Arabesque: A Wings Companion

Chapter Three

The closer Laurel and Chelsea drew to the Academy, the heavier their memories became, and their conversation dwindled like mist on the wind. The trolls brought suffering to all of Avalon, but as a group the Fall faeries had suffered more than most. More than three of every four Mixers had perished for Klea's pride.

Even so, the Academy changed little while the rest of Avalon changed much. Most of the tasks and roles traditionally held by Mixers couldn't be filled by anyone else. Still, small changes could have significant impact. No longer were Fall sprouts taken from their Spring parents and made children of the crown; that practice had been done away by Yasmine and Jamison a decade ago. Young Mixers still came to learn, but for the most part no longer lived in the Academy's halls. Far from seeming empty as a result, the Academy now hosted fae of all seasons, for though Mixing could only be done by those with the gift, anyone could make use of what the Fall faeries produced. Furthermore, anyone could imagine new uses for old recipes, and open communication between producers and consumers was generating something of an academic renaissance in Avalon.

So the grounds of the Academy still bustled with students, and if there were strictly fewer than when Laurel had been learning there, it wasn't by as great a margin as might have been. It would take centuries, at least, for Avalon to replenish its Fall faerie population after the madness Klea engineered. A decade and more had done little to dull the stab of anger Laurel always felt at the thought of the renegade Mixer and her vengeful dream of building her own twisted utopia on the island from which she had been exiled.

As they passed onto the grounds of the austere stone building, several students recognized Laurel and waved. It had been almost a year since Laurel's last visit—though Tamani came by a bit more frequently—and Laurel was excited to see whether Yeardley had made any significant changes. And then, as if summoned by her thoughts, he burst through the heavy doors to welcome them as they approached.

When Yeardley threw his arms around her, Laurel squeezed him hard. He was her favorite person in all of Avalon now that Jamison had passed and been buried amidst the roots of the World Tree. After the loss of most of the senior faculty, Yeardley had taken over the running of the Academy; as his hair had taken on more silver in the last few years, Laurel couldn't help but think of him as a Dumbledore of sorts, with the Academy his own personal Hogwarts. Though in light of his often brusque manner and the fact that the Academy mostly produced potions, Yeardley was arguably more of a Snape.

The old Mixer drew back and favored Laurel with a smile before turning to Chelsea, his eyes dancing with delight. "Chelsea! I didn't expect to see you again." He extended a hand to her, but rather than shaking it, he brought it to his lips and laid a soft kiss there. "Honored. Delighted. I'm only sorry that both our champions couldn't be here."

Laurel knew Chelsea's face must have clouded at least as much as hers. There had been a time when Chelsea wouldn't, couldn't speak to Laurel—after finding out how she'd helped David give up his memories of Avalon. Laurel understood and had given her friend the space she needed; in time, they'd reconnected. But it still wasn't something they talked about. Today was not the day for that conversation. Maybe that day would never come.

"Foolish of me," Yeardley said, sobering. "I shouldn't have mentioned it. Of course it still weighs on you."

Chelsea turned to look down the hill toward Summer, averting her face while she gathered her emotions.

"I actually brought Chelsea to see the line," Laurel said softly.

Yeardley smiled softly. "Of course. And Fiona. You must take her to see Fiona—she'd never forgive me if she knew you were both here and I'd not given her the opportunity to see Chelsea again."