“She was exaggerating the timescale,” Yarrow explains. “If we stood here for a year, we would end up growing mushrooms, probably.”
“I’m about to meet your mother,” Folly says faintly.
“I’m so sorry,” Yarrow says, and steers Folly towards the cottage.
The front door opens into the spacious kitchen—part dining space and part laboratory. There are two of almost everything, to avoid contamination. Two ovens, two ice boxes, two pantries. Only one square wooden table, though. As Yarrow and Folly enter, Crocus is sweeping its contents away. Mortars, pestles,and glass jars dance through the air and into the mushroom pantry.
“I was wondering if I would ever see you again.” Crocus lays out a clean, lacy tablecloth. “Months and months without visiting your mother! But now I see what you’ve been busy with, don’t I?”
Folly shrinks back, eyes wide. Whether from the intensity of Crocus’s stare, or the sudden clatter of the tea set from the non-mushroom pantry.
“We can’t stay long,” Yarrow says. “We’re looking for a shapestealer, and he’s in Spiritwood. Have you had any trouble?”
“You can stay for a pot of tea,” Crocus says firmly. “Or you wouldn’t have stepped through that gate. Sit down, both of you. And you!” She snatches a teaspoon from midair and points it at Yarrow. “I’m still waiting on that introduction.”
Yarrow sighs. He feels about thirty years old again, fully grown but still living at home, chafing under his mother’s roof. Folly must think he’s ridiculous. “This is Folly. He’s a fortuneteller by trade from the human realm. Folly, this is Crocus. She’s a crazy mushroom farmer, and she’s my mother.”
“I’m not crazy!” Crocus protests.
“The mushrooms are crazy.”
Crocus sighs. “That they are. Now, what was this about a shapestealer? Why are you looking for him?”
Yarrow cringes. This is the part he doesn’t want to explain, but avoiding the question will only make Crocus more interested. He hesitates long enough that Folly frowns in concern, and Crocus folds her arms.
Saucers and teacups clink onto the lacy tablecloth.
“I’ve been tasked with slaying the shapestealer,” Yarrow finally admits. That doesn’t satisfy Crocus’s glare, so hecontinues. “By Queen Haelwen, as a condition for my joining the summer court.”
Crocus’s jaw drops. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
Yarrow shifts his weight. Fuck, he wishes he wasn’t having this conversation at all, much less in front of Folly. “I want to. And it might be easier for you to return, if I was part of the court too.”
A trio of teaspoons falls, rattling on the table. “Why the fuck wouldIdo that?” Crocus demands. “I’m as much use as teats on a fish at court.”
“I just want you to have the choice,” Yarrow says, more forcefully than he intended. He shrugs. “I don’t know exactly why you were banished, but it has something to do with me, doesn’t it?”
Crocus glares. She’s two inches shorter than him, but twice as intimidating. “This is my own fault for not being clear, isn’t it? Yes, I left because everyone was annoying about me getting knocked up by a satyr. But Ileft, Yarrow. Haelwen banished me as the price for being allowed to leave.”
The world seems to shift around Yarrow. “You left on purpose?”
“I was used to the assholes at court, but I didn’t want that for you.” Crocus’s gaze softens. “Maybe I shouldn’t have made that choice on your behalf. But Haelwen rescinded my banishment about ten years ago. I guess it had been long enough.”
Yarrow scrubs his hand through the back of his hair. He feels a little foolish, a little angry. Very embarrassed to be having this conversation in front of Folly. “Maybe we should talk about this later.”
“Or we could talk about it now,” Crocus says sweetly. “Folly, dear human, would you mind waiting outside while I talk with my son?”
“Um, I can’t. Ma’am,” Folly stammers.
Crocus’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”
“The shapestealer cursed us.” Folly takes Yarrow’s hand and squeezes. “I have to stay next to Yarrow. I guess I could stand on one side of the door, if he stayed close on the other side. That makes me nervous, though, not being able to keep an eye on him, because what if we lost track of where we were on either side of the door? Then we would trigger the curse, and?—”
“Oh, dear,” Crocus says mildly. “I’ll make tea.”
Chapter 21
Folly
