Page 33 of Fae Games

“I was wondering what happened the day before you found yourself with wings.”

The remedial teacher stared down at me, compassion shining in his eyes. “Master Gladiolus told me about your memories of people from modern times. I expect you’re wondering if the sibling you lost is still alive somewhere.”

A lump formed in my throat. “Yes,” I whispered. “If those dark faeries she met in Hope Woods came from Dubnos—”

“Unity, don’t.” Mr. Whittaker stopped walking and placed both hands on my shoulders. “Dwelling on those memories is what stops us from moving on and creating productive lives as half-bloods.”

In the tranquility of this meadow and in Mr. Whittaker’s calm presence, all the pressures of the death trials, poor Helen, the Fated, and the fae princes fell away, leaving me with a gut-wrenching worry for Sicily’s fate. A rush of emotion surged from my heart, making my throat ache.

I blinked rapidly, trying to stave off the oncoming tears. “But I have to find my sister.”

Pain flashed across the older male’s features. “Maybe it was foolish of me, but I went to Hope Woods to investigate your claim.”

“You did?” I asked.

“I had to know.” He swallowed hard. “No cast-off has ever arrived here with memories of humans who currently exist.”

My pulse quickened, and my throat went dry. If he had proven that my human life had been real, surely he would have told me this by now?

I sucked in a deep breath, bracing myself for bad news. “What did you find?”

“We found the circle of mushrooms and looked for signs of dark magic. All we found of interest were peacemakers’ bootprints, a broken mushroom, and strands of blonde hair. All evidence points that you were the faerie in the ring trying to make bargains with humans.”

“But I—”

“It’s alright.” He gave my shoulder a tight squeeze. “Some of the lords who cast off their half-bloods have a sick sense of irony. It’s obvious to everyone that whoever left you there wanted you found and brought to the king’s guard.”

I lowered my gaze to the stepping stones, my heart plummeting along with my hope of gaining an ally to help me locate Sicily. Since arriving at the Royal Fae Academy, I had been plunged into a battle against murderous faeries that I couldn’t escape. Events moved so quickly, and it was hard to keep track of my original goal to save Sicily.

“Pokeweed accompanied me to the woods,” said Mr. Whittaker.

My head snapped up. “Really?”

He released my arms and continued walking toward a grove of trees. “All manner of predators and creatures lurk in forested areas. He came to provide protection, but he noticed traces of unusual magic.”

“What kind?”

“You’d better ask him. I have no sense of these things.”

We strolled over the stepping stones until we reached an orchard of apple trees containing fruit as large as melons. Some of the apples were silver, some gold, and others as transparent as glass with only their stalks and seeds on display. A figure stepped out from a tree with an unusually wide trunk, pushing a wheelbarrow.

Mr. Whittaker stopped walking. “I’ll leave you to approach him in private. Make sure he walks you back to the remedial building. It won’t be safe to wander alone until the end of the trials.”

“Thanks, sir.”

As the teacher walked back through the meadow, I turned to where Pokeweed stood in front of a six-foot-tall tree that had wilted to one side. Large, white flower buds hung limply on branches covered in browning leaves.

Pokeweed rubbed his hands together and closed his eyes. I continued walking toward him, wondering what he intended to do next. Closing his eyes, he sucked in a deep breath and placed both palms on the trunk. Then with a large exhale, his hands glowed with white magic that seeped into the tree.

I paused, transfixed by the sight of Pokeweed breathing life into the plant. Its trunk straightened, and a burst of color filled its leaves. The buds opened into blossoms with yellow stamens, and then the petals withered and fell away, leaving just the dried stamens.

Edging forward, I squinted at the tiny fruit emerging from behind the stamens, watching them swell into apples the sizes of berries, then regular-sized apples, and then to the huge melon-sized fruit as in the rest of the orchard.

Pokeweed released the trunk with a loud gasp. He staggered back a few steps and bent forward, bracing his hands on his knees.

My breath caught in the back of my throat. Until now, I had only seen magic used to attack others or as a display of power. I had no idea it could result in such beauty.

“Pokeweed?” I whispered.