“We can’t stay,” Marion replied in an equally firm tone. “The Winter faeries always guard the palace and themselves in times of danger. Even the great Oberon stepped back to preserve himself when the battle raged its fiercest. Do you think yourself greater than he?”

“This is different,” Jamison said calmly. “Trolls are already immune to Enticement; these trolls will be immune to Autumn magic as well. If we leave the gate, our warriors will have no magic to counter their enemies” strength. There will be slaughter.”

“Nonsense,” Marion replied. “Even if the beasts have figured out how to evade tracking serums and some rudimentary defence potions, it’s hardly the tragedy you’re making it out to be. You there, tell me, how many trolls have you killed in your life?”

It took Tamani a moment to realise he was being addressed. “Ah, I don’t know. Perhaps a hundred?”

A hundred? Laurel almost gasped at the number. So many? But then, in almost ten years as a sentry outside Avalon, could she really be surprised? He had killed about ten just in her presence.

“And how many of those did you kill with the aid of Autumn magic?” The Queen continued, not fazed by the number at all.

Tamani opened his mouth, but no words came out. Laurel realised there was no right answer; if the Queen found his reliance on Autumn magic high, she would tell him he was incompetent – if it was low, she would use that to prove her point.

“Come, Captain, time is short and precision unnecessary. Would you guess half? A third?”

“About that, Your Majesty.”

“You see, Jamison? Our sentries are quite capable of killing trolls without our assistance.”

“And what of the two rogues?” Jamison asked.

“The Winter is untrained – aside from her power to open the gate, she is no threat at all. And the Autumn is outnumbered, along with any others she might bring.”

No threat?

“You always underestimated Callista,” Jamison said before Laurel could speak up.

“And you always overestimated her. You were wrong then, and by the end of the day I expect you will discover that you are wrong now.”

Jamison said nothing, and the Queen turned away from them; never in her life had Laurel felt so dismissed.

The Gate Garden became a hurricane of brightly coloured uniforms as orders were given and messages sent. Jamison stood motionless until the Queen approached the gateway to Japan to let a messenger through. Then, at last, he frowned, and Laurel could almost see him gather his will.

“Come,” he said quietly, turning his back to the flood of sentries. “Gather your friends. We have to get to the Winter Palace.” His pale-blue robes flared out as he spun to face the far wall of the Garden.

“Jamison!” Laurel said, leaping after him, Tamani close by her side, David and Chelsea following with confusion written on their faces. “You can’t honestly be doing what she said!”

“Quiet,” Jamison whispered, pulling them a few steps away. “I beg you to trust me. Please.”

Fear raced through Laurel, but she knew that if there was anyone in the world worthy of her trust it was Jamison. Tamani hesitated a moment longer, staring back at the California sentries now coming in through the gate, conferring with their peers. But when Laurel tugged on his fingertips, Tamani turned to follow the elderly Winter faerie.

“This way,” Jamison said, indicating a tree with a barrel-shaped trunk and a wide berth of shading leaves. “Hurry! Before my Am Fear-faire realise I’m leaving.”

Behind the tree they were out of sight of most of the Garden’s occupants. Pausing only to take a deep, slow breath, Jamison placed his hands together, then swished them at the stone wall. The slim branches of the tree rose from beside Laurel – one brushing her cheek as it passed – and vines snaked up from the ground to dig into the stones like spindly fingers, pulling them apart just far enough to create a small exit.

Once Laurel and her friends were through the wall, Jamison gestured again and the vines and branches retreated, returning the wall to its former pristine state. Jamison stood still for a moment, perhaps listening for some sign that they’d been spotted, but it appeared they had managed to get out without being seen. He pointed up to the Winter Palace and began the climb.

“Why are we sneaking out?” Chelsea whispered to Laurel as they scaled the steep hill after him. Without the benefit of the gentle, winding path that led out of the actual gate to the Garden, they were climbing almost straight up. It was a shortcut, but not an easy one.

“I don’t know,” Laurel answered, wondering the same thing. “But I trust Jamison.”

“Once we find out what’s going on, I’m returning to the Garden,” Tamani said, his voice a low murmur. “I won’t abandon my sentries.”

“I know,” Laurel whispered, wishing there was a way to convince him to stay somewhere safe.

On the long climb to the Winter Palace, Chelsea’s eyes were practically popping from their sockets as she tried to take everything in. Laurel tried to imagine the scene through Chelsea’s eyes, remembering her own first trip to Avalon – the crystalline bubbles far below them that housed the Summer faeries, the way the palace was held together by branches and vines, the footpaths paved with rich, dark earth.

Sooner than Laurel could have imagined, they reached the white archway at the top of the slope. Even Tamani was clutching his sides and sucking in deep, noisy breaths.