She paused and Tamani almost bumped into her. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” She turned to Tamani. “And I won’t do it.”

Tamani sighed. “Look, you’re privileged enough to have standards like that; I’m not.” He glanced at the crowd flowing around them and finally said, quietly, “If I don’t do it, it’s not you who gets in trouble, it’s me.”

Laurel didn’t want to let it go, but she didn’t want Tamani to be punished for her ideals, either. With one more glance at his downcast eyes, Laurel turned and continued walking. She was increasingly aware of how much she stood out; much more so than in Summer Square. Aside from their various trade implements, everyone around her looked…well…like Tamani. They were dressed in simple, canvas-like material, mostly cut into breeches or calf-length skirts. But as with all faeries, they were attractive and neat. Rather than looking like a stereotypical working class—with worn faces or shabby clothes—they looked more like actors pretending to be working class.

Much less charming was the way everyone who caught her eye stopped their conversation, smiled, and did the same slight-bend-at-the-waist thing Tamani had done when he’d met her at the Academy. As she and Tamani passed, their chatter would begin again. Several greeted Tamani and tried to say something. He waved them away, but one word in particular kept floating to Laurel’s ears.

“What’s a Mixer?” she asked once there was a break in the crowd.

Tamani hesitated. “It’s a little weird to explain.”

“Oh, well, never mind then, because explaining weird things to me has definitely never been part of this relationship.”

Her sarcasm brought a sheepish smile to Tamani’s face. “It’s kind of a Spring faerie thing,” he said elusively.

“Oh, come on,” she said. Then added teasingly, “Tell me or I’ll walk beside you.”

When he didn’t respond, she slowed down and then quickly spun away from his hand and repositioned herself right by his side.

“Fine,” he said in a whisper, pushing her gently back up in front of him. “A Mixer is a Fall faerie. It’s not a bad name or anything,” he continued in a rush. “It’s just a…nickname. But it’s something we would never call a Fall to their face.”

“Mixer?” Laurel said experimentally, liking the feel of it on her tongue. “Because we make things,” she said, laughing. “It’s fitting.”

Tamani shrugged.

“What’s a Summer?”

Now Tamani cringed a bit. “A Sparkler.”

Laurel laughed, and several of the cheerily clad Springs glanced her way before returning to their work with a little too much of an air of purpose. “What about Winters?”

Tamani shook his head. “Oh, we would never take Winter faeries so lightly. Never,” he added emphatically.

“What do you call yourselves?” she asked.

“Ticers,” Tamani said. “Everyone knows that.”

“Maybe everyone in Ticer-ville,” Laurel said. “But I didn’t.”

Tamani snorted when she said Ticer-ville. “Well, now you do.”

“What does it mean?” Laurel asked.

“Ticer, like en-tice-ment. It’s what we all do. Well, what we can do, anyway. Mostly only sentries ever use it.”

“Oh,” Laurel said with a grin. “Ticer. Got it. Why do only sentries use it?”

“Um,” he began uncertainly, “remember last year when I tried to use it on you?”

“Oh, that’s right! I’d almost forgotten.” She turned to him in mock anger. “I was mad at you!”

Tamani chuckled and shrugged. “Point is, it didn’t work very well because you’re a faerie. So only sentries—and specifically sentries who work outside Avalon—ever really have a chance to use it on nonfaerie creatures.”

“Makes sense.” Her curiosity sated, Laurel began walking again. Soft fingers touched her waist, guiding her through the still-heavy crowds.

“To the right here,” Tamani said. “We’re almost there.”

Laurel was glad to find herself turning down a much less crowded side street. She felt conspicuous and self-conscious and wished she had asked the tall faerie at the kiosk to put the hair jewels in a box. No one else here was wearing anything even remotely similar. “Are we there yet?”

“That house up there,” Tamani said, gesturing. “The one with the big flower boxes up front.”

They approached a small but charming house made from a hollowed-out tree, though the tree wasn’t like anything Laurel had ever seen before. Instead of a thick trunk growing straight up, it had a wide base and grew out in a round shape, like an enormous wooden pumpkin. The trunk narrowed again at the top and continued to grow up, sprouting branches and leaves that shaded the house. “How does it grow like that?”

“Magic. This house was a gift to my mother from the Queen. Winter faeries can ask the trees to grow any way they please.”

“Why did your mother get a gift from the Queen?”

“As a thank-you for years of distinguished service as a Gardener.”

“A gardener? Aren’t there a ton of gardeners?”

“Oh, no. It’s a very specialized field. One of the most prestigious positions a Spring faerie can aspire to.”

“Really?” Laurel asked skeptically. She’d seen dozens of gardeners just around the Academy.