Part of Yarrow also cringes at the thought of crawling right back to court begging for help. He’d bargain with a swagger, of course. But the high fae would still look down on him. That’s nothing compared to Crocus’s wellbeing, of course. But it still?—
“What about Elsewhere?” Folly asks.
Yarrow stops short—only in that moment realizing he’d been pacing the length of the wharf. “What?”
Folly’s brow creases in thought. “Could we enter Elsewhere from here and come out closer to Spiritwood?”
“Nobody ever uses Elsewhere like that,” Yarrow says slowly. “But it could work.”
Crossing Elsewhere requires powerful magic, or talismans from a skilled enchanter. But Yarrow managed without a talisman when he brought Folly through. He’d simply bargained, like Elsewhere was just another tree or river. He hadn’t really thought about how strange that was. At the time, he’d had other concerns, starting and ending with the cursed, unconscious human in his arms.
That same human is much more helpful while conscious.
“We’ll try it,” Yarrow says decisively, reaching out. “If it works, great. If it doesn’t work, I’m sure you’ll come up with something equally brilliant.”
Folly grimaces at the compliment. “No pressure,” he mutters, taking Yarrow’s hand.
The slight weight of Folly’s palm steady Yarrow’s heart. “I don’t actually know how to do this.”
The admission is easier than it might have been a month ago. The belief in Folly’s eyes doesn’t falter. “You’ve done it before. Just do that again.”
“No pressure,” Yarrow says, and as Folly laughs, he exhales. Reaches out not with a hand but with a questing thought.
Are you there, Elsewhere? I’d like to barter passage.
There’s a breath of silence. Then the air shimmers, and pressure like an oncoming storm cools around them, and Yarrow has his answer.
“Oh, that’s very magic,” Folly whispers.
Elsewhere doesn’t speak like a fae, or even with the slow thoughts of an ancient tree. Yarrow simply knows what the realm wants. The knowledge surfaces like a boulder in a river, revealed not by its own rise but by the lowering water.
The answer itself is an empty riverbed. Loneliness.
The price would be easy to pay in any other circumstances.
“I’m glad you enjoyed our company last time,” Yarrow says to the shimmering air. “I’d be happy to spend time with you again, but I’m in a rush today. There’s wickedness afoot, and what kind of son would I be letting wickedness be afoot with my mother?”
Elsewhere feels unsure about that question.
Yarrow exhales shakily. The force of communicating with an entire realm is subtle, but he can’t keep it up for long. “How about this? You let us go to Spiritwood quickly today, and the next time I travel through you, I’ll stay an entire four hours.”
Unacceptable.
Fine. Yarrow doesn’t have time to haggle. “I promise there will be a next time, and very well. Thirteen hours.”
Acceptable.
“It worked,” Folly says, with unflattering surprise, just before the shimmer resolves into an arched, golden portal.
“Keep hold of my hand,” Yarrow warns, as if Folly would let go. “This is going to be unsettling. Just keep running and close your eyes if you need to. And keep hold of my hand.”
“If you’re trying to reassure me, you’re failing,” Folly says. That iron control is back in his voice. “Let’s go.”
Their clasped hands tighten, and they step through the golden portal as one.
Impact jars Yarrow’s bones—one instant of falling, just an inch, before the ground materializes beneath his feet. Golden magic tears away, revealing an endless sea of gloom. Dark fog swirls slowly, like a distant galaxy turning at an unimaginable scale.
The only solid thing is the patch of dark earth beneath their feet.
