Spells

Laurel shrugged.

“Because they are patient,” Jamison said. “They are so still and seem harmless. They do nothing until the fly has wandered, complacently, into the heart of the trap. Only when capture is virtually inevitable does the flytrap move. Trolls are patient too, Laurel. Barnes will wait; he will wait until you relax and stop being careful. Then, and only then, will he strike.”

Laurel felt her throat tighten. “What can I do to stop him?” she asked.

“Practice what Yeardley has taught you,” Jamison replied. “That will be your greatest defense. Be especially careful when the sun is down—”

“Barnes can go out during the day,” Laurel interrupted. “We already know that.”

“It is not foolproof,” Jamison said, his voice betraying no annoyance at her interruption, “but it is still a fact that Barnes — any troll — will be at his weakest during the day, and you will be weakest when the sun has gone down. Being careful after sundown will not stop them, but it will at least cost them their advantage.” He sat a little straighter. “And it will give your guardians theirs.”

“My guardians?”

“After the incident last fall, we placed sentries in the woods near your new home. Shar did not want me to tell you — he feared it would only make you skittish — but I feel you have a right to know.”

“I’m being spied on again?” Laurel said, the old grudge rising up within her.

“No,” Jamison said firmly. “You are simply being guarded. There will be no faeries peeking into your windows or infringing upon your private moments. But your house is being watched and protected. It has also been warded against trolls; as long as you are in it, only the strongest of trolls can reach you. But be aware that the woods behind your house are home to more than just trees. The sentries are there to keep you from harm.”

Laurel nodded, her jaw tight. It still bothered her that she had been closely watched — and occasionally made to forget — by sentries for most of her life in the human world. Even this slightly less intrusive reinstatement of her personal guard felt instantly confining. But how could she argue? She had seen Barnes’s rage firsthand, watched him shoot Tamani, then drop twelve feet from a window and run off after Laurel shot him. He was a force to be reckoned with and even though Yeardley had faith in her fledgling skills, Laurel didn’t. She needed help, and there was no way to deny it.

Jamison was right, as usual. He exuded wisdom — even the wisest instructors at the Academy were pale, flickering candles next to the nourishing solar illumination of Jamison’s insights. It seemed silly that he was here, comforting her in the face of fear and self-doubt, when Avalon could be benefitting more directly from his guidance.

“Why—” But Laurel cut off her own question. She’d often wondered why, with so few Winter faeries to choose from, Jamison had not been selected as the ruler of Avalon. But it was none of her business.

“Go on.”

Laurel shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“You want to know…” Jamison studied her face, then smiled. He looked a little surprised but not at all displeased. “You want to know why I’m not King?”

Laurel drew in a breath quickly. “How did you—?”

“Some things in life are nothing more than chance, and this is one of them. The late Queen was a few years older than me but young enough to become the Queen at the time of succession. And by the time she passed to the earth”—he laughed—“well, I was no longer a sapling, to be bent and shaped into the role. Perhaps if there had been no other Winter faeries to take the crown…but thankfully, we have not been so desperate in many generations.”

“Oh.” Laurel didn’t know what else to say. I’m sorry seemed somehow inappropriate.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Jamison said, again seeming to read her thoughts. “I spent more than a hundred years as an adviser to one of the greatest Queens in Avalon’s considerable history.” The sparkle returned to his eye. “Or, at least, that is how I feel.” He sighed wearily. “This new Queen…well, with the growth that only time and experience can bring to fruition, perhaps her judgment will improve.”

His criticism of the Queen, though gentle, shocked Laurel. As far as she could tell, no one ever said anything untoward about her. But it made sense that another Winter faerie would have more freedom to speak his mind. She couldn’t help but wonder what, specifically, he thought the Queen was misjudging.

The thoughtful look on Jamison’s face made Laurel think of Tamani’s father. “Will you become a…a Silent One, Jamison?”

He looked down at her and laughed very softly. “Now who told you about them?”

She ducked her head in slight embarrassment and said nothing. When she looked up, Jamison was not looking at her but out the eastern window, where the World Tree’s gnarled branches and vast canopy could just be seen over the tops of the other, more ordinary trees, if you knew what you were looking for.

“It was Tamani, was it not?”

Laurel nodded.

“He’s brooded too much since his father undertook the joining. I hope you can help him find his happiness again.”

Again Laurel felt guilty and hoped Jamison didn’t know how long she had stayed away when Tamani had been expecting her.

“I’d have dearly loved to follow in Tam’s father’s footsteps,” Jamison said. “But the time has passed for me. I wouldn’t have the stamina anymore.” He looked back down at her, his smile crowding the sadness from his face — though not entirely. “I’m needed here. Sometimes one must put aside one’s own desires in order to serve the greater good. I fear Avalon is — as it has been so often in the past — balanced on a knife’s edge. I—” He glanced over at the guards, but they were studiously looking away. Nonetheless, he lowered his voice. “I have been to the tree, and I have listened to the wind.”

Laurel held her breath, her eyes locked with Jamison’s.

“There is a task for me still. Something no one but I can…or will…do. And so I am content to stay.”

Before she could question him further, Jamison stood and offered Laurel his arm. “Shall we proceed?”

They followed the familiar path out of the Academy, down to the walled square that housed the gates, and the sentries closed ranks behind them. Laurel was excited to see how Jamison would open her magical road home. She waited for him to do something amazing — a shower of sparks and flash of light or at least an ancient incantation — but all he did was reach out and pull on the gate, which glided on silent hinges. With a glance at the faeries behind him, he swung it all the way open and suddenly another group of sentries stood in a half-circle on the other side. At the center of the arc stood Shar — grave and gorgeous — and to his right, Tamani. All were in full sentry armor; an intimidating sight, but one Laurel was getting used to.

Jamison extended his arm once more, inviting Laurel to step through the gate. At the last second he grasped her shoulder gently and leaned close to her ear. “Come back,” he whispered. “Avalon needs you.”

But as she glanced over her shoulder, he was closing the gate. Two more seconds and the sight of Avalon melted into shadows and was gone.

“I’ll take that,” Tamani said, startling Laurel. She smiled and handed Tamani the large pink bag. He glanced at it and laughed. “Females and their clothes.”

Laurel grinned and turned to the gate for one last look. But it had already twisted into an average-looking tree again. She shook her head, still amazed at everything she’d seen this summer.

“As much as I wish we didn’t, we do need to hurry,” Tamani said. “We’re expecting your mother to be here soon and it would be better if you were waiting for her.” He placed a hand at her waist and Laurel sensed the other faeries melting into the forest as she and Tamani walked up the path.

Laurel felt awkward, the way she always did when it was time to say good-bye to Tamani. They walked in silence until they reached a spot just barely in sight of the cabin and the long driveway. “No one’s here yet,” Tamani said. “But I suspect it’s only a matter of minutes.”

“I—” Her voice caught, and she started over again. “I’m sorry there’s not more time.”

Tamani smiled softly. “I’m glad you’re sorry.” He leaned against a tree, lifting one leg up to brace himself against the trunk. He didn’t look at her. “How long will you stay away this time?”

Guilt burned in Laurel’s chest as she remembered what Jamison had said. “It’s not what you think.” She said.