6. Yarrow

Yarrow moves on reflex. Stepping aside, he grabs Folly's forearm. He nearly misses—the human moves so slowly. The knife flies away, and Yarrow yanks. His firm grip spins Folly around, neutralizing the next desperate kick.

Folly stumbles, caught in the dragging hem of his own robe. Taking shameless advantage of his imbalance, Yarrow drops into a crouch. He yanks Folly down with him, and as the human yelps, rolls them over.

The fight's over within seconds, though Folly keeps struggling against Yarrow's grasp. Yarrow pins his wrists above his head, knuckles digging into cold dirt and grass. His knees brace on either side of Folly's waist.

"Now, now." Yarrow leans back gingerly. Putting his full weight on Folly's stomach would crush him. "I know I'm irresistible, but let me finish listing our options before you throw yourself at me."

Being the sensible one is refreshing.

Folly goes limp beneath him. Either he's listening, or he's realized struggling is futile. His mismatched eyes are wide against his smudged makeup. A flush warms his face, and his lips part with his heavy breath. His unfae nature is clear. Rounded features, without any shimmer to his skin. He should look drab, but against the dark soil and gray grasses of the realm between, he's vibrantly alive.

And still terrified. Folly licks his lips, a small, nervous movement. "Please don't kill me."

His terror is fascinating. How powerfully it grips him—and yet he struck at Yarrow regardless of its chains.

Yarrow adjusts his grip. He holds Folly through his sleeve on one arm, but on the other touches bare skin—shockingly warm in contrast to the cold dirt. "Option three: we ask the Queen of Summer to break the curse, and neither of us gets killed. Doesn't that sound better?"

Folly licks his lips again. "Oh."

"Smart move, though." Yarrow winks. "You almost caught me off guard. You might have had a chance if I wasn't so amazing."

This is when Hummingbird would roll her eyes, and Crocus would throw a walnut at him. Folly doesn't seem to register the playful arrogance. "Who's the queen of summer? Can she help us?" Folly's brow furrows beneath his messy hair. "Will she help us? Or will she trick us into eating fae food, so we're trapped in her palace for a thousand years? And when we finally emerge, everyone we've ever known will be dead, and we'll wither into?—"

Yarrow releases one of Folly's hands to cover his lips. "That's a lot of questions, little human. Start with one."

Folly's breath hitches, warm and soft beneath Yarrow's fingers. His arm doesn't move from its spot nestled in the dark grass. "Can you please let me up?"

Which is when Yarrow realizes just how close they are.

Not that Yarrow would ever play around with a human. Just, now that nobody's struggling, and Folly's got that flush warming his cheeks, Yarrow wouldn't blame the man for getting confused. He should definitely get up. For this poor, confused human's sake.

"That depends." Yarrow cocks his head. Folly's gaze follows the long hair spilling over his shoulder. "Are you going to come at me with your little dagger again?"

"I won't." Folly looks very sincere, which means nothing. Humans can lie.

"It's fine if you do." Yarrow releases Folly's other arm. "I'll just pin you down again." Rocking from knees to heels, he straightens up and steps aside. He reaches a hand out?—

Folly's already scrambling upright. He shrugs his robe over both shoulders, hugging himself. Elsewhere isn't particularly cold, despite the shrouding fog. But maybe it's cold for a human.

Yarrow flips his hair behind his shoulder. "Queen Haelwen rules the summer realm. That's where we're going next." He crouches for Folly's dagger, thinking. This isn't the best plan, but it's the only idea he has. His last petition to Haelwen came with conditions Yarrow still hasn't fulfilled. "She'll help us if we make it worth her while. We have to give her something she wants."

"What does she want? Money seems too simple, and I only have a few gilden…" Folly touches the coin purse at his belt. "Wait, do you think this would work?"

He produces a golden coin, held between thumb and forefinger. The coin is large in his small hand. Yarrow peers at the intricate raven and dragon.

"I don't know what it does, but it's definitely magic," Folly says.

Yarrow believes him. The coin's power pulses tangibly through the air—then vanishes as Folly tucks it away.

"Haelwen does love collecting trinkets." Yarrow waggles his fingers at his axe, which obediently shimmers into place on his back. "That coin is an excellent idea. I'm sure I'll think of more along the way. Now, let's get out of here."

He offers Folly's dagger, hilt first.

Folly hesitates. His gaze darts everywhere, only occasionally meeting Yarrow's face. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Yarrow asks. "Take the knife."

Folly takes it slowly. "You're not mad?"

"Trust me, you'll know if I'm mad." Yarrow means it as reassurance, but Folly just licks his lips nervously again. Probably for the best. Folly should be nervous. Summer's wilderness is no place for a human.

Nor is Elsewhere. The grass stretches farther into the mist now, dandelions bobbing silvery heads along the edges. Something moves in the distance. Perhaps merely a shadow. Perhaps something more.

"All right, moment's up," Yarrow addresses the churning sky. "More than a moment. Let us into the fae realm, as close to the palace as you can."

Golden light twists. A piece of air unravels before them, revealing only darkness beyond. Yarrow steps forward—then pivots at Folly's sudden movement.

But all Folly does is grab Yarrow's wrist. "Wait!"

Yarrow stops, held in place more by surprise than by the pair of fragile human hands clutching him. "Do you want to stay? We can continue our picnic in the fae realm."

"What happens with the curse?" Folly asks, trembling. "If you walk through first, and you're in a different realm, won't it hurt?"

Fuck. Yarrow's stomach twists with the memory of pain. He can take the pain, of course, he's very strong. But Yarrow needs to be more careful now that he's not traveling alone. It will probably only be for a few days—it had better only be for a few days—but Yarrow is responsible for this weak creature. "I'll carry you through, like last time."

Folly chews his lip. "Could we just, I don't know, hold hands instead?"

"Even better." Yarrow reaches out. "I want a hand free for my axe, in case we land in a grove of arberos. Or worse, a den of boarbears."

"Is that likely?" Folly asks, blanching.

"No likelier than anything else." Yarrow beckons. "Hurry up, they'll only be hungrier the longer we wait."

"I don't even know what a boarbear is." Folly takes his hand slowly, barely touching. Like a feather threatening to fly away on the wind. "No, don't tell me. I don't want to know."

Yarrow grasps Folly firmly. He'd feel bad about the way Folly flinches, but Folly seems to flinch at everything. "Don't worry. Boarbears are only a problem if they kill you before you can kill them. Hasn't happened to me yet. Come on, the rift won't hold forever."

Folly's lips part, then close. He ducks his head and mutters, "Let's just go. I guess."

Good enough. Yarrow tightens his grip and strides forward. Tendrils of magic brush past, tickling his hair and feathering between his bones. The transition is unnerving and familiar all at once. There's a sense of loneliness. A moment of not belonging anywhere.

Folly squeezes his hand with desperate strength.

Yarrow squints against the blinding light, before his boots land on hard-packed earth. Folly stumbles at his side, safely joining him in the darkness. Yarrow's eyes adjust swiftly, and he turns to take in their new surroundings.

A quiet road, silver-gray in the night. Forest looms on both sides of the path, and clouds conceal the moon and stars. This is unmistakably the fae realm. Everything smells right, everything feels right. Fragrance on the warm breeze. The pulse of summer magic, that constant presence Yarrow only notices in its absence—creatures large and small, animal and plant, casting and growing and protecting and thriving with the magic in every direction.

Nothing too close, though. The road is empty before and behind them.

"No boarbears," Yarrow says. "But there's another problem."

Folly's grip tightens. He whispers, as if to himself, "Of course there is."

His left eye glows faintly in the darkness. Brighter than it was in the human realm.

This is the fae realm, but the summer lands cover a great expanse. There are forests throughout, in every direction, from Spiritwood north of the palace to the dryad territories far to the south.

Glaring at the trees, Yarrow asks, "Where the fuck are we?"