22. Yarrow

Elsewhere grows quicker this time. Grass sprouts from new earth beneath their feet, rolling out like a welcoming carpet. The swirling fog seems less ominous behind the rainbow of wildflowers.

New leather pouches ride Yarrow's belt, and Folly has a matching set under his starry robe. Powders of binding and invisibility. Yarrow would usually dismiss them as dishonorable in combat, but he's not concerned with honor today.

He'll take every advantage he can if they're using Folly as bait. Unfortunately, he has yet to think of a better plan.

This plan is solid, though. They'll arrive at Cerulean Glade first and prepare the area with binding powder traps. If Moriath still hasn't arrived by noon, Folly will scry again for more information—that will be about a day since he last scried. When they're ready, Folly will wait as bait, and Yarrow will hide invisible nearby.

Moriath will be wary, of course. He'll know Yarrow is within range of Folly. But a moment of confusion is all Yarrow needs.

First, they have thirteen hours in Elsewhere. Yarrow would like to spend every minute fucking the worry out of Folly's system, except Folly's been quieter than usual. The sort of quiet that makes Yarrow want to tread carefully.

"This is nice," Yarrow muses, wandering the growing edges. "Real nice."

A sapling twists into being across the new meadow. Mismatched leaves sprout from its branches, like Elsewhere can't decide what it is.

Folly keeps pace, ranging between four feet, two inches and six feet, seven inches away. "Does Elsewhere reply when you talk to it?"

"Sometimes, sort of." Yarrow crouches to pluck a wildflower. The orange bloom seems to jump eagerly into his hand. The petals feel just as cool and delicate as a natural flower. "People used to travel between realms more. The old stories say Elsewhere was always like this. A beautiful, ever-changing realm, neither here nor there."

"We have stories, too." Folly turns as they walk, taking in their surroundings. "‘When Grandmother's grandmother was a child,' is how they all begin, no matter what generation's telling it. Fae used to creep into our world all the time."

Yarrow stops and lifts his hand. Folly holds still, allowing Yarrow to slide the blossom into his soft curls. "I'd wager the fae weren't the heroes in your stories."

Folly's smile is beautiful but hollow. "They were terrible villains."

There are reasons Queen Haelwen closed her fist on travel to the human realm. Overall it was a good decision, though now Yarrow wishes the border were open. He doesn't want to interfere with an entire realm. Just one little human.

"What's wrong?" Yarrow asks quietly.

Folly shrugs in on himself. He looks away like he doesn't want to answer. "I don't want this to end."

Yarrow's heart clenches. "Oh."

"I don't mean I want a lifemark or something," Folly says quickly. "I mean, I'd at least want to try this for a year before trapping you with me forever. But tomorrow…"

Yarrow adjusts the flower in Folly's hair, then caresses his cheek. "Tomorrow is too soon."

Folly nods against Yarrow's palm. His lashes lower. "We keep saying we'll figure it out later, but we're running out of later."

Fuck. Folly's right, of course. Yarrow's learning that Folly's usually right. He just wishes he had more time to seduce the little human before having this conversation.

"Would you really want to leave your home?" Yarrow asks.

Folly shrugs. "What home? I haven't seen my parents in years. All that's waiting for me is Roland and a never-ending employment contract. I'm not fae, and I'm happy to abandon that obligation."

"Staying permanently in the fae realm is difficult for humans." Yarrow drops his hand as Folly pulls away. Fair enough—every touch is distracting. "Something powerful has to bind you here, whether that's a curse like ours or stealing food from under someone's roof. Or a trade, leaving something in your home realm to replace you."

Folly listens intently. "Like Tansy."

"Tansy can stay because the queen replaced him with her own son." Yarrow sighs. "Unfortunately, I lack offspring to trade for you."

He wins a brief smile, before gloom settles in Folly's eyes again. "None of those sound like good options."

Yarrow takes a deep breath, prickling with unfamiliar nerves. "You could stay if I lifemarked you."

Folly's gaze snaps up. "You mean the thing I just said I'm not ready for."

Yarrow gives a crooked smile. "Precisely that."

"That's even assuming you would want one," Folly says. His words are halting at first, then gain momentum with his nerves. "You're only seventy-seven, after all. You have your entire fae life ahead of you. I believe that you like me, but that's not enough, is it? You'll probably get tired of me after a decade or two, if not sooner, and you'll be stuck?—"

"Sweetheart," Yarrow murmurs, and kisses Folly silent.

His heart aches with how desperately Folly clings. Thin fingers clutch Yarrow's hair, brushing the sensitive lengths of his ears. Yarrow presses just as desperately into Folly's mouth. He wants to swallow every last doubt from behind Folly's teeth.

The kiss blooms. Yarrow's desire builds like Elsewhere itself, taking shape as Folly lingers within it.

A promise rattles behind Yarrow's ribs. He wants to say, more than anything, that he wants to lifemark Folly now. Nothing would please him more than claiming this human in a binding that doesn't hurt.

But he can't say it, because it isn't true.

For the first time in his life, Yarrow wants to be cautious, not reckless. Folly deserves every ounce of care Yarrow can give him. Forcing a choice between a lifemark and sudden abandonment would be cruel.

Maybe that's not very fae of Yarrow. He doesn't care.

"Neither of us is ready for a lifemark." Yarrow kisses Folly's cheek, then pulls away. "But I'm not ready to say goodbye to you either. So we're going to kill Moriath, and then take our sweet time returning to Elladar. Give your brilliant mind time to come up with a solution. All right?"

It's a bad answer. By his shaky breath, Folly knows that. "All right," he says anyway.

Yarrow kisses Folly's other cheek. "All right."

And his hands wander from Folly's waist to his ass, tugging him close. "We have twelve hours left," Yarrow murmurs. "Do you want some space, or do you want me to help you feel better?"

Folly's breath hitches, and he rocks forward in delicious friction. "Help me feel better. Please."

Perfect. Yarrow's been sensible for far too long today. Time to be a bit more persuasive.