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He was handsome and seemingly ageless, as most of the Fae were. He could have been twenty or he could have been a thousand. He filled out his dress shirt well, and had replaced the plain buttons with gold, and pinned sequins over the lapels of his blazer. His skin was dark and olive-toned, much closer to the human norm than Oleander’s verdant skin. I couldn’t tell if it was real or a well-done faerie glamour. His curls were the color of fresh-turned soil and framed a handsome face and strong jaw. He had a kind smile and soft amber eyes.
“That goes for you too, Miss Depraysie. No more name calling or wagging tongues.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, sinking back down onto my pillow as he strode past.
I propped my book onto my crossed legs, trying to recover my place. But before I could rifle through the pages to find my spot, I saw new words scrawling themselves onto the page.
“Give those bitches hell, Depraysie. I look forward to meeting you soon. Best of luck, Morgana Grimsbane.”
I bit my lip to contain a smile.
Finally, a Grimsbane who didn’t hate me. I didn’t know how or why, or even if I could trust the text or whoever was writing it. But it was something, at least. And for now, that was good enough for me.
Chapter Eleven
“You’ll notice that I’ve dismissed half the class,” Professor Lavant said, voice carrying through the room, though he hadn’t raised his voice. “And before any of you start crying favoritism, this is for your safety and out of respect for the time of my fellow instructors. It’s very easy to lose track of time in a faerie ring, and any Fae in the room would be compelled to dance if they hear the songs that I’m about to play for you.”
As Professor Lavant spoke, I couldn’t stop thinking about one mystery I had no way of solving—why did Vivian seem to think Rook had been the one to procure my books and supplies for me? It didn’t make any sense. I kept running through the last week in my head and there hadn’t been a moment when I’d said two words to Rook—he’d avoided me and I’d avoided him and yet… yet Vivian seemed to think there was something going on with us? Why?
An excited murmur ran through the room and I glanced up, telling myself to pay attention. Even I couldn’t stop myself from leaning forward with interest when Professor Lavant sat what looked like empty antique crystal jars on the table. His eyes twinkled knowingly. He continued, speaking over the eager whispers of his pupils.
“Nobles from all four courts have deigned to share their magical songs so you can learn how best to defend against being swept up into faerie revelries. If you’ve done your homework, you should know how to observe and enjoy without losing yourself. I’ll give you all a few minutes to prepare. We’ll start with Winter and then work our way through the other courts: Spring, Summer, and Fall. Raise your hands when you feel ready to begin.”
Well, crap. I hadn’t had much time to skim, let alone memorize the theory. I spent the next few minutes trying to absorb as much as I could from the book while the others sat, eyes closed, bracing themselves with spells, prayers, or other warding magic. I had to settle for centering myself and drawing on the first thing I could think of for calm. The cool emptiness of Lorcan’s chest, with his unbeating heart. The solid presence of my father figure, encouraging me when my confidence flagged. I could still remember what he’d said to me at the Assembly, when I’d quailed under the eyes of so many witches.
“You are so much better than any of them.”
The words bolstered my defenses, just as they had then, and I raised my hand. A glance around the room revealed I was the last to do so, which was a little embarrassing, but it couldn’t really be helped.
“Excellent. Let’s get started.”
The room was silent as we watched. Even Vivian’s attention was fixed on the jars. In a fluid motion and the clink of crystal, the professor unscrewed the top of the first jar. Cold poured into the room with no visible source. It bit deep, numbing my ears and the tips of my nose. I had to clench my jaw tight to keep my teeth from clacking together. I expected ice to creep along the floor, or for flurries to pile up on the windowsills. I could feel flakes settling on my eyelashes, in my hair, and my shoulders. The smell of woodsmoke and pine filled the room, and the taste of honeyed mead and sugar cookies lingered on the tip of my tongue.
I was suddenly very grateful to Oleander and his shortcut. If I hadn’t felt a variation of this while stepping into Summer, I might have been sucker punched by what I was seeing, hearing, and feeling. Because this song, bottled at the source, was more potent than the small gateway a lone Sidhe lord had built. It really was a song, composed of whipping winter winds, the wavering, mournful howl of wolves, the chime of bells, the crackle of a fire, and the melody of carols far off in the distance all at once. I couldn’t help but smile in reply, and I was having the mildest reaction in class. One angel girl was weeping openly, while others let out childish laughs of glee, trying to catch the illusionary snow on their tongues. Vivian looked a little homesick, probably thinking of Yule celebrations with her family.
Professor Lavant watched us with a small, satisfied smile, pushing one girl back down into her seat when she rose, glassy-eyed, and began to sway. She was a petite Asian woman with a pretty face and ruler-straight black hair that reached her waist.
“That was Winter’s song,” he said with a smile, giving the girl a small jolt to snap her out of her daze. “Do you have a strong association with the season, Hime? Your shields are normally flawless.”
Hime ducked her head, letting her inky hair shield her flushed face. “Yes, Professor. My great-great grandmother was the Yuki-onna.”
“Ah, yes, that would do it,” he said. “Do you feel up to continuing?”
She nodded. Professor Lavant gave her shoulder a small squeeze before he returned to the table. He unscrewed the second jar with care and set the lid aside. Almost immediately, I felt a light spring drizzle on any exposed portion of my skin. It was tepid, chasing away the worst of the winter chill. The air was cool but sweet, perfumed by the smell of new grass and the blooms of hyacinth, apple blossoms, and daffodils. Bird song filled my ears, accompanied by the wind rustling in the trees, the drone of bees, the chirp of crickets, and the patter of rain on a sidewalk. I tasted strawberries and clover honey.
Again, I was braced for the onslaught but never really felt anything come, while others reacted strongly. No one stood or tried to dance this time around, but there were more tears, and a few awkwardly timed laughs. It made me feel a little better to see that Vivian’s eyes were shiny with tears, clearly affected by the beauty of what she was hearing. I had no reaction whatsoever to Summer’s song, having been exposed to it hundreds of times by now. I was shedding the songs like water, able to withstand their effects better than almost anyone in the class.
And then the professor opened the final jar, letting Autumn’s song spill into the room. And, suddenly, it felt as though I was hearing the music through my chest rather than my ears.
The notes of the song cascaded and built, intricate crescendos filling incensed air. I didn’t hear or see anything I normally associated with Autumn. Instead, I was lulled by the minor tones and dim room. I was catapulted back to my youth, the notes dredging up a half-remembered memory or dream.
My small, pudgy hands were buried in a leaf pile, happily scooping them up and flinging them into the air with peals of delighted laughter. They caught in my hair, disappeared down my ruffled shirt, and landed in my lap. Undeterred, I did it again.
“We can’t keep doing this, Fennec,” a soft female voice said from behind me. It was my mother, but she was talking to someone else. I wasn’t paying too much attention, too fascinated by the appearance of a red fox and the tiny faerie riding on its back to listen in.
“If we keep going like this, I’ll have another child.”
“Would that be so bad?” a rumbling male voice asked. “We have two beautiful children already. What’s one more?”
