“I don’t have that much gilden!” Roland protests, rapidly glancing between Folly and Yarrow.
“Do you think he’s lying?” Folly asks.
Magic shimmers gold, and Yarrow’s axe thuds into his hand. “I know a few ways to find out.”
Roland scrambles backwards, then freezes when Yarrow adjusts his grip on the axe.
“I can be generous,” Folly says. “I’ll give you two choices. For the first, you give me six hundred gilden right now.”
“I don’t have that much,” Roland grits out.
“For the second, you give me just two hundred gilden now.” Folly pauses for effect. “And I come back next week to collect another eight hundred.”
Roland’s shoulders slump, and his eyes look dead. Cowering in his own bed, he isn’t frightening anymore. “I can give you six hundred now.”
“Great!” Folly claps his hands and lies again. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
When they leave, Folly takes his little wagon too, plus a load of provisions. He doesn’t bother asking permission.
Elsewhere obligingly swallows up the wagon, saving Folly and Yarrow the trouble of pushing it through the rift. They aren’t ready to bring horses or other animals when everything is so experimental. The familiar void twists Folly’s stomach, but the wagon barely lurches. New earth unfurls swiftly around the wheels. Once the wagon is stable, the land slows to a crawl across the nothingness.
Folly hops up on the driver’s seat to stare around. “Do you really think this will work?”
“I don’t see why not. As long as someone stays Elsewhere, everything will stay intact.” Leaning back, Yarrow props his feet up. “If we want to visit anywhere, we can ask Crocus to house-sit.”
Already, the patch of earth sways with wildflowers. As if Elsewhere is waving a greeting. Perhaps it’s just as happy to find companions as Folly and Yarrow are. Someday, if this works, travelers won’t have to cross a barren void between realms. This will be a waystation. A safe haven. Not just a boundary.
Folly figures they’ll need a garden, eventually. Chickens and goats, or whatever fell beasts pass for livestock in the fae realm. Cross-realm shopping trips should serve their needs for a while, though.
“Do you think mushrooms would grow well here?” Folly asks. “Maybe Crocus might like to stay here too.”
Yarrow glares. “Don’t you dare mention that to Crocus until we have at least two acres. I need more space before my mother moves in with us.”
Folly laughs quietly—then louder, when Yarrow yanks him down.
He lands in Yarrow’s lap, safely ensconced in his wild fae’s strong arms. Admiration shines in Yarrow’s bronze eyes. The binding curse is gone, but Folly feels closer to Yarrow than ever.
“I love you,” Yarrow says, each word like silken rope around Folly’s wrists. Sweet and grasping and almost perfect.
Folly just needs to tighten the knots.
He brushes the hair from Yarrow’s forehead, then grips a smooth, ridged horn. “I love you, too,” Folly murmurs, and seals the promise with a kiss.
One Year Later
Folly’s racing heart has nothing to do with nervousness today. Anticipation flutters like the bronze-colored leaves drifting from the tree above. It’s the largest tree in Elsewhere, planted right in the center of everything. The treehouse nestled in its crown overlooks the fairgrounds, the forest, and the swirling fog beyond.
He and Yarrow slept in the little wagon for their first six months in Elsewhere, until the tree grew large enough to build their house in. Most of Elsewhere’s other residents have cottages or tents, depending on how long they plan to stay.
“O Lord of Elsewhere.” Crocus offers a wooden cup. “You should drink this before you start.”
“Is this part of the ceremony?” Folly asks, suspicious. When she doesn’t answer, he adds, “What’s in it?”
“You can hardly taste the mushrooms,” she insists, pressing the cup into his hands. Folly’s forced to grab hold so the clear blue liquid doesn’t spill everywhere.
Yarrow is thirty entire feet away, in a sunlit patch of wildflowers. A crown of bronze leaves glitters around his horns.Deep in conversation with Hummingbird, he shows no intention of saving Folly from his mother.
Crocus moved to Elsewhere a few months ago, bringing her cottage with her. She handled the news that Folly killed her former lover, who wasn’t actually a satyr, with surprising ease. “Oh, dear boy, that must have been so stressful for you!” she had said, handing him a mushroom cookie.
