Destined

began pacing again.

The phone buzzed almost immediately. Another picture.

“What are they?” Laurel asked, squeezing in beside him to squint at the tall, green stalks.

Tamani’s stomach twisted with a sick churning. It had taken the Gardener’s son in him less than a second to recognise the distinct plant specimen. “They’re sprouts,” he said hoarsely.

“Sprou — Oh!” Laurel said, sucking in a breath.

“The plants faeries are born out of?” David asked, rising from the couch to look over Tamani’s shoulder.

Tamani nodded numbly.

“But there are dozens of them!” Laurel said. Then, after a pause, “Why are so many of them chopped down?”

But Tamani could only shake his head as he glared at the picture, trying to understand Shar’s message. Everything about this was wrong. He was no Gardener, but the condition of the growing sprouts was appalling even to the untrained eye. The plants were too close together, and most of the stalks were too short in comparison to the size of the bulb. They were malnourished at best and probably permanently damaged.

But it was the cut-off stalks that bothered him the most. The only reason to cut a stalk was to harvest it early. Tamani’s mom had done so once in her career, to save a dying baby fae, but Tamani couldn’t imagine Klea’s motives were so maternal. And he had no idea why she would do it to so many. She had to be using them. And not for companionship.

His gruesome speculation was cut off by another picture, this one of a metal rack filled with green vials. There was no spark of recognition this time and Tamani tilted the screen toward Laurel. “Do you recognise this serum?”

Laurel shook her head. “About half of all serums are green. It could be anything.”

“Maybe it—” His question was cut off by the phone buzzing again. Not a text this time; a call. Tamani sucked in a breath and held the phone up to his ear. “Shar?” he said, wondering if he sounded as desperate as he felt.

Laurel looked up at him, worry, concern, and hope twining together in her gaze.

“Shar?” he said, more quietly now.

“Tam, I need your help,” Shar whispered. “I need you to…” His voice trailed off, and shuffling noises were loud against Tamani’s ear as it sounded like Shar set the phone down.

“Don’t move, or this whole shelf goes over.” Shar’s voice came through clearly, but with a slight echo. Speakerphone, Tamani realised. He felt a laugh bubble up in his throat and had to bite his lip firmly to tamp it down. Shar had figured out his phone enough to use it when it counted.

Klea’s voice — more hollow, but crisp enough to understand — came through next. “Honestly, Captain, is this really necessary? You’ve already blown my schedule all to hell by knocking out poor Yuki.”

Knocked out a Winter? Tamani thought, both proud and incredulous. Wonder how he pulled that off.

“I saw you burn,” Shar said, his voice simmering. “The blaze was so hot, no one could get near it for three days.”

“Who doesn’t love a good fire?” she said, her tone mocking.

“I made them test the ashes. Academy confirmed an Autumn faerie died in that fire.”

“How diligent of you! But that’s why I left my blossom behind. I don’t think it would have fooled them if it hadn’t been fresh.”

Laurel laid a hand on Tamani’s arm. “Is it—”

Tamani shushed her gently and pulled the phone away from his face, hitting his own speakerphone button, then muting the microphone just in case.

“Where did you find Yuki?” Shar’s voice said clearly.

“Find? Oh, Captain, all it takes is a single seed, if you know what you’re doing. Work was slow when I had to rely on cuttings, but in the past few decades humans have made remarkable strides in cloning. I quickly discovered that every sprout has its own destiny, no matter its lineage. So it was only a matter of time before I got a Winter.”

“Where did you get the seed, then?”

“I really shouldn’t tell you,” Klea said, “but it’s just too good to keep to myself. I stole it from the Unseelie.”

“You’re Unseelie, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Don’t lump me in with those wild-eyed zealots,” she snapped. “I never did find out where the Unseelie got the seed, not that it matters. One of them even saw me take it as I made my escape. Oh, she was so angry,” Klea said in a low whisper. “But then, I think you’re familiar with her, Shar de Misha.”

Tamani closed his eyes, knowing how his friend must be feeling to discover the secret his mother had kept from him — the secret that might have saved so many lives. There was a long pause before Shar responded. “You have a pretty big stack of these vials here. The least you can do is tell me what I’m about to die for. You owe me that.”

“The only thing you’re owed is a bullet in the head.”

“So I should dump these, then,” Shar said. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”

As Shar baited Klea, his voice seemed to blare, filling the room with his careful prompts. Tamani could feel Laurel trying to catch his eye but now was not the time for one of their silent conversations. He forced himself to focus on the phone resting on the palm of his hand and did his best to breathe evenly.

Klea hesitated. “Fine. Don’t think it will spare you. They took me a long time to make and I’d prefer not to waste them, but this is only the final batch. Most of it has already been used.”

“Is this how you make the trolls immune to our poisons?”

“In Avalon, you treat the ill. Here, humans have learned to prevent illnesses before they happen. This is basically the same thing. An inoculation of sorts. So yes, it makes them immune.”

“Immune to faerie magic, you mean. Autumn magic.”

Tamani hadn’t heard the word inoculation before, but its meaning was sickeningly clear. Klea was making an entire horde of trolls immune to Autumn magic. All their troubles over the last few years — the dart that hadn’t worked on Barnes two years ago; Laurel’s serum that had knocked out four trolls in the lighthouse, but not Barnes; the caesafum globe that had no effect on the trolls after the Autumn Hop only a few short months ago; the tracking serums that stopped working. It was all Klea’s doing.

“That upper troll,” Shar said, catching on as quickly as Tamani had.

“Oh, yes. You remember Barnes. He was my guinea pig, way back when. That didn’t pan out so well and he decided to turn on me. But I find it terribly soothing to have a contingency plan or two in place. Don’t you?”

A forced laugh from Shar. “I could do with one of those about now myself.”

“Well said!” Klea chirruped in a tone that made Tamani want to smash the phone. “But we both know you haven’t got one. You’re either stalling because you’re afraid to die — which is dreadfully unbecoming — or you think you’re going to miraculously get this information back to Avalon before I invade, which isn’t going to happen. So if you’d be so kind as to step out here where I can kill you—”

“What do you think you’re going to do?” Shar interrupted, and Tamani forced himself to focus on Shar’s words instead of the terrifying images running through his head of what was about to happen to his best friend. “Torture Laurel until she tells you where the gate is? She won’t. She’s stronger than you think.”

“What the hell do I need Laurel for? I know where the gate is. Yuki plucked that tidbit out of Laurel’s head almost a week ago.”

Startled, Laurel looked up, her eyes pools of shock, but comprehension dawned on her face as Tamani made his own connections. Those headaches. The terrible one after the troll attack — when her mind would have been vulnerable and possibly turned to Avalon. Yuki’s phone call from Klea, the glittering look in her eyes — that must have been Klea’s plan the whole time, her motivation for sending trolls after them that night. And in addition to the smaller ones, Laurel had mentioned another massive headache in front of her locker, the last day of school — had even voiced concerns that Yuki might be the cause. But Tamani had dismissed it because they were about to capture her anyway. No wonder Klea had been so furious when Yuki insisted on staying for the dance — she’d completed her mission. She really had stayed out of misguided affection for Tamani.

Tamani closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply, evenly. Now was not the time to lose control.