Page 32 of Fae Trials

At the end of his speech, Mr. Whittaker clapped his hands together. “We have a new joiner today. Everybody, say hello to Unity Quayle.”

The students sitting around the U-shaped arrangement muttered their unenthusiastic greetings, and some of them continued doodling on their notebooks. I couldn’t blame them for not seeming committed to getting to know me. By this time tomorrow, I’d probably be murdered.

“I’m Helenium.” The orange-haired girl held out her hand. “But everyone calls me Helen.”

“Unity.” I wrinkled my nose. “But you already know that.”

“Right then.” Mr. Whittaker strode into the vast space between the desks. “What’s everyone finding to be the best way to express your magic?”

Helen’s hand shot up. “Dream walking!”

The teacher smiled. “One of our more advanced techniques but very powerful. Could you explain what that means to Unity?”

“Of course, it works for her,” snapped a mean-looking girl with hair as dark as a crow. “She’s a full-blooded faerie from a noble house.”

Helen bowed her head. “That doesn’t mean things come easily for me, you know.”

I took another look at my new companion. She was pretty with flame-colored highlights in her burnt orange hair—stunning by human standards, but no way at the level of the intense beauty of the Fated. I wondered how on earth a faerie of noble birth ended up in the remedial class with all the half-bloods.

Mr. Whittaker frowned. “Florensis, the remedial class is the only safe space within the Royal Fae Academy where no one is disparaged for their background. Is that understood?”

The dark-haired girl nodded, but her expression did nothing to hide the fierce intensity of her resentment.

I raised my hand. “How does dream walking work?”

“Would you like to explain it to Unity?” asked Mr. Whittaker.

Helen shook her head, and I turned to the Florensis girl and scowled. Why go to such an effort to make someone else feel bad? Before she could give me a what-do-you-think-you’re-looking-at glare, I turned my attention to the remedial class teacher.

“There are three states of being: the waking world, which we’re experiencing right now, the dream world, where we visit during our sleep, and the realm of magic.” He paused and swept his gaze around the bored faces sitting behind the desks, making sure everyone was paying attention.

I leaned forward, my brows furrowing. Everyone looked like they didn’t care for his lecture or had given up trying to find their magic. Gladiolus had implied that I had power but that it was locked deep within my core. Accessing it would give me the best chance of surviving the Fated and finding Sicily.

The teacher continued. “Magic users are adept at reaching a twilight state—it’s that part of reality where whatever is possible in your dreams is also possible in the waking world.”

“Let’s have a demonstration, then.” Florensis leaned back in her seat with her arms folded and glowered at Helen.

“We’ll all do an exercise together.” Mr. Whittaker strode in front of Florensis, blocking the girls’ views of each other. “Everybody close your eyes and focus on the patterns behind their lids. See what comes out of the darkness and imagine it into the waking world. Practicing that every day will make your magic stronger!”

Groans filled the room. Ignoring everyone else’s pessimism, I sat straighter in my seat and closed my eyes.

My mind jumped to the clearing and the sight of Sicily surrounded by those dark faeries with membranous wings. In my mind, I reached out to grab my sister, but she turned into mist, which swirled around my body and surged into my chest.

Panic flashed behind my eyelids, as white as sheet lightning and bright enough to burn my retinas. Clenching my teeth, I kept my eyes closed and reminded myself that this was just a class exercise.

“Eunice?” said a distant voice.

The bright light cleared, and Prince Rory’s smug face filled my vision. Except he was shirtless and flexing prominent pectoral muscles. The faerie’s orange wings were fully retracted and glowing like the midday sun. My gaze trailed down his pecs, over a defined six-pack and to a huge erection protruding from a thatch of pubes that matched his russet hair.

My breathing became ragged, and heat flooded my core. What kind of dream walking was this?

Giggles filled the classroom, and my eyes snapped open. Everyone was staring at me.

Mr. Whittaker’s cheeks were pink. “Miss Quayle, may I ask what you were thinking about?”

“Nothing, much,” I muttered.

Florensis leaned forward, amusement dancing in her purple eyes. “Your wings are smoldering.”