Wild. Aprilynne Pike

that supported large portions of the structure from afar, but as they drew closer she could see where tiny threads sprouted from the vines, enmeshing themselves in the shimmering white stone, encasing the castle in a lover’s embrace. Laurel had never seen a building that looked so alive!

      At the top of the slope, they came to an enormous white archway. On either side sprawled the disintegrating ruins of what must have once been a magnificent wall, and as they passed into the courtyard, Laurel saw that she was surrounded by destruction. Crumbling relics – from statues and fountains to sections of the destroyed wall – jutted incongruously from the beautifully manicured lawn. Nowhere else had Laurel seen such disrepair in Avalon. Everything at the Academy was fixed as soon as it was broken, every structure meticulously maintained. Everywhere else she had visited in Avalon seemed much the same – but not the palace. Laurel couldn’t imagine why.

      Inside, however, the palace was bustling with faeries dressed in crisp white uniforms, polishing every surface and watering hundreds of plants potted in elaborately crafted urns. It had the same familiar neatness and luxury that Laurel had gotten used to seeing at the Academy. She and Tamani followed Yasmine to the foot of a wide, grand staircase. The more steps they mounted, the quieter the chamber grew. At first Laurel thought it was a trick of acoustics, but by the time they were halfway up the staircase, the entire room was silent.

      Laurel ventured a glance over her shoulder. Tamani was right behind her, but his hands, which had been trembling very slightly before, were now clasped so tightly Laurel imagined he must be hurting himself. Every faerie servant on the floor below them was staring, dusters and watering cans held limply in their unmoving hands. Even the Am fear-faire had stopped at the foot of the stairs, not following when Yasmine began her ascent.

      “We’re going into the upper rooms of the Winter Palace,” Tamani whispered quietly, his voice strained. “No one goes into the upper rooms. Except Winter faeries, I mean.”

      Laurel looked up to the top of the stairs. Rather than opening into a wide foyer, as she had expected, they ended in a huge set of double doors, heavily gilded where they showed through a thick hanging of vines. They were the largest doors Laurel had ever seen. They looked too big, too heavy, for Yasmine to move at all.

      But the young faerie didn’t pause as she reached them. She raised both her hands in front of her, palms out, and made a gentle pushing motion towards the doors without actually touching them. There was visible effort in her movement, as though something in the air was pushing back at her, and gradually, with the rustling of greenery, the doors glided open, just wide enough to pass through single file.

      Yasmine looked back at Laurel calmly, expectantly. After a moment’s hesitation, Laurel eased through the door, followed by a slightly more reluctant Tamani.

      It was like walking under the canopy of the World Tree. The air was alive with magic – with power.

      “We do not frequently allow other fae into the upper chambers,” Yasmine said calmly, “but Jamison felt that anything which would cause our scion to demand a meeting with him must surely call for secrecy only the upper rooms can provide.”

      Laurel was starting to regret her haste and the impulsive demands she had made to get here. She wondered what Jamison would do when he discovered why they had come. Was a wild faerie in Laurel’s school worth all this concern?

      “He’s back here,” Yasmine said, beckoning them through a cavernous room decorated in white and gold. An eclectic mix of items was on display atop a series of alabaster pillars – a small painting, a pearl-encrusted crown, a shiny silver cup. Laurel squinted at a long-necked lute made of a very dark wood. Cocking her head to the side, she stepped off the deep-blue carpet that streaked across the room and headed towards the lute, obeying a pull it seemed unnecessary to question. She paused before it, wanting nothing else so much as to strum its delicate strings.

      Just as she reached for it, Yasmine’s hand wrapped round her wrist and pulled her arm back with surprising strength. “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” she said matter-of-factly. “My apologies, I should have warned you; we are all used to the lure. We hardly notice it any more.”

      Yasmine padded softly back to the dark-blue rug, her bare feet making no sound on the marble floor. Laurel looked back at the lute. She still wanted to play it, but the pull wasn’t quite as strong as before. She hurried away before she could dwell on it too long.

      They turned a corner at the end of the vast room. By the time Laurel saw Jamison, he had already heard them coming. He turned from whatever he was doing and stepped towards them through a marble archway, gesturing broadly with both arms as he approached. From either side of the archway, two massive stone walls slid slowly together with a deep, echoing rumble. Over Jamison’s shoulder Laurel glimpsed a sword, driven point-down into a squat granite block. The blade gleamed like a polished diamond before vanishing behind the heavy slabs.

      “Any luck?” Yasmine asked.

      “No more than usual,” he said with a smile.

      “What was that?” Laurel asked, before she thought to stop herself.

      But Jamison just waved her question away. “An old problem. And like most old problems, nothing urgent. But you,” he said, smiling, “I’m happy to see you.” He extended one hand to Laurel and one to Tamani. Laurel was quick to grasp his hand in both of hers, while inclining her head respectfully. Tamani hesitated, gripped Jamison’s hand in a traditional handshake, then let his hand drop and bent formally at the waist without saying anything at all.

      “Come,” Jamison said, gesturing to a small room just off the marble hall, “we can talk in here.” Laurel walked into the finely furnished room and sat on one end of a red brocade sofa. Jamison took his place in a large armchair on her left. She looked up at Tamani, who stood, hesitating. He glanced at the spot beside her, then – changing his mind, or perhaps losing his nerve – stood against the wall and folded his hands in front of him.

      Yasmine lingered in the doorway.

      Jamison looked up. “Yasmine, thank you for escorting my guests. We have a great deal of training tomorrow. The sun has nearly set and I don’t want you exhausted.”

      Laurel saw the beginnings of a pout form on Yasmine’s lips, but at the last second she pulled it back. “Of course, Jamison,” she said politely, then slowly withdrew, sneaking one last peek before disappearing round the corner. In that moment Laurel was sharply reminded that, in spite of being powerful and revered, Yasmine was still only a child – and so was Laurel, especially to someone as ancient and wise as Jamison.

      “So,” Jamison said once Yasmine’s footsteps had faded, “what can I do for you?”

      “Well,” Laurel said shyly, increasingly certain that her actions back at the gate had been rash and unjustified. “It’s important,” she blurted finally, “but I don’t know that it justifies all this,” she said, gesturing to the grandeur surrounding them.

      “Better overprepared than overconfident,” Jamison said. “Now tell me.”

      Laurel nodded, trying to stifle her sudden rush of nerves. “It’s Klea,” she began. “She’s back.”

      “I did expect that,” Jamison nodded. “Surely you didn’t think we’d seen the end of her?”

      “I didn’t know,” Laurel said defensively. “I thought maybe—“ She cut herself off. That wasn’t the point. She cleared her throat and straightened. “She brought someone with her. A faerie.”

      This time Jamison’s eyes widened and he glanced at Tamani. Tamani met the old faerie’s gaze, but said nothing, and after a moment Jamison returned his attention to Laurel. “Go on.”

      Laurel related Klea’s story – how Yuki was found as a seedling, how trolls had killed her parents. “Klea asked me to keep an eye on her. To be her friend, I guess. Because she knows I managed to escape from the trolls before.”

      “Klea,” Jamison said softly. He looked at Laurel. “What does she