Spells. Aprilynne Pike
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That didn’t sound like magic to Laurel. Mostly it sounded like a lot of hard work.
“That said, these are my books, not yours.”
Laurel managed to stifle a sigh of relief.
“Laurel.”
She looked up at the tone of his voice. It wasn’t stern, the way it had been a moment earlier. It was tense – worried, even – but there was a softness to it that hadn’t been there before.
“Normally at this point I would begin teaching you rudimentary potions. Lotions, cleansing serums, nutritional tonics – that sort of thing. The things we teach novices. But you’re going to have to come back at a less important time and learn those or catch up on your own. I’m going to teach you defensive herbology. Jamison insisted, and I’m in full agreement with his decision.”
Laurel nodded, feeling a rush run through her. Not just from excitement at starting actual lessons, but because of the reason for the acceleration: the threat of the trolls. This was what she’d been waiting for.
“Most of what I teach you will be beyond your abilities to replicate, likely for quite some time, but it will be a start. I expect you to work hard, for your own sake more than mine.”
“Of course,” Laurel replied earnestly.
“I’ve had you reading about a variety of plants and their uses. What you may not yet realise is that making potions, serum, elixirs, and the like is not simply about mixing essences together in the right amounts. There is always a general guideline – a recipe, if you will – but the process as well as the result will differ from one Fall faerie to the next. What we teach in the Academy is not about recipes, but following your intuition – trusting the ability that is your birthright, and using your knowledge of nature to enhance the lives of everyone in Avalon. Because the most essential ingredient in any mixture is you – the Fall faerie. No one else can do what you do, not even if they follow your rituals with unerring precision.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a small pot with a little green plant growing in it, its buds tightly closed.
“You must learn to feel the very core of the nature you work with,” he continued, touching the plant gently, “and to form a connection with it, so close, so intimate, that you know not only how to bend its components to your will” – he searched through a row of bottles and picked one up, opening it and dabbing a drop of its contents on his finger—“but to unlock its potential and allow it to thrive as no one else can.” He carefully touched each of the closed blossoms with his wet finger and as he pulled his hand away, the tiny buds opened to reveal bright purple flowers.
He looked up into Laurel’s wide eyes. “Shall we begin?”
Laurel knelt on the bench in front of her window with her nose pressed against the glass, squinting at the path that led to the front gates of the Academy. Tamani said he’d arrive at eleven o’clock, but she couldn’t help but hope he would come early.
Disappointed, she wandered back to her work – today, a monastuolo serum that was clearly going horribly wrong. But Yeardley insisted that seeing her failures through to the end, even when she knew they were doomed, would teach her better what not to do. It seemed like a waste of time to Laurel, but she had learned not to second-guess Yeardley. Despite his gruff exterior, the past month had shown her another side of him. He was obsessed with herbology and nothing delighted him more than a devoted student. And he was always, always right. Still, Laurel remained sceptical of this particular rule.
She was about to sit down and toss in the next component when someone knocked on her door. Finally! Taking a moment to check her hair and clothes in the mirror, Laurel took a deep breath and opened her door to Celia, the familiar Spring faerie who had not only cut her note cards but done hundreds of little favours for her over the last few weeks.
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