Aprilynne Pike - Illusions

“It’s fine,” Tamani mumbled. “I need to be reminded of my place now and again.”

“Tamani, no,” Laurel said. “Not with me. I can’t change the way the rest of Avalon treats you — not yet, anyway. But with me, you are never just a Spring faerie,” she said, touching his arm.

He looked up at her, but only for a second before his eyes focused on the ground again, a deep crease between his eyebrows.

“Tam, what? What’s wrong?”

He met her eyes. “The Spring faerie down there, she didn’t know what I was. She just knew I was with you and I guess she assumed I was a Mixer too.” He hesitated. “She bowed to me, Laurel. Bowing is what I do. It was weird. I–I kinda liked it,” he admitted. He continued on, his confession spilling out with gathering momentum. “For just those few seconds, I wasn’t a Spring faerie. She didn’t look at a sentry uniform and immediately put me in my place. It — it felt good. And bad,” he tacked on. “All at the same time. It felt like—” His words were cut off by a soft knock at the door.

Disappointment flooded through Laurel as their conversation was cut short. “That’ll be Yeardley,” she said softly. Tamani nodded and took his place against the wall.

Laurel opened the door and was assaulted by a mass of pink silk. “I thought I heard you!” Katya squealed, throwing her arms around Laurel’s neck. “And I could hardly believe it. You didn’t tell me you were coming back so soon.”

“I didn’t know myself,” Laurel said, grinning. It was impossible not to smile around Katya. She was wearing a silky, sleeveless nightgown, its back cut low to accommodate the blossom Katya would have in another month or so. She had grown her blond hair down to her shoulders, which made her look even younger.

“Either way, I’m glad you’re here. How long can you stay?”

Laurel smiled apologetically. “Just a few minutes, I’m afraid. Yeardley is on his way up, and once I’m done speaking with him I need to get back to the gate.”

“But it’s dark,” Katya protested. “You should at least stay the night.”

“It’s still afternoon in California,” Laurel said. “I really do need to get home.”

Katya grinned playfully. “I guess if you must.” She looked at Tamani, her eyes a touch flirtatious. “Who’s your friend?”

Laurel reached out to touch Tamani’s shoulder, prompting him to step forward a little. “This is Tamani.”

To Laurel’s dismay, Tamani immediately dropped into a respectful bow.

“Oh,” Katya said, realization dawning on her. “Your soldier friend from Samhain, right?”

“Sentry,” Laurel corrected.

“Yes, that,” Katya said dismissively. She grabbed both of Laurel’s hands and didn’t give Tamani another look. “Now come over here and tell me what in the world you are wearing.”

Laurel laughed and allowed Katya to feel the stiff fabric of her denim skirt, but she shot Tamani an apologetic grimace. Not that it mattered; he was back to standing against the wall and averting his eyes.

Katya flounced down on the bed, the silken folds of her nightgown tracing her graceful curves, its low back revealing so much perfect skin. It made Laurel feel plain in her cotton tank top and skirt, and inspired a fleeting wish that she hadn’t brought Tamani upstairs. But she brushed the thought aside and joined her friend. Katya prattled on about inconsequential things that had happened in the Academy since Laurel’s departure only last month, and Laurel smiled. Just over a year ago, she wouldn’t have believed that the daunting, unfamiliar Academy was somewhere she might laugh and talk with a friend. But then, she had felt the same way about public school the year before that.

Things change , she told herself. Including me.

Katya sobered suddenly and reached out to place her fingertips on each side of Laurel’s face. “You look happy again,” Katya said.

“Do I?” Laurel asked.

Katya nodded. “Don’t mistake me,” she said in that formal way Katya had, “it was lovely to have you here this summer, but you were sad.” She paused. “I didn’t want to pry. But you’re happy again. I’m glad.”

Laurel was silent — surprised. Had she been sad? She ventured a glance at Tamani, but he didn’t seem to be listening.

A sharp rap sounded at the door and Laurel jumped off her bed and hurried to open it. There stood Yeardley, tall and imposing, wearing only a loose pair of drawstring breeches. His arms were folded across his bare chest and, as usual, he wasn’t wearing shoes.

“Laurel, you asked for me?” His tone was stern, but there was warmth in his eyes. After two summers of working together he seemed to have grown a soft spot for her. Not that you could tell by the amount of class work he gave her. He was — above all else — a demanding tutor.

“Yes,” Laurel answered quickly. “Please come in.”

Yeardley walked to the center of the room and Laurel began to shut the door.

“Do you need me to leave?” Katya asked quietly.

Laurel looked down at her friend. “No… no, I don’t think so,” Laurel said, glancing at Tamani. “It’s really not a secret; not here, anyway.”

Tamani met her eyes. There was tension in his face, and Laurel half expected him to contradict her, but after a moment he looked away and shrugged. She turned back to Yeardley.

“I need a way to test a faerie’s, um, season.” Laurel would not use the word caste . Not in front of Tamani. Preferably not ever.

“Male or female?”

“Female.”

Yeardley shrugged, nonchalant. “Watch for her blossom. Or for pollen production on males in the vicinity.”

“What about a faerie who hasn’t blossomed yet?”

“You can go to the records room — it’s just downstairs — and look her up.”

“Not here,” Laurel said. “In California.”

Yeardley’s eyes narrowed. “A faerie in the human world? Besides yourself, and your entourage?”

Laurel nodded.

“Unseelie?”

The Unseelie were still a mystery to Laurel. No one would talk about them directly, but she had gathered from bits and pieces that they all lived in an isolated community outside one of the gates. “I don’t think so. But there is some… confusion regarding her history, so we can’t be sure.”

“And she doesn’t know what season she is?”

Laurel hesitated. “If she does, it’s not something I can ask her.”

Comprehension dawned on Yeardley’s face. “Ah, I see.” He sighed and pressed his fingers against his lips, contemplating. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone ask for such a thing. Have you, Katya?”

When Katya shook her head, Yeardley continued. “We keep meticulous records of every seedling in Avalon, so this problem presents a unique challenge. But there must be something . Perhaps you could formulate a potion of your own?”

“Am I ready for that?” Laurel asked hopefully.

“Almost certainly not,” Yeardley said in his most matter-of-fact tone. “But practice needn’t always lead to success, after all. I think it would be good for you to begin learning the basic concepts of fabrication. And this seems a fine place to start. An identification powder, like Cyoan,” he said, referencing a simple powder that identified humans and non-humans. “Except you would have to figure out what separates the castes on a cellular level, and I’m unaware of much research in that area. It simply doesn’t lead anywhere.”

“What about thylakoid membranes?” Katya asked softly. As one, they all turned to face her.

“What was that?” Yeardley asked.

“Thylakoid membranes,” Katya continued, a little louder this time. “In the chloroplasm. The thylakoid membranes of Sparklers are more efficient. For lighting their illusions.”