that she hadn’t noticed the faeries in the mezzanine stealing long looks at her and Tamani. It took her a moment to realize why.

  Katya and Mara weren’t the only ones in full bloom. The blossoms dotting the mezzanine were small and unassuming compared with those Laurel had seen this summer, tending toward single colors and simple shapes, like hers. But they were all in bloom; every single female Fall.

  Except her.

  Laurel thought about the temperature in Avalon; it was a little bit cooler than when she had been there in the summer, but only just. She wondered how the faeries’ bodies knew when to bloom. Was it the angle of the sun? The slight changes in temperature? It did make sense that Avalon’s temperate weather would delay autumn blooming—and maybe prolong blossoming—but for how long? Laurel made a mental note to find out more about blossoming when she was in Avalon next summer. Unti
l then, she could only conclude that something was different between Avalon and Crescent City. Two days earlier, two degrees higher, and maybe she wouldn’t have felt so out of place.

  Lifting her chin resolutely, Laurel walked to the edge of the balcony. She touched Tamani’s arm and looked down at his hands. Sure enough, at some point he had pulled on a pair of black velvety gloves. Even he had noticed. Refusing to dwell on it, Laurel looked at the main floor below her, turning her attention from the decorations to the faeries themselves. Their apparel was much plainer and Laurel didn’t see many sparkles of jewelry, but the Spring faeries looked completely happy. Hugs were shared, children were caught up in embraces, greetings exchanged, and even from her spot so far above, peals of laughter found their way to Laurel’s ears.

  “Are they all Spring faeries?” Laurel asked.

  “Most of them,” Tamani said. “There are a few Summer faeries who are too young to perform, but most of the Summer faeries are involved in the show.”

  “Is…” She hesitated. “Is Rowen down there?”

  “Somewhere. With my sister.”

  Laurel nodded, not knowing what else to say. She hadn’t considered that accompanying her meant Tamani wouldn’t be able to sit with his family. A familiar guilt filled her. It was too easy to believe that Tamani lived only for her, that his life did not exist at all except where it intersected her own. To forget that there were other people who loved him.

  The buzz of the crowd changed abruptly, and the faeries below the mezzanine all looked up with an air of anticipation.

  Laurel felt Tamani’s hand around her arm and suddenly he was half escorting, half dragging her to a seat several rows farther away from the center of the mezzanine. “This should be the Winter faeries,” Tamani whispered. “Jamison, Yasmine, and Her Majesty, Queen Marion.”

  Laurel’s throat tightened as she turned away from Tamani, her attention—like all the other faeries—on the archway at the top of the mezzanine. She wasn’t sure whether she was more surprised that there were only three, or that there were as many as three. She’d only ever considered Jamison and the elusive Queen before.

  An entourage of guards in sky-blue uniforms came through first; Laurel recognized them from the last time she’d seen Jamison. They were followed immediately by Jamison himself, dressed in deep green robes with his usual twinkling smile. He was escorting a young girl who looked about twelve, her smooth, ebony skin and carefully arranged ringlets setting off an extremely formal gown of pale purple silk. Then the entire coliseum seemed to breathe in all at once as the Queen entered.

  She was wearing a shimmering white dress with a train of glittering threading that curled up from the ground in the soft breeze. Her hair was jet black and streamed down her back in soft waves that reached just past her waist. A delicate crystal crown balanced atop her head with strings of diamonds attached that fell into her curls and glimmered in the sunlight.

  But it was her face Laurel focused on.

  Pale green eyes surveyed the crowd. Although Laurel knew the face would be considered beautiful by any fashion magazine’s standards, she couldn’t get past the pursed lips, the tiny furrow between her eyes, the slight lift of one eyebrow as if she were loathe to acknowledge the deep bows that everyone around her had dropped into.

  Including Tamani.

  Which left Laurel alone standing straight up.

  She hurried to bow like everyone else before the Queen saw her. It apparently worked; the Queen’s gaze fluttered over the crowd without pausing, and within seconds, the Fall faeries had resumed their upright stances and their buzzing conversations.

  Marion turned with a whispering flutter of her gown and walked to the dais, where three ornate seats sat in prominence over the others. Laurel watched Jamison take the little girl’s hand, helping her up the steps and into a fluffy chair at the Queen’s left. Laurel caught his eye and he smiled and whispered something to the little girl before turning and approaching them. The crowd didn’t stop talking or laughing as Jamison passed by, but they subtly shifted out of his way, clearing a path.

  “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.”
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br />   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.

  The lights illuminating the stage brightened and Lotus leaped onto a rock, casting his arms wide in an elaborate proclamation. “What’s happening now?” Laurel asked, tugging on Tamani’s shirt in her excitement.

  “Lotus has decided that he will prove himself to Heather’s father by retrieving a golden apple from the Isle of Hesperides. Also known as Avalon,” he added with a smile.

  The stage cleared, and the set shimmered for an instant before morphing into an enormous flower garden with blooms of every imaginable color covering the perimeter of the stage. Laurel gasped. “How did they do that?”