Laurel’s mouth went dry. It was time.

Pushing her hand into her pocket, Laurel felt the embossed card for what was doubtless the hundredth time. It had shown up on her pillow one morning in early May, sealed with wax and tied with a sparkling silver ribbon. The message was brief — four short lines — but it changed everything.

Due to the woefully inadequate nature of your current education, you are summoned to the Academy of Avalon. Please report to the gate at mid morning, the first day of summer. Your presence will be required for eight weeks.

Woefully inadequate. Her mom hadn’t been too happy with that. But then, her mom hadn’t been too happy with much of anything involving faeries lately. After the initial revelation of Laurel being a faerie, things had been surprisingly okay. Her parents had always known there was something different about their adopted daughter. As crazy as the truth actually turned out to be — that Laurel was a changeling, a faerie child left in their care to inherit sacred fae land — they had accepted it with remarkable ease, at least at first. Her dad’s attitude hadn’t changed, but over the last few months her mom had grown more and more freaked out by the idea that Laurel wasn’t human. She’d stopped talking about it, then refused to even hear about it, and things had finally come to a head last month when Laurel got the invitation. Well, more like a summons, really. It had taken a lot of arguing from Laurel — and a fair bit of persuasion from her dad — before her mom had agreed to let her go. As if, somehow, she would come back even less human than when she’d left.

Laurel was glad she’d neglected to tell them anything about the trolls; she doubted she would be standing here today if she had.