The fae realm was bright and warm, as if the autumn never touched it; Idris imagined it as if he were tiny and bottled up in a resin lamp. While the geography was similar to the mortal world, with the same trees and routes through the kingdom, the inhabitants were not. It was not long before some of the court’s attendants came to check on Willard, a couple of arm-length pixies with dragonfly wings and acorn-cup pauldrons, who steered clear of Idris but inquired of Willard’s needs in small whispers.

  “Bath,” said Willard. “And some dinner, aye?”

  “Aye, Kin Willard,” they chorused, bowing, and fluttered off.

  “Your station is much improved,” said Idris, who finally felt strong enough to get back to his feet. Willard gave a wan smile.

  “I am the prince’s son. The court won’t have me, but Joa has influence. That, and I have Her Majesty’s backing. See?”

  He displayed a pin on the inside of his shirt, a pair of silver serpents entwined.

  “Even I do not have one of those,” said Idris.

  “It gives me some kind of protection, though I ain’t sure what.” Willard helped Idris to his feet. “Come on, let’s go somewhere people ain’t staring at you.”

  “Staring?” Idris glanced over his shoulder. Instantly, he heard rustling as some gnomes with mossy beards dove under a log. “Oh.”

  In that way, real court and the Fairy Court were the same: Idris was a novelty, and a disgusting one at that. The fae disliked necromancers almost as much as mortals. Luckily, they did not much like Willard, either. As they wandered through lush shrubbery and thick carpet-like grass, animals and creatures skittered away from them in a panic, a flicker of tiny feet and fur and wings. Globular golden light hung in string-lanterns between the trees; vendors carried their stalls and wares on their backs, or hauled by smaller fae kin. Eventually, Idris saw someone he recognised, and he immediately bowed low.

  The Silent Lord, a huge stag, knelt on a single knee in response.

  “My Lord, a pleasure,” said Idris, standing again.

  The Silent Lord approached, a head taller than Idris, and snuffled his giant snout by Idris’s face.

  “Aye. All cut up,” said Willard. “I’m a-taking him to the nest. Can you find my pa, m’lord?”

  The stag inclined his head and wandered off, surprisingly graceful for such a massive animal.

  The nest seemed to be where Willard lived. The hedge witch took Idris to a giant oak tree, its reach being at least as wide as the assembly hall where Cressida held court, and Willard opened a door in the trunk that had a spiralling staircase going upwards and a man-sized basket.

  “Hop in,” he said, pointing to the basket.

  “Are you sure?” said Idris.

  “Unless you want to climb the stairs.”

  “I do not.”

  Idris climbed inside the basket. It was snug and smelled like medicinal herbs. Almost instantly, it began to rise through the trunk, although without any clear pulley system, in the centre of the staircase. Willard kept up with it easily, circling Idris in a dizzying motion, until the basket stopped and Idris was staring at the strangest bedroom. It was set entirely between the thick branches of the oak but almost as if the oak had grown to accommodate it. On one side of the space was a bed and a bathtub, a chest of clothes and a mannequin; on the other side was a low table and some plump cushions and blankets, and a set of hedge witch tools such as a cauldron and a pestle and mortar. Willard had clearly been hard at work, because there was a mixture simmering already and there were pieces of cut roots all over the table. Dried herbs hung from protruding stubs of branches in the walls, which consisted of vibrant green oak leaves, fanned out like a beautiful fresco, cocooning the room without a single gap. It was like being inside a big green egg.

  “Lemme draw a bath,” said Willard as Idris climbed out of the basket. “Don’t worry, the floor’s right sturdy.”

  Idris looked, and saw that the floor was the woven branches of the tree.

  “This is...” he said, and Willard smiled.

  “Aye. It’s a lot. Truth be told, I miss my little hut. And me pigs. But this is a good place to stay when I’m a-working in service of the crown and all.”

  “How did you find it?”

  “It finds me,” said Willard, taking a jug from beside the bath and placing it beneath a water pump. “Time is knotty here. Distance, too. If I want it, it shows up.”

  Suddenly, Idris felt woozy, like he could drop into a faint. Willard abandoned the pump and held him up.

  “Fae realm does that,” he said apologetically. “Here, sit on the bed. Take your foot off. You’ve had a few shocks today.”

  Shakily, Idris sank onto the end of Willard’s bed and unclipped his boot, and sat watching Willard prepare the bath.

  “This is very... not fae,” he said.

  “They wanted me to feel comfy, I think, but it’s a whole heap nicer than anywhere I’ve lived before,” said Willard. “It’s kinda funny. Here we are, a nice warm bath. And then we’ll chat.”

  Idris did not care all that much about bathing in front of others. Nakedness was something he had never worried about; he supposed that came from being in a family of healers, who saw all kinds of bodies all the time in all sorts of states, and then being a necromancer, where bodies became little more than vessels. He only worried about it in terms of respect to the person who had to see him. Willard was unfazed by nudity in much the same way as Idris was, so he did not hesitate in stripping out of his sweaty, muddy, slightly-damp clothes and sinking into the bath. He propped his stump on the side and hung his head back, and told Willard everything about his day, from the farmhouse to the gorge.

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  “Then we know what he wants,” said Willard eventually. “He wants you.”

  “It seems too simple,” said Idris. “If he wanted me, he does not need to lure me places with dead animals. I came when he asked.”

  “Doubt he thinks that’ll work a second time,” said the hedge witch, crossing his legs under him. “But you say his reach, it’s...”

  “He can extend his will in a far wider and further radius than I expected,” said Idris. “Using the pentagons and objects of power. There are two things that confuse me. One is that he knew the crystal cave was there, and he used it. I assume he got the second crystal from that very mine. The second thing is that he managed to gather so many animals and control all of them in very different ways for a matter of weeks. Is the power of the breastplate and the skull really that far-reaching?”

  “What worries me is what he’ll do if you don’t go,” said Willard quietly.

  Idris pursed his lips, sighed. “And me.”

  “You think you can resist him?”

  “I do not know, Willard. He has some... some hold over me I cannot describe. I know he means me ill and that he only wants to control me, but...”

  “He’s your pa,” Willard finished.

  “Correct.” Idris frowned. “It is... deeper than that, somehow, but that is the crux of it.”

  “Well,” said Willard, getting up, “for my part, I’ve been a-wandering this old place, trying to figure out what I’m meant to do about this whole knotty Dead-Walker mess. Been here, mostly. My pa’s been real helpful, showing me all kinds of fae magic and teaching me how the fae realm works. Y’know, I can get us to Obsidian Lake in less than an hour. I was actually on my way over there when I got word that you were in a pickle.”

  He plucked some clothes from the chest, shook them out, laid them neatly on the floor beside the bath.

  “I’m not really mad at you, Idris,” he said. “I... I think I just didn’t know where I fit. I’m getting there, now. There’s still stuff that annoys me but that’s gonna pass us by. I can’t expect you to be perfect, not when your world is upside-ways. And I know you ain’t thinking right. But it’s my job to make sure I’m thinking right, so we can fix all of this.”

  “I am trying, Willard.”

  “I know. Lila told me.” He paused. “I’ll give you that talk, too, when we have time. Right now, we need to make you presentable for my pa, and then we can work on our strategy.”

  Idris got out of the bath and dressed in the clothes Willard had set out, simple fae garments of soft spun cotton, while Willard tidied the cuts and nicks on Idris’s skin. By the time Idris was ready, Joa was already at the top of the stairs in the nest.

  “Ah, Master Dead-Talker,” the prince said, bowing. When Idris attempted to return the greeting, Joa shook his head. “No need, I can see you are... indisposed.” He gestured to Idris’s missing foot. “Please, be seated.”

  “He’s all right,” said Willard. “Just took a fall. I think we can get him over to Obsidian Lake in good time, and get a message to his bodyguards to meet him there.”

  “Have you seen my father?” Idris asked Joa.

  “Here and there,” said Joa, coming over to the small bedroom. “Nothing definite. Necromancy and fae magic are quite at odds with each other, if you must know. Following Lord Vonner is a difficult task indeed. He puts out necromantic energy at a rather alarming rate and it makes him shadowy to us. It is hard to watch him; it gives any scouts the most crippling headache. Rest assured, we are doing everything we can.” He tapped Idris’s shoulder. “You, however, have an odd quality.”

  “He thinks it’s the healer blood in you,” said Willard, emptying the tub. “Takes all that shadowy stuff out of the air.”

  “And we can follow you quite happily. I do hope you do not mind,” said Joa.

  “Not at all,” said Idris.

  “I see you are not carrying either of the gifts we gave you,” said Joa mildly. Idris felt himself flush.

  “I... did not think I would need them, truthfully. Not today, anyway.”

  “No matter. Another time.” Joa paused. “We have some business.”

  “Oh, aye,” said Willard, and he held up an object from his shelf. Idris immediately recognised it.

  “That is Lila’s hair clip,” he said, surprised. “The one her mother gave her when she came to work at the palace. Why do you have it?”

  It was a pretty little trinket, make with those glass gemstones that tend to tarnish over time, but Lila was incredibly fond of it. She wore it every time she had to accompany Idris to court functions or parties.

  “It’s how me and her talk,” said Willard, settling on the bed beside Idris. “Remember when you were in The Raven House, and I came and talked to you in a bright dream?” Idris nodded. “I had your bones, then, that bag of knuckle bones. Fae magic is...”

  Willard frowned, thinking, and Joa finished.

  “Fae magic is magic of the soul. It is the magic of connections. If an item is filled with your aura, with your being – if that object is close to you – than the fae can use it to be close to you, too.”

  “The poppets,” said Idris, understanding, and Joa smiled and inclined his head.

  “Made of the objects that make you. As close to you as it can be.”

  “I hold this tight and I kind of... empty my head?” said Willard, frowning. “And then Lila can hear me, and she can talk back.”

  “How?”

  “I, uh...” At this, Willard’s whole face rushed red, and Idris almost laughed because he had never seen the hedge witch embarrassed before. “I gave her some of my hair.”

  “Romantic,” said Idris, and Willard tutted and slapped his arm hard.

  “Ey, look, I’m trying to teach you something, ingrate.”

  “I would love a locket with a piece of your hair inside, Willard -”

  “You ass,” Willard said, laughing now. “Nah, I got something else for you. Here.”

  Willard produced a tatty piece of ribbon. Idris frowned, but then it dawned on him.

  “Oh bells, is that... that is the ribbon I wore when we met,” he said, touching it lightly. Lila had pulled it out of Idris’s hair at the farmhouse, shook it in front of him; it was frayed and muddy still.

  “You gave it to me to tie my hair with, remember?” said Willard. “Well, I’ve been wearing it on and off. It’s always with me, all the time. So now I’ll give it back, and we can communicate.”

  “Then...” Idris searched his person for an item to give Willard. “Then here.” He reached down to his dirty clothes and pulled out his old gathering knife. “I have owned this since I was a child. I used to use it to collect herbs. Will this do?”

  “Oh aye, that’ll do fine,” said Willard, taking it gently. “Feels nice. Has good weight.”

  “We will get you to Obsidian Lake,” said Joa. “The sightings of Lord Vonner have been sporadic, but we do believe the nearest town to him will be that one.”

  “Is he in The Herald Wood?” said Idris, surprised, and the prince shook his head.

  “It would be unwise of him to go into our lands deliberately.”

  “He has made a base somewhere,” said Idris, tutting. “And likely put a death curtain around it.”

  “And if that is the case, even we cannot see him,” said Joa.

  Idris sucked his cheeks, tried to centre his thoughts.

  “I think it is time I went to Obsidian Lake,” he said. “I need to talk to Kurellan. I have too many questions that need answering and he is the only person I know who has fought a necromancer and lived. How quickly can we get Lila and Riette, and all of my gear, over to Obsidian Lake?”

  “I can arrange passage, but it will have to be discrete,” said Joa. “The Fairy Queen will be most unhappy if she finds out.”

  “Let’s talk to Lila,” said Willard, standing.

  Idris felt cold, suddenly. He thought of Kurellan as a young man, a knight, standing against thralls like the ones Layton made, and he wondered how a man got past that far enough so that he could be kind to a young idiot like himself. As he watched the fae prince and his son, though, he imagined it was much the same as how Cressida had welcomed the help of the fae. Necessity and duty. In reality, that was all any court was.