Chapter Seven

It felt oddly domestic, journeying with Idris to the market.

The bustling atmosphere seemed to transport Tamriel to a time long ago, when he had done the same with his mother countless times.

As a child, he had clung to her hand, his small fingers wrapped around her warm, comforting grip, while his other hand clutched the bag she had entrusted him with.

It had been a simple but cherished ritual, one that carried the weight of a thousand small moments.

Later, as an adult, those visits to the market had evolved.

He had become the one helping her pick out clothes, toys, and all the small necessities for the expectant Yuli.

It felt like a lifetime ago now, and in recent years, Tamriel had rarely ventured to the market on his own.

Each trip had grown more infrequent as he retreated further into himself, distancing from the world around him.

But now, with Idris at his side, the market seemed brighter.

The colors were more vivid, the chatter of the crowd more inviting.

It was a world full of life, of shared experiences, and Tamriel couldn’t help but feel a tug at his heart.

He had grown used to his solitude, to the quiet of his own company, but there was something about this moment—this journey to the market—that felt like a rebirth.

It reminded him that even in his self-sufficiency, there were things he could not do alone.

Like picking out new curtains for Yuli’s room, he thought.

The vibrant purple fabric, her favorite color, would bring the room to life.

He would add cushions to match, filling the space with warmth and care.

Tamriel had given Idris a handful of coins before they entered the market.

He had little need for them in the Hunt, and Tamriel didn’t want Idris to be drawn into bartering, to be caught up in some elaborate exchange where his few coins could be manipulated into something less than their worth.

The faeries here were shrewd, and some of them had little regard for human currencies.

They were known to barter memories, to trade the color of one’s eyes for a trinket, or to exchange pieces of one’s soul for something as simple as a flower or a meal.

It was a game Tamriel knew too well.

But Idris, ever the steady presence, never seemed to fall into their traps.

Despite the pull of the market, the vibrant colors and sounds that beckoned from every stall, he remained focused.

When a nixie selling shells and pottery slyly asked him about his family name, Idris gave her a playful wink and said, “I couldn’t possibly comment.”

When a child, barely older than Yuli, offered him a pastry sample, Idris smiled but politely declined, saying he couldn’t risk making Tamriel jealous by sampling someone else’s baking.

It was charming, the way Idris kept his distance without being cold, the way he interacted with the world without losing himself in it.

It was a skill Tamriel admired, and it allowed him to breathe easier as they continued their exploration.

They stopped at the apothecary first.

It was a familiar stop, run by a pair of gnomes who had been tending the stall since before Tamriel’s mother was born.

The gnomes were delighted by Idris’s presence, bombarding him with questions about the human world, their wrinkled faces full of curiosity.

After a cursory glance at Idris’s hair, the gnomes had prescribed him a vial of deep amber oil to moisturize it.

Tamriel had pressed them for assurances, and the first gnome had nodded confidently, promising that it would do no harm.

The second gnome had added that it would only help with dryness, nothing more.

Tamriel had smiled and handed over a golden coin, watching as Idris sniffed the vial before dropping it into his coat pocket.

“It smells like baked apples,” Idris had commented with a grin. “I might just end up eating my own hair.”

Tamriel had chuckled, though he couldn’t help but feel a small knot of concern tighten in his chest. He was certain Idris was joking, but the comment was an odd one nonetheless.

From there, they wandered to the fabric stalls, where Idris helped Tamriel pick out the curtains and cushions for Yuli’s room. The fabrics were soft and vibrant, a perfect match for the little one’s cheerful personality. They continued on, past stalls selling trinkets, ornaments, and jewelry, all glittering under the sun.

The sight brought a flash of memory to Tamriel’s mind—of Arlyn and Yuli in the Unseelie Lands. He couldn’t help but wonder how they were faring, though he knew they would be safe. The Queen of the Unseelie was not one to risk angering emissaries, but still, Tamriel worried about the delays they might encounter, about the possibility of not returning home in time.

Idris’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Can I bring some of these back to my world?” he asked, his voice warm with the same earnestness that had always comforted Tamriel.

Tamriel smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing. “A few things should be fine,” he said. “But I’d be cautious about telling people where you got them.”

Idris raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, best to keep Faerie a secret. Don’t want a bunch of humans showing up for a tour.”

Tamriel chuckled. “Humans can’t pass through the portal without a token from one of us. The ring I gave you, or the coin from the Queen—those are the only things that can bring you here. No, it’s not that I’m worried about a human invasion. I simply fear that if you tell your friends where you bought the gifts, they’ll think you’ve gone mad.”

Idris laughed, the sound light and infectious. “True. I mean, I thought I was mad for a while, what with those strange letters.”

Tamriel nodded in understanding. “It is funny. The things we think are so mundane here are often extraordinary in another world.”

Idris smiled again, and Tamriel couldn’t help but feel the weight of his own worries lighten. It was a magic Idris possessed, this ability to make him feel at ease, to ground him in the present moment. It was a gift that Tamriel hadn’t expected, but one he was grateful for.

Idris paused before the jewelry stall, picking up a silver necklace with a delicate dried petal of honesty at its center. “I think I’ll get something for Addison,” he said, holding it up to the light. “And maybe something for Sana, just to treat her. Though… is it still a gift if I’m using your money?”

Tamriel smiled gently. “Of course. Besides, I’m the one who brought you here in the first place. It’s only fair I help make up for the time you’ve lost.”

Idris raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile on his lips. “Compensation, huh?”

“Exactly,” Tamriel said, though he found himself pondering the idea of compensation in the quiet spaces between their words.

Idris laughed. “You know, not everything has to be an equal exchange. Sometimes, you just do something because you want to.”

Tamriel thought about that, about what Idris was suggesting. It wasn’t something Tamriel was accustomed to, but as he thought it over, he realized that maybe there was something freeing in that idea. “I suppose you’re right,” Tamriel said, though the thought was still a little foreign to him.

Idris grinned, clearly pleased that Tamriel was listening. He looked back at the table, picking up a bracelet made of golden ivy loops. “I’ll get these for Sana and Addison. Maybe some embroidered pillows for Kayla and Elena—they’ll be worried about me, too.”

Tamriel nodded, then asked, “And Owen?”

Idris glanced around, his eyes settling on a green velvet tent where barrels and bottles of spirits sat in neat rows. “I think I’ll need your expertise on this one,” he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “We’re looking for something strong. Something nasty.”

“I think we can manage that,” Tamriel said, already eyeing the tent. The strong, pungent scent of the spirits hit them as they approached, and the store owner—a stocky faerie—greeted them with a knowing smile.

“What’s the strongest you’ve got?” Idris asked, his curiosity piqued.

The faerie didn’t hesitate. “Are you looking to kill, or just to intoxicate?”

Idris laughed nervously. “Definitely just to intoxicate.”

The faerie held up a bottle filled with a pearlescent liquid. “This is distilled from bone roses grown under the mountain border. A single drop is as potent as a whole cup of wine. A mouthful will make you forget your name.”

Tamriel quickly added, “For a while, at least. You’d remember your name once you stop drinking.”

The faerie shot him a sharp look, but agreed nonetheless.

Idris examined the bottle, considering it for a moment before grinning. “Maybe I’ll dilute it a little. Owen would drink the whole bottle in one go if I didn’t.”

The faerie’s face twisted with disdain. “Dilute it? No, you’re better off with this.” He selected a bottle of morningstar wine, much less lethal but still potent.

Tamriel smiled at Idris, who nodded in agreement. “I think this one will do,” he said, handing over the payment.

Along with the wine, Idris also bought a bottle of berry cordial for his brother after it was offered to him by the store owner, the faerie placated by Idris’s purchase of the wine and clearly of the mind that diluting drinks was a human quirk. Once they had packed the bottles away in Idris’s satchel, he was drawn to the food stalls, his enthusiasm completely un-dampened by the shopping they’d done so far. The array of smells and vibrant colors of the market pulled him in, like a child discovering an endless candy store.

“We have a show in my land where a few chefs get given some random ingredients, and they have to make a meal out of them,” Idris said as he looked at a perfect pyramid of squashes, his fingers tracing their smooth, colorful skin. His grin widened as a mischievous glint entered his eyes. “What about if I buy three random things, and you have to cook something with them?”

“A challenge of sorts?” Tamriel asked, his curiosity piqued. “What would the stakes be?”

“No stakes,” Idris replied cheerfully, his eyes lighting up with the playful energy of a child daring someone to join in a game. “Just fun. Only if it’s terrible, I’ll still eat it to make up for forcing you to cook it.”

Tamriel tilted his head, intrigued by the simplicity and absurdity of the idea. There was something so human about it, so spontaneous and free of consequence. “And if it is good, we both win?”

“Exactly,” Idris said, nodding eagerly.

It sounded like a ridiculous game, yet Tamriel found himself drawn into the spirit of it, imagining the joy of cooking together and testing the bounds of his own creativity. “Alright,” he said. “But you must help me cook.”

Idris winked and, before Tamriel could protest, pointed at a large purple squash at the bottom of the pile. “That’ll be ingredient number one.”

The second ingredient came quickly—a parcel of fresh rainbow fish, the scales shimmering with iridescent colors. The third was a selection of bitter greens, their sharpness promising to cut through the richness of the other ingredients. But the fourth ingredient, for Idris was wholly absorbed in his game, was a large palm nut—round and black, its tough shell belying the sweet, fragrant liquid inside. Tamriel’s mind worked quickly. He could poach the fish in the liquid from the palm nut, perhaps, and scrape out the soft flesh to use in a cake. He could spice the squash, roasting it slowly over a fire, or mash it into a hash with the bitter greens to balance their flavors. He felt the stirrings of excitement, the challenge and creativity of it luring him in.

“Do you think you can make something of all this?” Idris asked, his voice tinged with expectation.

Tamriel smiled, already envisioning the dish. “It’ll be interesting, at the very least.”

But just as he was about to continue, a voice rose above the clamor of the market, cutting through the hum of conversation.

“So this is the human you have bound yourself to.” The voice was harsh, thick with disdain. Tamriel stiffened, his attention snapping to the figure emerging between the stalls. It was Galan, his father, his face contorted in its familiar expression of disapproval.

Tamriel’s heart clenched. He had not expected to see his father here, not now, not in front of Idris. And yet, the instant the man laid eyes on Idris, his mouth twisted in displeasure. “My daughters have been sent away to the Unseelie kingdom for him?” Galan’s voice was laced with venom.

“Do not act like you care for my sisters,” Tamriel shot back, a bitter edge to his words. “I bet you didn’t even realize Yuli had gone until long after she left.”

Galan’s frown deepened, furrowing so deeply it threatened to swallow his entire face. He seemed to ignore Tamriel’s point entirely, instead focusing on the man beside him. “They are gone,” he repeated, his words chilling. “And you bring this man out here to flaunt your disobedience. To make a mockery of my suffering.” His gaze shifted sharply to Idris, the contempt in his eyes unmistakable. “What do you have to say for yourself? Do you realize what you’ve done?”

Tamriel felt his body go cold at the words aimed not at him, but at Idris. His mind raced with anger, a flash of heat surging through his veins. He willed Idris not to apologize, not to give Galan the satisfaction of any weakness, any opening to twist things further.

“Oh, I know what I’ve done,” Idris said lightly, his tone carrying a calm confidence that contrasted sharply with Galan’s aggression. Tamriel’s heart skipped in relief, but it was quickly followed by a pang of something else—pride, perhaps, or admiration.

Galan’s eyes narrowed, and his lips twisted into a sneer. “I must congratulate you, Tamriel; you have managed to find a husband as foolish and as selfish as yourself.”

Tamriel’s chest tightened, and without a second thought, he stepped in front of Idris, placing himself firmly between the two. His father’s cruel words could never reach the one person who mattered most to him.

“Any grievance you think you have with Idris is both imaginary and foolish,” Tamriel’s voice was sharp, each syllable cold with the weight of conviction. “He is a good man. A strong, talented, and kind man who I will not allow to be insulted by you.”

The anger in Galan’s eyes flared, and before Tamriel could brace himself for another verbal attack, his hand shot out in a blur of motion. He punched Galan square in the nose.

Time seemed to freeze. The world around him became muted, the laughter and chatter of the market distorting into a low hum, as though everything but his father and Idris had faded from existence. Idris’s expression shifted from shock to something else, amusement creeping into his features as he stared at Tamriel, his lips curling into a small, delighted smile.

Galan, reeling from the impact, stumbled backward, crashing into one of the nearby stalls with a resounding crash. The loud clatter of glass jars breaking shattered the stillness, and the noise of the market flooded back to Tamriel’s senses with deafening intensity.

“We should go,” Tamriel muttered, grabbing Idris by the hand and leading him quickly through the bustling market. He didn’t care about the stares or the hushed whispers that began to ripple through the crowd. He only cared about getting Idris away from the scene, away from his father’s cruelty, and back to safety. The market seemed to press in on him from all sides, but he didn’t stop walking until they were well clear of the crowd.

Idris’s hand gently tugged on his, urging him to stop. “Let me see your hand,” he said, his voice surprisingly firm. Tamriel was caught off guard, but without thinking, he held his hand out to him. Idris took it gently, inspecting the knuckles, which were already beginning to bruise.

“You punched him cleanly, at least,” Idris said with a slight grin, though his eyes softened with concern as he pressed on Tamriel’s knuckles, making him wince. “Just bruising.”

Tamriel sighed, the adrenaline slowly fading, leaving behind a weary heaviness. “It’s fine.”

Idris looked at him, still holding his hand, his expression pensive. “What your father said—that wasn’t true,” Idris said, his voice edged with confusion. “You didn’t bring me to the market just to hurt him. You’re not selfish. You’re one of the most generous men I’ve ever met. How could he lie?”

Tamriel’s gaze softened, and he exhaled slowly. “He thought it was his truth,” he said quietly. “He sees things from his perspective only. He truly believes I have set out to make his life miserable.”

“That’s … messed up,” Idris said, his words full of empathy. “I’m sorry. It must be awful having a father like that.”

Tamriel let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow. “He stopped being my father many years ago.”

Idris’s eyes seemed to warm at the words, and without warning, he pulled Tamriel into a tight embrace. Tamriel froze for a moment, surprised by the gesture, but then he allowed himself to melt into it, his arms wrapping around Idris in return. For the first time in years, he felt like he could breathe, like he wasn’t alone. Idris’s embrace was a strange comfort, like home, like everything would be okay as long as they held each other.

“You shouldn’t have had to deal with that,” Idris murmured, his voice quiet but steady.

“And you shouldn’t have had to hear those things he said about you,” Tamriel replied, his voice rough.

Idris let out a soft laugh, a little sheepish. “That’s the first time anyone’s ever punched anyone for me. That was kind of cool.”

Tamriel smirked, his lips curving into a smile. “From the way you fight, I feel that you are more than capable of defending yourself.”

Idris chuckled. “True. But sometimes it’s nice to be defended.”

Tamriel’s smile softened, his thoughts flickering to the way Idris had stood up for him in the Unseelie realm, a stranger, unhesitating in his support. He shook himself from his musings, bringing himself back to the present. “Come,” he said. “When we return home, we will cook, and if you are agreeable, I would very much like to hit something.”

Idris grinned, his eyes lighting up once more. “Sounds like a plan.”

◆◆◆

There were barely three days left of Tamriel’s week of freedom. The weight of the approaching Wild Hunt was beginning to press on him, like a storm on the horizon, a reminder of the inevitable path his life had taken. In just a few days, he would be bound once more to the ancient, restless cycles of his kind. He would ride through the skies with sword in hand, chasing the horizon, his existence stretched out into eternity with no reprieve. The thought made him want to retreat, to sink into darkness and curl up like a wounded animal.

“You can curl up into a ball if you like,” Idris said when Tamriel confided in him. “I can put a blanket over you and gently pat your head. I’m good with balls.”

Tamriel's initial reaction was to snort, then quickly mask it as a cough. He had no idea if the phrase "good with balls" meant the same thing in Idris’s world as it did in his, and the prospect of explaining such a delicate matter was too awkward to entertain.

“I will remain upright, for now,” Tamriel replied, his tone light, but there was an edge of sadness he couldn't quite hide. “Besides, we’ve only just begun our walk. I would hate to cut it short so soon.”

Idris chuckled at that. “You can be a ball later then,” he teased with a smile, and Tamriel couldn’t help but feel the tension in his chest ease, even if only a little.

They were hiking through one of Faerie’s countless forests, though neither of them had a clear destination in mind. It was more about the act of moving through the landscape than where they were going. They had packed food and a bag filled with books and paper, ready in case they found somewhere beautiful to stop and sketch or write. The air was cool, crisp with the last whispers of autumn. The sound of leaves crackling beneath their boots was oddly satisfying, a reminder that they were still in the present, in the here and now.

Though they walked side by side, they didn't speak much. There had been so many conversations in the past few days, so many words exchanged, and yet this silence felt like a deep, comfortable companion. Sometimes, being with someone didn’t require words, just the shared presence of another. Tamriel felt that in every step, in every breath of the cool forest air.

Faerie's seasons were whimsical, unconcerned with mortal expectations. At that moment, summer seemed to be bowing out gracefully, giving way to the early stirrings of winter. Tamriel found this transition symbolic—his old life was winding down, fading into something colder and more distant. Yet, despite the sorrow that crept into his heart, he still loved the way the vibrant greens of summer turned to golds, reds, and oranges, the whole forest appearing as if it were on fire with the cool colors of autumn.

He was so absorbed in the colors of the trees, the fading sunlight filtering through the branches, that he almost missed it. A tree, standing apart from the others in some unidentifiable way. It had a strange energy about it, as though it were a part of the forest but not quite of it. It was only when Tamriel drew closer that he realized what it was: a seam running through its trunk, an almost imperceptible outline of a door.

“Idris! Look at this,” Tamriel called, his voice filled with sudden excitement. “We have happened upon a portal.”

“Another one?” Idris sounded surprised, as if he hadn’t expected to find more of them. “I thought there was just one.”

“There are many entrances to our world,” Tamriel explained. “Some are fixed, like the one you came through, but others wander. This one is new to me.”

“So you don’t know where it goes?” Idris asked, his eyes lighting up with curiosity.

“I do not,” Tamriel replied, a note of caution in his voice. “But we may find out. You’d best step back.”

Idris obligingly took a step back, and Tamriel approached the tree carefully. His fingers brushed the seam, searching for some handhold or mechanism, and when he found one, he tugged. The portal groaned open, and for a moment, Tamriel only saw blue—a vast, endless expanse of water, blending seamlessly into the horizon. It looked more like a massive lake than an ocean, but something about it felt different.

Tamriel stepped closer to the portal and saw the shore—a stretch of sand and rocks leading into the water.