“Keep this discreet,” Nevander says. “Seren, this is Yarrow, Lord of Elsewhere. Yarrow, this is—”
“Seren?”
A new figure bursts under the awning, and his shout echoes with shocked delight. He’s the first human Seren’s seen in Elsewhere. A crown of white flowers gleams in his dark hair, and his eyes are instantly recognizable. The right is ordinary brown. The left is unnatural bright gold.
Fae-touched. Dangerous.
Familiar.
“And this is my lifebond,” Yarrow says fondly. “The cleverer and more adorable of Elsewhere’s lords.”
“Folly?” Seren says, astonished.
He must be going mad with exhaustion. He’s hallucinating the miller’s son, who lived two houses down. The one who ran away and joined a carnival. They were never close—Folly was years older and the village outcast. His eye was impossible to hide, unlike Seren’s empathy magic. Seren avoided Folly too, he’s ashamed to remember. Edith told him to stay away from Folly, and Seren needed to keep Edith happy.
Seren hardly recognizes Folly now. The shy village outcast would never wear those billowing red silk trousers, gold knee-high boots—and nothing else. Paint swirls around his bare chest and arms, just like the bronze-horned fae currently pressing a kiss into his dark curls.
Yes. Seren is going mad.
“What are you doing here?” Seren asks.
“One meets fascinating people in the carnival,” Folly says, leaning into the kiss. “But that story is far too long to tell.”
“I abducted him, then he couldn’t get enough of me.” Yarrow gestures to himself, even as all his doting attention remains on Folly. “Who could blame him?”
“Far too long to tellproperly,” Folly corrects. Then his cheerfulness falters into nerves. “So, Nevander found you. I thought he might have. But why bring you back now? Are you all right? Is something wrong at court? Or in the village?” Folly grasps Yarrow’s wrist. “Is something wrong here in Elsewhere? We should check the—”
“Breathe, love.” Yarrow grins. “Though it won’t hurt to check the wards.”
Seren hadn’t considered half of Folly’s worries, and now his own nerves build in response. Something must have changed, if Nevander came to fetch Seren after twenty-one years.
If Nevander came at all, instead of the queen herself.
“I’ll explain anything you need to know later,” Nevander says. “We need a place to rest now.”
Ever the promise to explain later.
“Wait,” Seren interrupts, and braces himself for everyone’s anger. Except there’s nothing from Nevander, and only curiosity from Yarrow. Nerves from Folly. Seren forces himself to meet Folly’s mismatched eyes. “You know Nevander. And the fae. Did you know about… Is he telling the truth about me?”
Folly’s nervousness softens into painful compassion. “Oh, dear. I’m the last person you should ask. Four of us stand beneath this tent, and I’m the only one who can tell lies.”
Seren exhales, sharp, like he’s been punched. Somehow, this is the moment he finally believes.
He isn’t human. His entire life has been a lie. No wonder he never belonged.
Folly squints. “Why can’t I see through your glamour, though? The only sign is… Oh. What color do you think your eyes are?”
“Blue,” Seren answers.
“That would make much more sense,” Folly says. “They look gold to me. Eyes are the hardest bit to glamour. The rest of you looks very human.”
“The changeling spell is too strong,” Nevander says. “The glamour will hold even to your eye until Her Majesty breaks the spell.”
Yet another disorienting notion. That even Seren’s face might be a lie. He pushes his hair back, an excuse to surreptitiously touch his own ear. It feels rounded, ordinary. Not long and pointed like Nevander and Yarrow.
“Damn, what a mess.” Yarrow whistles, and a firefly races over. It flashes white and pink around his horns. “My mother’s in Spiritwood for the month, and her cottage here is empty. You can stay there. Just don’t enter her bedroom, and don’t eat anything from the yellow cupboard.”
“The green cupboard is safe,” Folly adds. “No dubious mushrooms.”
