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A storm of joyous gargles, round buttocks, and tiny, hairy armpits splash around in the water, and I crack a smile. Suddenly, one of them squeaks in warning, and the flock of creatures scatters in the wind—all but one.

The black imp flies right in front of my face, and I draw back, spooked. Before I can escape, he tilts his chin up with haughty glare and slaps my nose.

The brief contact stings, and my cheeks burn at the evident reproach. “Whoa, sorry.”

An indignant hmph echoes through the trees as the creature flies off in a blur of smoke.

What the…

I take cover under the balcony to regroup. I can’t forget where I am, not for a minute. Faerie is full of dangers—and little bats that take their privacy seriously. Guilt for ogling the imps’ bath routine mixes with an unfathomable sense of wonder in my blood.

Feeling a little foolish, I rub down my sore nose and climb the steep staircase to the second floor.

Where is everybody?

Long metal railings open to the glory of the royal gardens, and the unobstructed view of the Hawthorn steals my breath. Its thick green canopy filters the rays of the Fae sun, and teal moss cascades down its white branches. A few strands tumble close enough to the banister for me to reach for it.

Faerie can’t be as bad as Father wants me to believe if it houses something so beautiful.

My dark teacher and fellow seedlings are nowhere to be found, so I grab a quick bite to eat. The table in the middle of the balcony offers a wide array of choices like fruits, pastries, water, juices, and coffee. Seamless mirrors line the exterior walls, reflecting the gardens back to me, the scenery endless and ethereal.

I sample a few known breakfast items and nibble on a pulpous, sweet and sour yellow piece of fruit. The peace and quiet, along with the beauty of the gardens, ease my homesickness.

The sun is at its zenith in the sky when I finally decide to check out the bibliotheca One talked about. Behind the golden-plated doors, stacks and stacks of books stretch three stories high above my head. A dozen working tables and chairs are set in regular intervals on the ground floor, and light filters through the stained glass windows.

A beautiful round medallion window shines above the others. The multi-faceted masterpiece depicts the Hawthorn’s branches and roots and bathes the room in yellow, red, and teal hues.

“Hi, welcome.” The tall woman behind the librarian desk waves me over.

I tiptoe closer to her, my jaw slack at the bounty of books in this impressive library. “Hello.”

Unlike Mara, this woman wears a loose black shirt and faded-blue pants, a very masculine look that hides her curves. Her raven-black hair is tied in a plain ponytail at the back of her head and contrasts nicely with her light brown skin.

The clear shade of her gray eyes reminds me of a pleasant, rainy summer day. “You’re the seedling from the old world, aren’t you? Mara told me about you,” she says.

“Yes. I’m from Demeter.”

Her jaw hangs open at the news, and she eyes me up and down. “Aren’t you like…super religious?”

I stare at her until she blushes.

“I’m so sorry. That was rude. I’m Lori. I’m a sprout.” She extends her hand, but I’m not quite sure what she wants me to do with it.

Only the strongest seeds will sprout.

“So you were…”

She lets her hand fall to her side. “A seed, yes. There are four stages of training. Seeds, Sprouts, Sepals, and Stigmas. Seedlings are seeds that haven’t taken their vows yet.”

“Botany for the morally challenged,” I mumble.

“Sorry?” Lori asks, her hand flying to the criss-cross ear cuffs covering the roundness of her ear.

“Demeter citizens worship Gaia, the Mother of all life. Botanical terms are usually reserved for the study of her sacred plants,” I explain.

Esme gave me lessons about different religions and different gods, but it’s still jarring to meet people who have no idea who our Mother is and what she stands for. Despite Lori’s assumptions, I’m not half as religious as I should be. If Gaia was really as just and benevolent as my father implies, I wouldn’t be stuck here.

“So seeds, sprouts…”