“I don’t understand,” Laurel said.

“Neither did I. I was already your Fear-gleidhidh; I’d committed my life to protecting you. When the tree told me that, I figured you were as good as mine. Easy.”

“And then I told you to leave,” Laurel whispered, sorrow at the memory settling deep within her.

“I understand why you did,” Tamani said, threading his fingers through hers. “And it was probably best for both of us in the long run. But it hurt.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I was listening to the tree, and to my own selfish desires, when I should have been listening to you. I think I know what the tree really meant now,” he said, his voice rumbling against her ear. “I needed to commit my life to you – not to guiding you or protecting you, just to you, completely, in my core. I needed to stop worrying about whether you would ever do the same for me. In a way, I think that’s what coming to the human world did, and why I wasn’t sure I could bear to go back.” He traced his finger down her face. “I was committed to an idea before – to the love I felt for you. But not to you. And I think you sensed that change or you’d have rejected me.”

“Maybe,” Laurel said, although at this moment she couldn’t fathom rejecting him for any reason.

His fingers found her chin, lifting it so he could look her in the eyes. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“No,” she said, running one finger across his bottom lip, “thank you.” Then she pulled his face down, their lips meeting, melting together again. She wished they could stay there all day, all year, all eternity, but reality came creeping slowly back in.

“You still haven’t told me what you’re up to,” she said at last.

“One more minute,” Tamani said, smiling against her lips.

“We don’t need minutes,” Laurel said. “We have forever.”

Tamani pulled back to look at her, his eyes shining with wonder. “Forever,” he whispered, before pulling her in for another long kiss.

“So, does this make us entwined?” Laurel asked, a sharp twinge of grief piercing her happiness as she repeated the word Katya had used, so long ago, to describe committed faerie couples.

“I believe it does,” Tamani said, beaming. He leaned closer, his nose touching hers. “A sentry and a Mixer? We shall be quite the scandal.”

Laurel smiled. “I love a good scandal.”

“I love you,” Tamani whispered.

“I love you, too,” Laurel replied, relishing the words as she said them. And with them, the world was new and bright – there was hope. There were dreams.

But most of all, there was Tamani.

Not since Samhain had Laurel seen so many faeries gathered into one place. While she had occupied herself with Tamani, they had crowded their way into the Gate Garden, lined its battlements, clustered around the entrances, and spilled back out into the trees where the trolls had breached the walls. Most wore the plain, practical garb of Spring faeries, but flashy Summers and even a few Autumns were interspersed through the crowd. In fact, the only group Laurel didn’t see represented in the crowd were the ceremonially garbed sentries whose job it would probably have been to clear the Garden of the rabble. With sadness she wondered if any of the Garden sentries had survived.

David had not moved from where she’d left him; he rose to his feet as Laurel and Tamani approached and Laurel tried not to see the sadness in his eyes. She couldn’t protect him from that, and it bothered her deeply that she’d inflicted a wound she couldn’t cure. But at least by realising that the time had come to let him go, she wouldn’t make his pain any worse.

“She should be here by now,” Tamani said softly.

“Who?”

“Chelsea – ah! There we go.”

Laurel turned to see Chelsea coming up the pathway with more Spring and Summer faeries in tow.

“Tamani,” Laurel asked, feeling a nervous bubble of laughter building up in the back of her throat. “Seriously, you have to tell me! What did you do?”

“I had Chelsea tell the Ticers and Sparklers that Marion was about to either trap their hero in Avalon forever or execute Jamison, and that they should come . . . Uh . . . watch.”

“You didn’t!” Laurel cried, delighted.

“Believe me,” Tamani said ruefully, “what’s about to happen should be witnessed by as many fae as possible.”

As Chelsea reached them Tamani pulled her close, planting a fond kiss atop her head. “Thank you. And not just for this,” Tamani said, his gesture taking in the crowd round them. “For everything.”

Chelsea beamed as Laurel turned and beckoned to David. Together, the four of them passed through the destroyed Garden doors; the crowd parted to admit them with smiles and words of thanks, a few adding in a warning whisper that the Winter faeries were waiting at the gateways.

As they traversed the crowded enclosure, with its rich earth paths and enormous moss-covered trees, Laurel marvelled at just how little it all had changed in spite of yesterday’s battles. The grass was trampled and several of the trees looked like they’d been caught in a nasty hailstorm, but the bodies had been cleared away, the weapons disposed of. Avalon had suffered a serious wound, but like Tamani, it was already healing.

As Laurel had suspected, all three of Avalon’s Winter faeries were waiting on a marble bench near the gateways, surrounded by a passel of Am Fear-faire – Queen Marion unable to relinquish her tight-fisted control. Remembering her conversation with Jamison Laurel smiled inwardly. It would take time yet, but Laurel looked forward to the inevitable day when she and Yasmine – well, all of Avalon, really – would wrench that control away from her.