Page 36 of Fae Trials

Helen grimaced. “Are you thinking about Prince Caulden?”

“All of them.” I pulled Helen to one side and told her about my encounter with Prince Rory.

Throughout my story, her jaw went slack. When I finished, she leaned into me and whispered, “Fate doesn’t mean true love. I bet he’s glad for the opportunity to get rid of Gala, but I can’t believe he would threaten you with death.”

My stomach tightened. “You think he’s serious?”

“The mere accusation of dark magic can get a person imprisoned without trial. If it came from one of the princes, and they were the target of a dark attack, I would expect an execution or worse.”

Goosebumps pimpled across my skin. “I’d better do as he asks, then.”

Someone screamed. It was a younger boy jumping from the diving board. He flapped his arms once before gravity pulled him down to the nets and made him bounce twelve feet.

The rest of the class broke into a round of mocking applause.

Helen shook her head. “Jumping won’t make him sprout wings.”

Remembering what she had said about faerie babies knowing how to fly, I gave her a sympathetic smile. “This class must be incredibly boring. What kind of things would you be learning in a regular lessons?”

“Advanced magic, the outside world, and court politics.” She walked to a box on the side of the wall and pulled off its lid, revealing a stack of hula hoops.

“What’s that?”

Helen selected an orange hoop. “Court politics is a study of etiquette, magical history, and ways not to offend upper royalty. Every faerie in the regular classes will serve at court one day. The classes here teach us how to represent our noble houses and the people we protect.”

“Oh.” I knew faeries held balls and went to court every day, but I’d never heard of them protecting anyone but themselves.

Maybe in the days of Queen Maeve, they did more for lesser beings. Nowadays, there was nothing to stop humans from becoming faerie prey, except for the protective magic King Oberon set up as part of his United Nations negotiations.

I reached into the box and pulled out a yellow hula hoop. “What do these do?”

“They’re children’s toys,” she said with a wistful sigh. “You’re supposed to manipulate them with your magic.”

“How?”

Helen threw the orange hoop at the far end of the gymnasium. It flew toward the pool and through the pairs of students doing their wing practice. Just before it reached the water, the hoop paused in mid-air and floated back toward us.

Mr. Whittaker walked over and beamed. “That’s wonderful, Lady Helenium! Can you make it glow?”

“Lady Helenium?” I whispered.

She grimaced. “My father is the Duke of Medietas, but I’m a ward of the academy until I regain my magic.”

The remedial teacher turned to me. “I think the calling hoop might be a little advanced for a newcomer. How’s your wing practice coming along?”

I flicked my head toward the appendages and scowled. “They have a mind of their own.”

“Give it time,” he said with a sad smile. “It took me several months before I could gain control of my wings.”

“Sir?” I asked.

“Call me Josiah,” he replied. “We don’t hold formalities in the remedial class.”

“Master Gladiolus told me you had human memories. Did you ever—”

He raised his palm, pain flashing across his features. “If you’re asking whether I looked for my human family, I did.”

“What happened?” I asked.