This reply appeared to mollify Quinn, as he turned his attention back to the gathering.
A few more stragglers arrived at the glen. It wasn’t the entire crowd from the feast the evening before, but Becka recognized most of the faces even if she didn’t remember all of the names.
A collective hush swept across the gathering as the first presenter raised her hand.
“I studied with Tesse for a short time,” she said in clear, yet tremulous tones. “But she impressed upon me the importance of understanding the connections between us all. For what one person feels, we all hold the echo within us.”
She moved her hand then as a conductor would before a band, but instead of music the trees, wildflowers, and grasses swayed in response to her movements. The effect was hypnotic.
Becka tried to find the line between the illusionists magic and herself. She studied the plants under her feet. There was some downtrodden yarrow and grass underfoot, but none of that moved. Yet, within a foot of her shoes, the tiny undulation started, magnifying in intensity as Becka looked further from her body.
How did the illusionists manage to blend the real with the creation so seamlessly? Becka would never know, as trade secrets were for initiates.
Magic had never ceased to awe her, and yet, Becka had often wished to have been born into a house with a different gift than illusions. Hawthorne could control fire. Ash, water. Those within House Birch claimed great abilities within reproductive health, often doing their community service within city hospitals preventing infant mortality and birth complications. Those were no mere illusions, but instead saving and improving lives daily. Even Vott’s gifts from Air, being able to hear whispers of truth on the wind, were more useful than the illusionists.
Although she could appreciate the cousin’s performance, none of it was real. What did it matter, in the end? In a few minutes the performance ended, a low murmur of appreciation taking the place of what humans would applaud. Perhaps she only felt this way because of being cast out, losing faith not just in Rowan but in the magic they wielded.
Becka wanted to be somewhere else. Like, home, safe with her Aunt Lydia. Or at the Institute. researching for Dr. Traut. Somewhere without a mystery murderer. And emotional family drama. Becka doubted she’d brought along enough hot sauce for this trip.
“This should be interesting,” Quinn whispered, startling Becka out of her reverie.
She followed his nod and watched as her Aunt Astrid took the stage.
“How is she the next in line?” Becka whispered. “Astrid is well beyond being a novice. Don’t they usually work their way up?”
Quinn shrugged. “What do you think it means?”
Astrid drew herself up to her full height. “Tesse was our most gifted student at House Rowan. Although I was one of her teachers, she taught me what remains one of my most loved transformations. I hope you enjoy this honoring of her inspiration.”
Astrid stood on the boulder motionless save a single tear which ran down her cheek. She must have been very close to Tesse. The thought that Tesse’s teacher and mentor was also her friend comforted Becka.
A light breeze kicked up in the glen, and along with it the threatening storm clouds of an impending headache.
A woman next to Becka uttered a surprised gasp as she stared into the trees, and Becka followed her line of sight.
“Can you even believe the perfection of the fragrance?” the woman exclaimed to everyone and no one. Becka hadn’t picked up on it yet.
The trees all around them were suddenly covered in budding blossoms. At first, they were tight, purple pinpricks, but within moments the blossoms started to unfold. Moments later the fragrance of cherry blossoms intensified, as the trees appeared covered in a cotton candy of petals. The breeze, languid with the midday sun, caught a never-ending stream of petals from the branches and rained them down upon the crowd. Soon enough the forest floor was carpeted, and yet the branches showed no signs of depleting their burgeoning stores.
Amazed by the all-encompassing nature of the illusion, it took a few minutes for Becka to notice something was off.
There were no blossoms near her feet. They swirled around her, but never came into contact. Becka watched a pair of fae children, unruly despite the occasion, throw handfuls of blossoms as one might snowballs, with the recipient being dashed in the face by heaps of petals. Yet, when Becka reached out to grasp one, it drifted away.
“What’s wrong?” Quinn asked. Becka noted his hair was dotted with petals.
“Oh, I don’t think my Aunt Astrid likes me very much. That’s all.” Becka kicked her toe at some nearby blossoms and they swirled away, refusing her contact. She shrugged.
“That’s unusually personal for an event such as this,” Quinn frowned. “But you did not have the best of interactions yesterday.”
“You aren’t kidding.” Becka shifted on her feet, eager to be done with the event.
“We fae can be petty. I would not concern yourself with it.”
She didn’t want to admit to being hurt over the slight, instead choosing to shrug it off. “I’m not worried. Or even upset. I might be bored?” And disappointed over Astrid being petty, but she didn’t want to say that out loud.
Becka glanced around her, turned, and threaded her way through the crowd back towards the house. She knew without looking Quinn would be close on her heels. No one paid her much mind, nor did anyone appear to notice or care about the trail devoid of blossoms she left in her path.
No doubt they’d be on to the subsequent round of excitement soon enough, her exit forgotten with the next shiny bauble of amusement.
Once they’d cleared the grove and walked along the empty path back to the manor, Quinn came up alongside her.
“Where are we off to now?”
“Maura recommended I see the showing of Tesse’s creations. I’m guessing the display will
