head.
The little faerie’s face brightened considerably and Rhoslyn herded her down the narrow hall, leaving Tamani and Laurel alone.
“Is she really only three?” Laurel asked.
“Aye. And very normal for a faerie her age,” Tamani said, lounging in the broad armchair. It was fascinating for Laurel to watch him. She had never seen him quite so at ease.
“You told me that faeries age differently, but I…” Her voice trailed off.
“You didn’t believe me?” Tamani said with a grin.
“I believed you. Just, seeing it is something else.” She looked over at him. “Are faeries ever babies?”
“Not in the sense that you mean.”
“And I was older than Rowen when I went to live with my parents?”
Tamani nodded, a small smile flirting with the corners of his mouth. “You were seven. Just barely.”
“And you and I—we went to school together?”
He chuckled. “What good would Fall faerie classes have done me?”
“So how did I know you?”
“I spent a lot of time at the Academy with my mother.”
As if sensing she was being spoken of, Rhoslyn walked back into the room with cups of warm heliconia nectar. Laurel had tasted it once at the Academy, where she was informed that the sweet beverage was a favorite in Avalon and often hard to come by. She felt complimented to be served it now.
“What is a Gardener?” Laurel asked, addressing Rhoslyn now. “Tamani said it was like a midwife.”
Rhoslyn clicked her tongue disparagingly. “Tamani and his human words. Can’t say I know what a midwife is, but a Gardener is a Tender who nurtures germinating sprouts.”
“Oh.” But Laurel was still confused. “Don’t the parents take care of them themselves?”
Rhoslyn shook her head. “Not enough time. Sprouts need constant and very specialized tending. We all have daily tasks to do, and if every mother took off a year or longer to tend her sprout, too many jobs would go undone. Besides, a couple might decide to make a seed just to get out of a year of work, and new life is far too important to be undertaken for so frivolous a reason.”
Laurel wondered what Rhoslyn would have to say about the many frivolous reasons humans found for having babies, but she remained silent.
“Sprouts are nurtured in a special garden at the Academy,” Rhoslyn continued, “like all the other important plants and flowers. Spring and Summer seedlings learn to work by watching others, often their own parents, so Tamani spent a lot of time at the Academy with me.”
“And I was there?”
“Of course. From the time your sprout opened, just like all the other Fall faeries.”
Laurel looked up at Tamani and he nodded. “From the very first day. Like I said. They don’t know you.”
Laurel nodded forlornly.
“Laurel’s having a little difficulty with her lack of fae parents,” Tamani explained quietly.
“Oh, don’t fret,” Rhoslyn chided. “The separation is an important part of your upbringing. Parents would just get in the way.”
“What? How?” Laurel asked, a little disturbed by the casual tone that Rhoslyn—a mother herself—was using to dismiss Laurel’s unknown parents.
“Chances are good your parents were Spring faeries; they would have had no idea how to teach a young Fall seedling. A Fall must be free from these kinds of random attachments with lower faeries,” she said calmly, as if she were not speaking of herself. “They must learn to cultivate their minds to do the work they’re expected to perform. Fall faeries are very important to our society. After even this short time at the Academy, surely you must see that.”
Laurel’s mind latched on to the phrase random attachments . Parents were far more than that. Or at least they should be.
Despite the coziness of Tamani’s home, Laurel found herself wanting to flee the conversation. “Tamani,” she said abruptly, “we’ve walked so far; I’m worried that we’ll be late getting back to the Academy.”
“Oh, don’t concern
The little faerie’s face brightened considerably and Rhoslyn herded her down the narrow hall, leaving Tamani and Laurel alone.
“Is she really only three?” Laurel asked.
“Aye. And very normal for a faerie her age,” Tamani said, lounging in the broad armchair. It was fascinating for Laurel to watch him. She had never seen him quite so at ease.
“You told me that faeries age differently, but I…” Her voice trailed off.
“You didn’t believe me?” Tamani said with a grin.
“I believed you. Just, seeing it is something else.” She looked over at him. “Are faeries ever babies?”
“Not in the sense that you mean.”
“And I was older than Rowen when I went to live with my parents?”
Tamani nodded, a small smile flirting with the corners of his mouth. “You were seven. Just barely.”
“And you and I—we went to school together?”
He chuckled. “What good would Fall faerie classes have done me?”
“So how did I know you?”
“I spent a lot of time at the Academy with my mother.”
As if sensing she was being spoken of, Rhoslyn walked back into the room with cups of warm heliconia nectar. Laurel had tasted it once at the Academy, where she was informed that the sweet beverage was a favorite in Avalon and often hard to come by. She felt complimented to be served it now.
“What is a Gardener?” Laurel asked, addressing Rhoslyn now. “Tamani said it was like a midwife.”
Rhoslyn clicked her tongue disparagingly. “Tamani and his human words. Can’t say I know what a midwife is, but a Gardener is a Tender who nurtures germinating sprouts.”
“Oh.” But Laurel was still confused. “Don’t the parents take care of them themselves?”
Rhoslyn shook her head. “Not enough time. Sprouts need constant and very specialized tending. We all have daily tasks to do, and if every mother took off a year or longer to tend her sprout, too many jobs would go undone. Besides, a couple might decide to make a seed just to get out of a year of work, and new life is far too important to be undertaken for so frivolous a reason.”
Laurel wondered what Rhoslyn would have to say about the many frivolous reasons humans found for having babies, but she remained silent.
“Sprouts are nurtured in a special garden at the Academy,” Rhoslyn continued, “like all the other important plants and flowers. Spring and Summer seedlings learn to work by watching others, often their own parents, so Tamani spent a lot of time at the Academy with me.”
“And I was there?”
“Of course. From the time your sprout opened, just like all the other Fall faeries.”
Laurel looked up at Tamani and he nodded. “From the very first day. Like I said. They don’t know you.”
Laurel nodded forlornly.
“Laurel’s having a little difficulty with her lack of fae parents,” Tamani explained quietly.
“Oh, don’t fret,” Rhoslyn chided. “The separation is an important part of your upbringing. Parents would just get in the way.”
“What? How?” Laurel asked, a little disturbed by the casual tone that Rhoslyn—a mother herself—was using to dismiss Laurel’s unknown parents.
“Chances are good your parents were Spring faeries; they would have had no idea how to teach a young Fall seedling. A Fall must be free from these kinds of random attachments with lower faeries,” she said calmly, as if she were not speaking of herself. “They must learn to cultivate their minds to do the work they’re expected to perform. Fall faeries are very important to our society. After even this short time at the Academy, surely you must see that.”
Laurel’s mind latched on to the phrase random attachments . Parents were far more than that. Or at least they should be.
Despite the coziness of Tamani’s home, Laurel found herself wanting to flee the conversation. “Tamani,” she said abruptly, “we’ve walked so far; I’m worried that we’ll be late getting back to the Academy.”
“Oh, don’t concern
Similar Books
