Yarrow whistles again, and the firefly dances away. “The firefly will lead you to the door.”
“Thank you,” Nevander says, and pulls the hood over Seren’s head. Another of those presumptuous touches.
“Seren,” Folly says, before they can move. He takes Seren’s hand in both of his. “We’ll talk in the morning, all right? You’re in good hands. You can trust Nevander.”
His words are reassuring, but his worries patter like raindrops against Seren’s heart.
Then Nevander steers him away. The awning’s music gives way to the crowd’s laughter, other disparate melodies. Nevander’s cloak is too long, and it drags behind Seren with every step. But it helps. People are still staring—curiosity pings Seren’s empathy—but now Nevander draws most of the attention.
Revelers subtly clear a path before them. As if Nevander is famous. Seren is interesting because Nevander’s arm curls around his shoulders, not in his own right.
The firefly leads them into the forest. The trees stand far apart, and the undergrowth is sparse, but the trees aren’t particularly large. Like a forest both old and new.
Without the press of foreign emotions, Seren finally relaxes into exhaustion. He lacks the energy to be surprised when they reach the cottage. A glowing circle surrounds it—more fireflies, Seren thinks at first, except they’re too large and don’t move. They’re green and blue mushrooms, joined by luminescent moss.
The firefly guide crosses the border, and that stretch of mushrooms goes dark.
Nevander’s voice is soft, but so sudden Seren jumps. “It’s a protective ward. The dark spot is safe to cross, but don’t step on the circle.”
“Thanks,” Seren says, and pulls away from Nevander’s grasp. Even though the distance is cold and lonely. Theyaren’t in the crowd anymore. There’s no need. Nevander’s still a stranger, and Seren can’t rely on him.
Seren hikes the too-long cloak up to cross the circle.
The cottage itself would look at home in Wymond, except for the strange texture of the thatched roof. It’s hard to see in the dark, but Seren has to assume there are more mushrooms. He can recognize a pattern.
The firefly guide bobs in front of the door. When the door opens, the firefly flies a little loop, then races off.
“Let me enter first,” Nevander says, stepping inside. After a moment, he beckons Seren forward.
The interior is just as ordinary, except for the tiny lights that spring up at Nevander’s gesture. The front room holds a hearth, small tables and chairs, and a long sofa. The dubious cupboards must be behind one of the doors.
“Are you hungry?” Nevander asks as he inspects the room.
“No.” Seren eases the hood back. “Can you teach me to shield now?”
Nevander’s expression is unreadable. “Morning would be better. You should sleep on the sofa.”
Again, the deferred explanations. Seren wants to learn everything now. But gods, Nevander’s right. Seren’s too much of a wreck tonight. Just an hour ago, he was in the cottage he grew up in, listening to his parents argue, wishing he were anywhere else.
Now he is, and he’s more lost than ever.
“I’ll sleep after a few more questions.” Seren fumbles with the clasp of Nevander’s cloak. “Do I have a father?”
“No,” Nevander says, and Seren’s face must look ghastly, because he hastens to add, “There’s a ritual. It’s uncommonand difficult, but it allows high fae to have children without a partner.”
Seren blinks, rocked out of his instant of grief. “This is getting stranger and stranger.”
Managing to undo the cloak, he settles into emptiness. The bad sort, that means his true emotions will unfurl later.
Unless he shoves them down deep enough.
Seren shakes out the cloak, which isn’t as dirty as it should be after dragging behind him. Then he starts folding it. “What about my brothers?”
Nevander stops at the empty fireplace. “They were stolen by Lord Midnight of the nightlands. Elladar’s seers cannot scry into his domain.”
More names that mean nothing to Seren. He sets the cloak on a chair. “One more question tonight. Why did you come for me, instead of Queen Haelwen?”
Seren can’t bring himself to call her mother.