Spring

“Doubtful,” he adds, although I can’t tell if he means seeing me or that I’ll actually pass the final gauntlet to be here next year. “But . . . I would like that.”

He leaves just as a Spring Court nymph begins to lead us to a servant’s entrance inside the palace.

The nymph is strikingly beautiful. A crown of daisies tangles through her long pink hair, her dress made from a collection of sunflowers, birds’ nests, and moss. She could be human, if not for the papery gold wings fluttering from her back and her violet irises, split in the middle only by a tiny humanoid slash.

I look for Mack in the group, but she must have arrived earlier. Callum nods my way. I shoot him a warm smile, refusing to let his coldness get to me.

This place has a way of turning students against one another.

The interior of the Spring Palace is everything I’d expect it to be. Open, airy, with a thousand paneless windows to let in the breeze. The weather here is always pleasant, so there’s no need to keep out the elements. The furniture is sparse but comfortable, the rooms large and filled to the brim with flowers, sunlight, and creatures—butterflies, bees, woodland animals.

But beyond the pretty veneer lies a darkness. The air is too sweet. The sunlight too bright. The flowers unnaturally fresh. The butterflies that dance in the rafters of every high ceiling are leashed on tiny strings that keep them from flying away. The squirrels are fat and sluggish from being fed sugary treats by the courtiers.

A small hob darts past us, chasing two plump gray bunnies as they hop down the lilac and gray carpet runner. Another hob pulls on the leash of a white-tailed deer, grumbling as the creature stops to nibble at the frayed edge of the rug.

“Excuse me,” a fourth year girl calls out to the nymph. “What are they doing with those cute little animals?”

The nymph blinks her strange eyes. “Here in the Spring Court, we take in all the forest’s creatures, petting and feeding them so that when the banquets and festivals come around, they’re fatted and docile, primed and ready for the slaughter.”

“Oh, God,” I whisper, horrified.

No one asks any questions after that.

As we’re paraded in front of the Spring Court courtiers, I can’t help but feel like the poor deer. Being led to my own slaughter.

The nymph directs us to our rooms, a small section of the servants’ quarters that have been emptied for the occasion. My room is the last on the left.

“Enjoy your beautiful, spacious chamber with its unparalleled views of the meadow,” the nymph says blandly. “You will take dinner in here, followed by one turn around the courtyard before bed.”

O-kay, then. I glance over my beautiful, spacious room, which is really a tiny broom closet with an open window barely large enough to fit my head through. A metal cot is pushed against one side, and pieces of hay poke from the lumpy mattress.

“Gee, thank you,” I murmur. “The Spring Court heir really went all out for our accommodations.”

The nymph doesn’t speak sarcasm, apparently, because she gives me an odd look before saying, “Yes, the Spring Prince is generous and beautiful. Everyone says so.”

I’m fairly sure everyone only says so because they like living. I’m also fairly certain she’s serious about locking us in until after dinner.

“What do we do if we need to use the restroom?”

She nods cheerfully to a bucket in the corner.

“You can’t be serious?”

“You’ll be safe in your chamber,” she repeats before closing the door. A click of the lock follows.

By the time dinner rolls around, I’m contemplating trying to shimmy out my tiny window to the ground three stories below. Twilight fell hours ago, and the only light in my room comes from two lanterns filled to the brim with trapped fireflies. Their glow is ethereal, otherworldly, but it comes at a cruel price.

I’ve just finished setting the second lantern of fireflies free when a garden hob opens my door, blinks curiously at the swarm of free fireflies, hands me a covered plate, and leaves.

I hold my breath, waiting to hear the lock click, but it never comes. My relief gives way to disappointment as I survey my dinner—a meager portion of elderberries, pistachios, dried mushrooms and beets, a chilled melon soup, and a wheel of some type of soft cheese.

One would think by now the Fae would remember what mortals eat, but I’m too happy about my release to ruminate on it.

A hob with a warty nose leads me outside to an interior courtyard reserved for mortals. Torches of magic line the stone walls. Their glow reveals a small gathering area surrounded by well-kept gardens, a pond, and a hedge maze.

A few other fourth years mill around the pond, while more recline on the benches scattering the courtyard.

“Summer!”

The gravel crunches beneath my sneakers as I turn, my spirits soaring. Mack rushes toward me so fast I think she’s going to tackle me. Actually—

The force of her hug sends us sprawling into the nearest azalea bushes.

Ignoring the strange stares from the other students, we sit on our butts, laughing as we pull twigs and petals from our hair.

“I’m so sorry,” Mack says when she finally catches her breath. “I—I should have called you.”

“It’s okay.” I find her hand and squeeze. “Really. I understand why you had to enter the final gauntlet, and why you might be mad at me.”

“Even if I’m competing with you to win?”

I haven’t told her the reason I have to win—my bargain with Helle-Douche—but she assumes I’m motivated by the internship. To apply, I only had to be enrolled in the final gauntlet, and as long as I pass, technically I’ll still be considered for the position.

But everyone knows the Summer Queen will likely choose the winner of the gauntlet for the internship spot.

“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather compete against,” I say.

Mack scoots back until she finds a patch of plush grass to lay back on. “I shouldn’t have blamed you for failing school. It wasn’t just that one test. This whole year has been an epic fail. I let Reina get in my head. I was so focused on not eating and keeping up with some stupid standard that it was impossible to focus. And then, when you declared you were applying for the internship . . . I just felt lost, you know? Like you were leaving me behind.”

“Never. If you had only told me everything you were going through, we could have dealt with it together.”

“That’s what Asher said. He’s surprisingly full of wisdom . . . sometimes.” I raise my eyebrow and she adds, “He came to Manhattan to help me train over the break. He and Eclipsa. She didn’t tell you?”

I shake my head, stunned.

“She was only helping because I’m your friend, and she straight up admitted she was trying to buy your forgiveness for something, but you should have seen my dads, especially Sebastian. She’s a celebrity in their circle.” She rests her arms behind her head. “When he took a selfie with her, I thought I was going to die from embarrassment.”

“You’re wrong. Eclipsa may not know it yet, but she likes you. Just don’t expect her to openly admit that.”

I join Mack on the lawn. Just like the estate and the palace, the Spring Court sky is overwhelming in its beauty. I stare at the diamond-encrusted canvas above, trying to find the words to tell Mack how I feel. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think how hard that would be on you if I’m not here fourth year.”

She groans. “Stop. We’ve already established I was the dickhead. Besides, I guess none of that matters now.”

“You stop. You belong at the academy. You’re Mackenzie Fucking Fairchild. We’re going to figure something out.”

“And you’re Summer Fucking Solstice, my ride-or-die. If I ever forget that again, I give you permission to punch me. But like, fifty-percent power—I’ve seen your right hook. And in the stomach or something. If I have to get a nose job, I’ll never be able to hold that over Reina again.” Mack props up on her elbows, her face twisting as if she tastes something sour. “Did you know she signed up for the gauntlet after you did? She was in my group earlier today.”

“Ugh. Which means she applied for the internship.”

Mack pops to her feet, and I reluctantly follow, mentally preparing myself for a night on my moldy mattress of hay. People are already drifting back inside. The gauntlet starts at dawn tomorrow. That’s like the middle of the night for the Fae, but I assume by the raging party happening on the other side of the palace, most will have never gone to bed in the first place.

I’m dusting off my leggings when a flash of movement draws my eye. A giant white owl swoops near our heads before landing on the lowest branch of a cherry tree.

Phalanx! The haughty creature hoots twice, looks toward the entrance of a hedge maze, and then flies off.

“I think someone wants to give their shadow a pep talk,” Mack says, her wistful tone making it clear she would love a pep talk from a certain dragon shifter herself.

“That makes two of us,” a gravelly male voice says.

Mack’s smile stretches wide as she spots Asher beside a crooked oak tree. Even layered in shadow, the massive shifter is unmistakable.

When he steps into the delicate moonlight, smiling softly back at her . . . it’s like they forget I’m even here. Both of them transfixed on the other and doing weird, embarrassing things with their faces.

Whoa. When did that happen?

They barely acknowledge me when I say goodbye, caught in their own bubble of whatever the frick transpired this past week.

They’ve always been flirty with each other, but this skipped harmless flirting and went straight to reciting sonnets about each other’s eyes and crap.

I make a mental note to ask Valerian about Asher’s intentions as I duck beneath the entrance into the hedge maze. The starlight softens the shadows, enough that I can make out the wisteria and jasmine clinging to the green walls. Fireflies dance above me.