Spells. Aprilynne Pike

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “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 be ready.”

      “I’ll leave you then.” Aurora turned and looked at Jamison, but he waved a hand at her.

      “I will stay a few moments more before I return to the palace.”

      “Of course,” Aurora said with a nod before leaving them alone.

      Jamison stood in the doorway, surveying the room. As the sound of Aurora’s footsteps faded down the hall, Jamison spoke. “I haven’t been here since I escorted you to go and live with your parents thirteen years ago.” He looked up at her. “I hope you do not mind the rush into your work. We have so little time.”

      Laurel shook her head. “It’s fine. I just…I have so many questions.”

      “And most will have to wait,” Jamison said with a smile that softened his words. “The time you will spend here is too precious to be wasted on the manners and mores of Avalon. There are many years ahead for you to learn things like that.”

      Laurel nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she agreed.

      “Besides,” Jamison added with a sly look in his eye, “I am sure your friend Tamani would be more than happy to answer every question you have time to ask him.” He started to turn to go.

      “When will I see you again?” Laurel asked.

      “I will come for you when your eight weeks are up,” he said. “And I will make sure we have some time to discuss things,” he promised. With a brief farewell he left, pulling the door shut behind him, leaving Laurel feeling starkly alone.

      Standing in the middle of the room, Laurel turned in a circle, trying to take it all in. She didn’t remember this place, but there was a comfort to it – a realisation that, on some level, her tastes had not changed. Green had always been a favourite colour, and she generally chose simplicity over ornate patterns and designs. The canopy was a little girlish, but then, she had chosen it a lifetime ago.

      She walked over to the desk and sat down, noting to herself that the chair was just a little too small. She pulled out drawers and found sheets of thick paper, pots of paint, quill pens, and a composition book with her name on it. It took Laurel a few seconds to realise that the name looked so familiar because it was written in her own young-girl handwriting. Hands shaking, she carefully opened the book to the first page. It was a list of Latin words Laurel suspected were plants. She flipped through the pages and found more of the same. Even the English words didn’t make much sense. How utterly discouraging to realise that she had known more at seven than she did now, at sixteen. Or twenty, she corrected herself, or however old I’m supposed to be now. She tried not to think about her actual age too much; all it did was remind her of the seven years of her faerie life now lost to her memory. She felt sixteen; as far as she was concerned, she was sixteen. Laurel put the book back and stood to walk over to the wardrobe.

      Inside were several sundresses and a few ankle-length skirts made from a light, flowing material. A column of drawers revealed peasant-style blouses and fitted tops with cap sleeves. Laurel rubbed the material against her face, loving the silky soft feel of it. She tried on several and settled for a light pink sundress before continuing her exploration of the room.

      She didn’t get far before she walked to the window and caught her breath at the view below her. Her room overlooked the biggest flower garden she had ever seen; rows of flowers in every imaginable hue spread out below her in a cascade of colour almost as big as the grounds in front of the Academy. Her fingers pressed against the glass as she tried to take in the whole sight at once. It struck her as a waste that a room with such a magnificent view had just been sitting, empty, for the last thirteen years.

      A knock on the door startled Laurel and she hurried to answer it, adjusting her dress as she did. After taking a moment to smooth her hair, Laurel opened the door.

      “Laurel, I presume?” the tall faerie said with a smooth, deep voice. He studied her. “Well, you haven’t changed all that much.”

      A touch taken aback, Laurel could only stare blankly up at the faerie. She had seen pictures of herself as a child; she had changed immensely!

      The tall faerie wore what looked like linen Yoga trousers and a dark green shirt made of silky fabric that hung open at the chest in a way that did not seem the least bit sensual. Laurel considered her own tendency towards tank tops to expose more of her photosynthetic skin and decided this was similar. His demeanour was distinguished, formal. A look almost completely contradicted by his lack of shoes or socks.

      “I am Yeardley, professor СКАЧАТЬ