The faerie realms lay along our own, each world like a layer of cloth, each life like a line of stitching in a tapestry. In some places, threads weave between the worlds. Other places are riddled with holes, where it’s all too easy to slip into a different world. The forest Mami ventured into bordered our village to the south. It was safe enough, as long as you stuck to the path. In its depths, it was said you could slip between the human world and the faerie ones without even noticing until it was too late.

Every year, our mother spun this story for us.

And every year, she refused to talk about what she’d seen in the forest.

“And three nights,” I add.

“I was getting there. Would you like to tell it?”

I kick my feet idly in the open air. The scent of smoke and the sound of laughter carry over to me on the breeze from the bonfire at the center of camp. A temporary peace settles in my stomach. “No, go ahead.”

“She must have been a sight—you know that face she does.” Isolde’s features stretch into an almost too good imitation of Mami’s you-already-know-what-you-did expression.

I laugh. “Only from when you got me in trouble.”

Isolde ignores me. “Turns out, it works equally well on the five-year-olds and the faerie court.”

The smile freezes on my face, draining away slowly.

Technically, there are two faerie courts: the one governed by the Seelie, a world of order and chivalry and pleasure, of endless summer and endless green forest. And the one ruled by the Unseelie, who revel in chaos and power. They aren’t good and evil, exactly—no matter which court, faeries are self-interested above all else. But at least the mortals who end up in the Seelie Realm sometimes live to write stories and songs about it.

Like our mother. She never told us much about the court she’d visited, but it must have been the Seelie. After all, she hadn’t just returned, she’d returned with exactly what she was looking for.

“She was so stubborn that something in her amused the faeries, and they gave her a chance not many get—” Isolde is getting to the good part now “—‘One of these children you bore. The other is of faerie make. You may leave with whichever you choose. Pick carefully.’”

I close my eyes, envisioning the scene. Mami, standing before a court of faeries, their glowing eyes lit up with mischief as they await her decision.

And our mother, without a second of hesitation, lifted us both from our ivy-woven faerie cradles and gently tucked her newborn daughters into her arms.

“Calmly and quietly, she said, ‘I came for the daughter in your possession. I never agreed to return my adopted child.’ This cake is great, Seelie.” Isolde pauses to take another bite.

I headbutt her gently. “It’s okay. Keep going!”

“Bossy,” she mutters, but she continues. “She didn’t meet their glowing eyes or wait for permission. She turned on her heel and left, wise enough to know not to look back. She brought us home.”