I nodded. Once a faery promises something, he’s obligated to carry it through, which is why making a deal is so tricky. Ash couldn’t break his vow even if he wanted to.
I understood that, but… “I want to do something before we go,” I said, watching for his reaction. Ash raised an eyebrow, but otherwise his expression stayed the same. I took a deep breath. “I want to see Puck.”
The Winter prince sighed. “I suppose you would,” he muttered, releasing me and stepping back, his expression thoughtful. “And, truth be told, I’m curious myself. I wouldn’t want Goodfellow dying before we ever resolved our duel. That would be unfortunate.”
I winced. Puck and Ash were ancient enemies, and had already engaged each other in several savage, life-threatening duels before I was even in the picture. Ash had sworn to kill Puck, and Puck took great pleasure in goading the dangerous ice prince whenever he had the chance. It was only because I insisted they cooperate that they had agreed to an extremely shaky truce. One that wouldn’t last long, no matter how much I intervened.
One of the horses snorted and pawed the ground, and Ash turned to put a hand on its neck. “All right, we’ll check on him,” he said without turning around. “But, after that I have to take you to Tir Na Nog. No more delays, understand? The queen won’t be happy with me for taking this long.”
I nodded. “Yes. Thank y— I mean…I appreciate it, Ash.”
He smiled faintly and offered a hand again, this time to help me into the saddle. I gingerly picked up the reins and envied Ash, who swung easily aboard the second horse like he’d done it a thousand times.
“All right,” he said in a faintly resigned voice, staring up at the moon. “First things first. We have to find a trod to New Orleans.”
Trods are faery paths between the real world and the Nevernever, gateways straight into Faeryland. They can be anywhere, any doorway: an old bathroom stall, the gate to a cemetery, a child’s closet door. You can go anywhere in the world if you know the right trod, but getting through them is another matter, as sometimes they’re guarded by nasty creatures the fey leave behind to discourage unwanted guests.
Nothing guarded the enormous rotting barn that sat in the middle of the swampy bayou, so covered in moss it looked like a shaggy green carpet was draped over the roof. Mushrooms grew from the walls in bulbous clumps, huge spotted things that, if you looked closely enough, sheltered several tiny winged figures beneath them. They blinked at us as we went by, huge multifaceted eyes peering out from under the mushroom caps, and took to the air in a flurry of iridescent wings. I jumped, but Ash and the horses ignored them as we stepped beneath the sagging frame and everything went white.
I blinked and looked around as the world came into focus again.
An eerie gray forest surrounded us, mist creeping over the ground like a living thing, coiling around the horses’ legs. The trees were massive, soaring to mind-boggling heights, interlocking branches blocking out the sky. Everything was dark and faded, like all color had been washed out, a forest trapped in perpetual twilight.
“The wyldwood,” I muttered, and turned to Ash. “Why are we here? I thought we were going to New Orleans.”
“We are.” Ash pulled his horse around to look at me. “The trod we want is about a day’s ride north. It’s the quickest way to New Orleans from here.” He blinked and gave me an almost smile. “Or were you planning to hitchhike?”
Before I could reply, my horse suddenly let out a terrifying whinny and reared, slashing the air with its forelegs. I grabbed for the mane, but it slipped through my fingers, and I tumbled backward out of the saddle, hitting the ground behind the horse, snapping bushes underneath. Snorting in terror, the fey steed charged off toward the trees, leaped over a fallen branch and vanished into the mist.
Groaning, I sat up, testing my body for pain. My shoulder throbbed where I’d landed on it, and I was shaking, but nothing seemed broken.
Ash’s mount was also throwing a fit, squealing and tossing its head, but the Winter prince was able to keep his seat and bring it back under control. Swinging out of the saddle, he tied the horse’s reins to an overhead branch and knelt beside me.
“Are you all right?” His fingers probed my arm, surprisingly gentle. “Anything broken?”
“I don’t think so,” I muttered, rubbing my bruised shoulder. “That lovely patch of bramble broke my fall.” Now that the adrenaline had worn off, dozens of stinging scratches began to make themselves known. Scowling, I glared in the direction my mount had disappeared. “You know, that’s the second time I’ve been thrown off a faery horse. And another time one tried to eat me. I don’t think horses like me very much.”