LITMIR.BIZ

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was not the right word. It was definitely falling to pieces, but ropes of green wound through the white marble as if sewing the walls together, and the canopy of an enormous tree spread out above it, shading half the structure beneath its leaves. “What’s that building?” Laurel asked the next time it came into view.

      “That is the Winter Palace,” Jamison said. “I live there.”

      “Is it safe?” Laurel asked dubiously.

      “Of course not,” Jamison replied. “It is one of the most dangerous places in all of Avalon. But I am safe there, as are its other occutrousers.”

      “Is it going to fall down?” Laurel asked, eyeing one corner that was done up like a corset with viridian laces.

      “No, indeed,” Jamison replied. “We Winter faeries have been caring for this palace for more than three thousand years. The roots of that redwood grow with the castle now, as much a part of the structure as the original marble. She would never let it fall.”

      “Why don’t you just build a new one?”

      Jamison was silent for a few moments, and Laurel worried that her question had offended him. But when he responded, he didn’t sound upset. “The castle is not only a home, Laurel. It also safeguards many things – things we cannot risk moving simply for convenience or for satisfying our vanity with a fancy new structure.” He gestured back at their stony grey destination with a smile. “We have the Academy for that.”

      Laurel looked back up at the castle with new eyes. Instead of the haphazard loops of green she had seen at first glance, she could now pick out the order and method in the latticework stripes. Careful braces on the corners, a web of roots supporting large expanses of wall – the tree really had become part of the castle. Or perhaps the castle had become a part of the tree. The whole structure seemed to lounge contentedly in the embrace of its sprawling roots.

      Around the next bend they came upon what Laurel first thought was a wrought-iron fence. A closer look revealed that it was actually a living wall. Branches wound and curved and wrapped about one another in complicated curlicues, like an impossibly complex bonsai tree. Two guards, one male, one female, stood at a gate, both in ceremonial armour of a vibrant blue, complete with shiny, plumed helmets. They both bowed low to Jamison and reached for their side of the gate.

      “Come,” Jamison said, beckoning Laurel forward when she hesitated at the gate. “They are waiting for you.”

      The grounds of the Academy were bustling with life. Dozens of faeries were at work around the yard. Some were dressed in fine, flowing dresses or light silken trousers and had books in their hands. Others were clad in more homespun cottons and busied themselves digging and pruning. Still others were picking flowers, searching the many heavy-laden bushes for perfect specimens. As Jamison and Laurel passed, most of the faeries paused in their work and bowed at the waist. But everyone at least inclined his or her head respectfully.

      “Are…” Laurel felt silly asking. “Are they bowing to me?”

      “It’s possible,” Jamison replied. “But I suspect they are mostly bowing to me.”

      His casual tone caught Laurel off guard. But clearly being bowed to was commonplace for Jamison. He did not even stop to acknowledge it. “Should I have bowed when you came to the gate?” Laurel asked, her voice a little unsteady.

      “Oh, no,” Jamison said readily. “You are a Fall faerie. You bow only to the Queen. A slight nod of respect is more than enough from you.”

      Laurel walked in silent confusion as they passed several more faeries. She watched the few who only inclined their heads. They caught her eye as she passed and she wasn’t sure quite how to take their expressions. Some seemed curious; others glared. Many were simply unreadable. Ducking her head timidly, Laurel hurried forward to keep pace with Jamison.

      As they approached the towering front doors, a set of footmen pulled them open and Jamison led Laurel into a spacious foyer with a domed ceiling made entirely of glass. Sunlight poured through it, nourishing the hundreds of potted plants adorning the room. The foyer was less busy than the grounds, though there were a few faeries sitting on loungers and at small desks with books out in front of them.

      An older faerie – not as old as Jamison, Laurel thought, though it was hard to tell with faeries – approached them and inclined her head. “Jamison, a pleasure.” She smiled at Laurel. “I assume this is Laurel; my, how you’ve changed.”

      Laurel was startled for a moment, then remembered that she had spent seven years in Avalon before going to live with her parents. The fact that she couldn’t remember anyone didn’t mean they couldn’t remember her. It made her strangely uncomfortable to wonder how many of the faeries she passed on the grounds could remember a past she would never recall.

      “I’m Aurora,” the faerie said. “I teach the initiates, who are both ahead of and behind you.” She laughed, as if at some private joke. “Come, I’ll show you to your room. We’ve freshened it up – traded outgrown things for new ones – but other than that we have left it undisturbed for your return.”

      “I have a room here?” Laurel asked before she could stop herself.

      “Of course,” Aurora said without looking back. “This is your home.”

      Home? Laurel glanced around at the austere foyer, the intricate banisters on the winding staircase, the sparkling windows and skylights. Had this really been her home? It looked – felt – so foreign. She glanced behind her where Jamison followed, but there certainly wasn’t any gawking from him. His surroundings in the Winter Palace were probably even more grand.

      On the third floor they approached a hallway lined with dark cherrywood doors. Names were painted on each in a glittering, curly script. Mara, Katya, Fawn, Sierra, Sari. Aurora stopped in front of a door that very clearly said Laurel.

      Laurel felt her chest tighten and time seemed to crawl as Aurora turned the knob and pushed the door open. It glided on silent hinges over a plush, crème-coloured carpet and revealed a large room with one wall made completely of glass. The other walls were draped in pale green satin that stretched from ceiling to floor. A skylight opened over half the room, shining down on to an enormous bed covered with a silk spread and enclosed by sheer curtains so light they ruffled in the hint of a breeze that came through the doorway. Modest but obviously well-constructed furniture – a desk, dresser, and armoire – completed the room. Laurel stepped inside and gazed slowly around, searching for something familiar, something that felt like home.

      But though it was one of the most beautiful rooms she had ever seen, she didn’t remember it. Not a wisp of a memory, no trace of recognition. Nothing. A wave of disappointment crashed over her, but she tried to hide it as she turned to Jamison and Aurora. “Thank you,” she said, hoping her smile wasn’t too tight. What did it matter that she didn’t remember? She was here now. That was the important thing.

      “I’ll let you unpack and freshen up,” Aurora said. Her eyes flitted over Laurel’s tank top and jean shorts. “You are welcome to wear whatever you like here at the Academy; however, you might find the clothing in your wardrobe a bit more comfortable. We guessed your size, but new clothing can be tailored for you as early as tomorrow, if you like. Those…breeches…you’re wearing – the fabric looks like it would chafe terribly.”

      A small chuckle from Jamison made Aurora stand a little straighter. “Ring this bell,” she said, pointing, “if you need anything. We have a full staff to attend you. You may do as you will for an hour, then I will send one of our fundamentals instructors up to begin your lessons.”

      “Today?” Laurel asked, a bit louder than she had intended.

      Aurora’s eyes darted to Jamison. “Jamison and the Queen herself have instructed us to make full use of the time you have with us. It is far too brief as it is.”

      Laurel nodded, a thrill of excitement and nervousness shooting through her. “OK,” she said. “I’ll

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