“Indeed. I love to walk up through the Summer neighborhoods.”

The sparkling dwellings began to space out, and soon Laurel and Tamani were walking downhill again. The wide road cut through a meadow of clover with patches of flowers here and there; Laurel had only seen such meadows in movies. And even though she’d gotten used to the air in Avalon—always fragrant with the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers—it was stronger out here, where the wind could freely carry each scent as it caressed her face. Laurel breathed in deeply, enjoying the invigorating breeze.

She paused when she realized Tamani wasn’t beside her anymore. She glanced back. He was crouched by the side of the path, wiping his hands on the cushy clover. “What are you doing?” she asked.

Tamani sprang to his feet, looking sheepish. “I—um, forgot my gloves,” he said quietly.

Laurel was confused for a second, then noticed that the clover looked a little sparkly. “You wear gloves to cover the pollen?” she guessed.

“It’s polite,” he said, clearing his throat.

Laurel thought back and realized that all the men in Summer Square had been wearing gloves. It made sense now. She hurried to change the subject to rescue Tamani from his obvious discomfort. “So what next?” she asked, her hand at her forehead, blocking the sun so she could see what lay farther down the road.

“I’m taking you to my favorite place in all of Avalon.”

“Really?” Laurel asked, excitement causing her to forget, momentarily, that she’d asked to be surprised. “Where?”

He smiled softly. “My home. I want you to meet my mother.”

FOUR

A CHILL RIPPLED UP LAUREL’S BACK AS NERVOUSNESS and confusion battled for control. “Your mother?”

“Is…that all right?”

“You told me faeries didn’t have mothers.”

Tamani opened his mouth and then closed it again, his brow furrowing—the look he always got when he was caught in a half-truth. “I never actually said faeries don’t have mothers,” he said slowly. “I said things are different here. And they are.”

“But you—I…I just assumed that since, you know, faeries come from seeds—you said you take care of yourselves!” she demanded, a little angry now.

“We do,” Tamani said, trying to appease her. “I mean, mostly. Mothering is not quite the same here as it is in the human world.”

“But you have a mother?”

He nodded, and she could tell he knew what was coming next.

“Do I have a mother? A faerie one, I mean?”

He was silent for a moment, and Laurel could see he didn’t want to say it. Finally he shrugged, a tiny, almost invisible shrug, and shook his head.

Shock and disappointment surged through her. It didn’t help that, despite the tension at home, she missed her mom acutely and was feeling more than a little homesick. Tears threatened, but Laurel refused to let them come. She spun on her heel and continued walking down the hill, glad there wasn’t anyone close by. “Why not?” she asked peevishly.

“You just don’t.”

“But you do. Why do you have one?” She knew she sounded childish and petulant, but she didn’t care.

“Because I’m not a Fall or Winter faerie.”

Laurel stopped and turned back to Tamani. “So? Are we born differently?”

Tamani shook his head.

“The seed I was born in, it was made by two faeries, right?”

Tamani hesitated, then nodded.

“Then where are they? Maybe I could—”

“I don’t know,” Tamani said, cutting her off. “No one knows. The records of it are destroyed,” he finished quietly.

“Why?”

“Fall and Winter faeries don’t stay with their parents. They are children of Avalon; children of the crown. It’s not like in the human world,” he added. “Relationships are not the same.”

“So the relationship you have with your mother isn’t like the relationship I have with mine back home?” Laurel asked. She knew referring to someplace besides Avalon as home would bother Tamani, but she was too angry to feel bad about it.

“That’s not what I meant. When you make a seed, it’s just a seed. It is very, very precious because it is the potential for new life, but the relationship does not begin with the seed. It begins when the sprout blooms and the seedling goes home to live with its parents—but only Spring and Summer faeries live with their parents. Your…seed makers—”

“Parents,” Laurel interrupted.

“Fine. Your parents might have been disappointed when they found out you wouldn’t be their seedling, that you would never come home with them, but they would mostly celebrate their contribution to society. As far as they were concerned, you weren’t a person yet. They wouldn’t have missed you, because they didn’t know you.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes, it is.” His hand came to her shoulder, pulling her to a stop before she could turn onto the broad central road. “Because I know how unselfish you are. Would you rather you were able to experience the reunion with a long-lost set of parents who had been suffering for years missing and loving you, or would you rather they weren’t hurting while you were raised by human parents who adore you?”

Laurel swallowed. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”