“Come,” Jamison said, beckoning Laurel forward when she hesitated. “They are waiting for you.”

The grounds of the Academy were bustling with life. Dozens of faeries were at work around the yard. Some were dressed in fine, flowing dresses or light silken pants and had books in their hands. Others were clad in more homespun cottons and busied themselves digging and pruning. Still others were picking flowers, searching the many heavy-laden bushes for perfect specimens. As Jamison and Laurel passed, most of the faeries paused in their work and bowed at the waist. But everyone at least inclined their heads respectfully.

“Are…” Laurel felt silly asking. “Are they bowing to me?”

“It’s possible,” Jamison replied. “But I suspect they are mostly bowing to me.”

His casual tone caught Laurel off guard. But clearly being bowed to was commonplace for Jamison. He did not even stop to acknowledge it. “Should I have bowed when you came to the gate?” Laurel asked, her voice a little unsteady.

“Oh, no,” Jamison said readily. “You are a Fall faerie. You bow only to the Queen. A slight nod of respect is more than enough from you.”

Laurel walked in silent confusion as they passed several more faeries. She watched the few who only inclined their heads. They caught her eye as she passed and she wasn’t sure quite how to take their expressions. Some seemed curious; others glared. Many were simply unreadable. Ducking her head timidly, Laurel hurried forward to keep pace with Jamison.

As they approached the towering front doors, a set of foot-men pulled them open and Jamison led Laurel into a spacious foyer with a domed ceiling made entirely of glass. Sunlight poured through it, nourishing the hundreds of potted plants adorning the room. The foyer was less busy than the grounds, though there were a few faeries sitting on lounges and at small desks with books out in front of them.