The group parted at the crossroads between Istabrook and The Herald Wood. Kurellan clapped Idris on the shoulder.

“Do be quick,” he said.

“Of course, Your Honour.”

“I will keep your seat warm at Her Majesty’s table.”

“Um, Judge Kurellan?” Idris said as the old man turned away. Kurellan looked over his shoulder. “Thank you. For trusting me. I know circumstances have been –“

But Kurellan cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“We will have dinner at the palace in a fortnight’s time,” he said. “And we will talk all about it then. Yes?”

“I will put it on my schedule.”

“Master Willard, do not lead him astray.”

“I shan’t, Honour,” said Willard, shaking his hand.

Kurellan, knowing that Lila was still annoyed at him, simply nodded at her, and she bowed and said, “Your Honour.”

“Yellow flare for trouble,” said Riette to Lila.

“Yes, milady.”

“Protect him.”

“I shall, milady.”

“Master Willard. Safe travels.”

“Lady Riette.”

“Sir Idris,” she said, with a smile. He smiled, bowed.

“Lady DeTrentaville. I hope your journey is easy and swift. Give Her Majesty my regards.”

“You do not have to bow to me,” she said.

“You are a noble lady,” said Idris, straightening up. “I should bow to you.”

“You have my express permission not to,” said Riette, her smile softer. “Please be careful.”

“I will.”

As she climbed onto her horse, Willard gave Idris a playful look.

“What?” Idris muttered.

“You noticed it too?” said Lila behind his back.

“Noticed what?” said Idris, tutting.

The two soldiers departed, Riette waving until they were over the ridge. Idris sighed, glanced at the carriage they had been left with.

“Camp?” he said.

“Camp,” said Willard. “Come on.”

The Herald Wood was the largest expanse of forest in the kingdom. Noblemen often hunted in its trees for deer and pheasant and there were several hunting lodges deep in its shaded canopy. In days past, it was forbidden to all but the royal family, because it was filled to the brim with fae arias and peasants kept going missing inside; it was considered far too dangerous for people to visit. More recently, allowances were expanded so that healers could procure herbs from it, but anyone else visiting or passing through had to have a permit or the Queen’s express permission.

The very air shivered with energy. Idris felt cold before he had even taken a step inside. The carriage and the horses were safely hidden in a farmhouse just outside the woods thanks to Willard’s charming pleas to the famers, and they had all of the things they would need carried on their shoulders.

“Are we sure this is safe?” Lila whispered.

“Oh, nobody said anything about it being a safe or clever idea,” said Idris. “It was simply the only idea.”

“I won’t let nothing happen to us,” said Willard. “You have my promise, Miss Lila.”

She sighed, hand on the hilt of her new sword. “Onward, then.”

“Watch your feet,” said Willard. “And don’t touch no dolls you see. Follow my footsteps.”

The sure, bare feet of the hedge witch took the first few steps into the foliage. Lila followed, then Idris.

“So you know,” said Idris, “every time I wander into fae forests, I get my ankles destroyed, and the first time it was permanent.”

“I won’t let no-one take your second ankle, Idris,” said Willard. “Elsewise I’ll make sure when I cut it off, I do it nice.”

“That is not reassuring even in the slightest, Willard.”

It was not long before the light from the sun was a mere, hazy dusk-light, greened by the canopy. Fireflies glittered between fae glows of butter-yellow and ember-orange. Idris saw the first doll – a poppet, he remembered – tied in grass twine to an elm. It was strangely frightening, despite the gentle smile sewn onto its face.

“How long do we walk?” said Lila, her voice shaking.

“’Til we find a sizeable circle, that’ll fit me and Idris,” said Willard, using a stick he had found to push some undergrowth aside. “And our stuff.”

It was a slow, nervous crawl into the Herald Wood. Occasionally, Willard picked herbs or mushrooms, sniffed them or licked them, then put them into his satchel; the dots of sunlight that came through made the blond in his hair golden. Finally, he paused, nodded, and turned.

“See that?”

He pointed with the stick. Through a crack in a lightning-struck tree, Idris saw a fairy circle. It was ringed with puffy, inviting mushrooms of various sizes and in the centre was grass so luscious that it begged to be sat on.

“Is that our way in?” he whispered. Willard nodded.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Think so. Space enough for the tent to be pitched beside it, too.”

“Excellent.”

“Miss Lila, you first,” said Willard. “Gotta climb through this gap, here… watch your feet, now.”

Once she had been boosted through the gap, Lila took the bundles of belongings and set them next to the circle. Idris went second, assisted on both sides, and finally Willard clambered over. For a quiet second, they all stared at the circle, until the hedge witch blew out his cheeks and nodded.

“I hear it right clear now,” he said. “The aria.”

“Let us pitch Lila’s tent and plan our entry,” said Idris; his blood felt cold when he looked at the circle and he did not want to think about it too much.

Willard instructed them on how to please the fae with their camp so they did not feel disrespected. They lit no fire – Lila was not allowed to cause smoke here – so they caught a few fireflies and freed them in the glade; they ensured that they drove the tent’s stakes deeply and covered them with moss.

“Do not eat anything you have gathered in this forest without thanking ‘em first,” said Willard. “Best to eat the bread we brought. And you should leave some out for the fae, in case they get peckish.” He pulled a face at Idris. “No magic from you.”

“Understood.”

“We ready?” Willard whispered, his eyes unsure. “No questions?”

Idris shook his head. “None. I place myself in your capable hands.”

They took off Idris’s prosthetic (the fae might not like to think he was deceiving them) and checked their belongings. Once inside the circle, they would not be able to leave. Lila watched with trepidation, her sword on her lap, her discomfort written plain on her face.

“How long will you be in there?” she said.

“Hard to say. Time is weird in the fae realm, or so the stories say,” said Willard, opening his satchel.

“I shan’t sleep until you return safely,” she said. “I will watch the circle.”

“We appreciate it, Lila,” said Idris, patting her knee amicably. “I am sure we will be fine.”

“Right,” said Willard, with a sigh. There were two previously picked mushroom caps on his palm, white with deep red dots like blood-splatters. “This ain’t gonna feel nice, Idris.”

“That is the correct mushroom?” Idris checked, suddenly wanting to back out.

“Aye. Grab your crutches and your things. Need to have our wits about us before we eat these.”

“Sir Idris,” said Lila desperately, eyes fixed on the mushrooms.

“I know,” he said, steadying himself on the crutches.

“Just please do be careful,” she said.

“Once we are in there,” said Willard, “we don’t eat nothing they give us. Drink water only. Do not accept any bargains or deals. Answer no riddles. No magic. And we’ll be fine.”

“Give me the mushroom and let us be done with this,” breathed Idris, “or I will back out faster than you can say ‘fairy circle.’”

Willard did as he was told and put the mushroom in Idris’s mouth.

“Chew.”

The first bite tasted like honeyed cakes; warmth flooded through his cheeks, as if he had sipped particularly heady wine. Willard, chewing his own, assisted Idris into the circle, and they sat on the grass together until the mushrooms were swallowed. Nothing happened immediately, but the effects of the mushroom were creeping over Idris faster than he thought they should. His breath sounded incredibly loud.

Outside the circle, Lila stared. “How did it taste?” she said.

“Delicious, actually,” said Idris.

But already, the forest felt different. The light had a brighter quality. The grass under his hands was as soft as a bolt of silk.

“Oh,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

“Feels nice,” Willard whispered, “don’t it?”

“It does. Yes.”

Idris blinked, and there were lanterns, suddenly, in the branches above Lila’s head. He blinked again, and he was sure he saw tents in the trees, tiny houses in the trunks. With every heavy blink, there was something new. The greens were more vibrant, the yellows dewy and heavenly. There were smells, lavender and honeysuckle and rose perfume. His cheeks tingled.

And then he realised that Lila was gone, even though the forest was still there, much changed but with the same foliage, the same shape. All at once, his heart raced in fear.

“Bells, Willard,” he said, grabbing for his hand, and Willard gripped it tightly.

“’S’all good, Idris. Breathe, now.”

“I do not like this anymore.”

“Just breathe.”

There were creatures.

They seemed to melt out of the background, strange and beautiful and myriad. There, a woman with dragonfly wings and lilacs in her white hair. To his left, a man with eyes that glowed like hot coals. Squirrels and birds conversed in perfect speech; flying children carried baskets of berries to and fro between swallows’ nests. A stag watched them beside a centaur man with branching antlers of his own.

Idris, paralysed, could do nothing but ogle.

Carefully, Willard stood and cleared his throat, and he said, “I beg the right of parlay with the Fairy Court, so please your graces.”

And he bowed low.

The stag bowed and retreated into the trees.

“On your feet, Idris,” said Willard.

“I cannot.”

“Mushroom’s making you giddy. Look at the lights. Aren’t they fine?”

“They are… quite splendid.” Idris fixed his eyes on the lanterns, their halos pulsing somehow. “I want to touch it.”

“Can’t touch it from the ground, now, can you? Up you get.”

By the time they had got Idris situated with his crutches, his desire to touch the lights was much diminished, and the scene before them was more sobering. Before them stood a wide variety of fae in a curious semi-circle, watching them. Some had spears with heads of pink glass; in the treetops, squirrels sat with crossbows pointed their way. The fae stood proud and tall, whatever size or shape they were, and wore flower crowns and woven jewellery. Idris supposed this was the Fairy Court.

Willard bowed deeply again. Idris dipped as far as the crutches would allow.

“Good folk and fae,” said Willard, “we apologise for trespassing so. We are in need of your aid and I have a gift for you in return.”

A doe-legged nymph raised her eyebrows.

“What could you possibly have to give us, witch?” she said, in a voice that echoed so purely that she may as well have shouted.

“I have a song,” said Willard.

The court murmured at this, curious, but the nymph smiled wickedly and shook her head.

“Oh no, witch. You bring this into our realm and think a song might placate us?”

And she gestured to Idris.

“I…” said Willard, turning to him. “Sir Idris is my friend. That he is a dead-talker is of no consequence –“

“Not to you,” said the nymph.

“Good lady, I mean no harm,” said Idris, bowing again. “If it please the court, Willard is willing to trade for information. I have no desire to interrupt proceedings if I am unwelcome. I can stay in the circle and not make a sound.”

“I will give you hair and blood,” said Willard quickly. “Enough for a poppet.”

This time, the court was silent, and the nymph frowned.

“Is your business so urgent?”

“Aye. That it is.” He rummaged on his belt and held up the velvet bag. “I have something I think you made.”

Frowning, the nymph looked at a creature which Idris could only describe as a pixie – short, flying with butterfly wings in moonlight-cream.

“Take the blood and hair. I will consult with the Queen.”

“Willard, this is a bad idea,” Idris whispered. Willard smiled and nodded.

“Oh, aye, it is.”

“Wait,” said a soft, commanding voice in the crowd. The pixie, knife in hand, hovered beside Willard. “Hold.”

The crowd parted, bending their knees. A gentle-faced, impossibly blond man hurried to the fairy circle. His eyes glittered so fiercely that Idris was certain they were filled with constellations, so midnight-blue that they looked deeper than oceans. Between the blond waves of his hair was a striking crown made of silver leaves and orange flowers that Idris did not know the name of.

The man did not look at Idris at all. Instead, he stared at Willard. Willard, this time, did not bow. He stood equally stricken, watching the fae nobleman as if something from his dreams had just become real.

Eventually, the nobleman waved Willard forward.

“Out of the circle, young man,” he said.

“Uh, begging your pardon, noble sir, but I ain’t about to step out of the circle without no protections –“

“You have my oath,” said the nobleman. “No harm will come to you.”

He reached up, cut a piece of his own hair with a dagger, and handed it to the pixie.

The whole Fairy Court merely waited, on their knees. Idris hardly saw them move or blink.

“This should suffice, Merryweather. Off with you. We do not treat our kin so,” said the nobleman to the pixie, a hard scowl on his face. The pixie snatched the hair and took off. “Please,” he said to Willard, hand outstretched now.

“Kin?” said Willard.

The nobleman hesitated.

“Oh, child,” he said softly. “We have much to discuss. Come.” When Willard still did not move, the fae man smiled. “You do not remember me. I know that. But I did love your mother so, and…”

Willard frowned.

“Joe?” he whispered.

The nobleman laughed. “Let us talk.”

Willard stepped out of the circle and took the nobleman’s hand.