“The Talamh Caisleán?” Tinder hesitates. “Do you really need to go there?”

“Yes.” Although she’d much rather not. But she gave her word and she must keep it. Of course, seeing Irial will be a reward.

“All right. I can do that. But we’re very far from the Caisleán right now. We’re on the outer edges of the Talamh, and starting from here, it will take us two months to get to our destination. The Saol ceremony will be over long before then.” The pixie brings out a small bag, and from it she extracts a square piece of paper with a thorn on it. “This will be unpleasant, but invoking this spell will move us directly to the pixie meadow, which is much closer to the Caisleán than here. My mom makes me carry one just in case I get lost on my travels.” She looks at Croi and correctly reads the question on her face. “The spell doesn’t work in the human world. I tried many times!”

Croi nods, accepting Tinder’s answer.

“I need you to hold me so you get transported along with me,” the pixie says. Croi obeys. The pixie tears the piece of paper, and Croi takes one last look at the mountain before they disappear.

FOURTEEN

THE SKY, A CERULEAN MONSTER stretching its fingertips to infinity, greets Croi on the other side.

She and the pixie are both a bit worse for wear after the experience of traveling a long distance in such a short time. Croi sinks down to her haunches to calm her queasy stomach. The pixie pats her on the back; Croi thinks she’s trying to be comforting. She stands up after a moment, and the pixie squeaks, flying back.

“Did you grow taller?”

“Yes.”

“I shouldn’t ask why, right?”

“You learn fast.” Croi beams. “Do you travel like that often?”

“No. Only sometimes,” Tinder replies. “Only when I need to get home quicker.”

At the word “home,” Croi looks around. They are in the largest meadow Croi has ever been in. It is lit by splashes of color from the flowers. Honeysuckles scent the air. Dog violets, purple and cheerful, nod gaily alongside cuckooflowers while primrose and wood anemones each command different sections of the meadow. Wildflowers she can’t identify grow in scattered clusters. A breeze plays with the flower petals, and long grass rustles in response. However, no flower sprites pop their heads out of the flowers to beam toothily at her. Are the flowers in the Otherworld always so quiet?

Far off in the distance, she sees the forest that surrounds the meadow on all sides. Is it still called the Wilde Forest here? Suddenly uncertain, she looks around. The place they were in the night before was entirely devoid of magick, but dense lines of magick fill everything living in the meadow. The magick here is many times stronger than it is in the human world.

“Where is home?” Croi asks, looking around.

Tinder points at a green mound where flowers grow densely. As soon as she does, six pixie soldiers perched precariously on honey hornets emerge from the mound, flying straight toward them. Croi tenses, raising her arms just in case they try to prick her with the sharp twigs they’re holding.