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“More time than you two,” Tinder affirms, his obstinate expression testifying that he’s unwilling to be convinced.

“Marvelous,” Pucks says, patting the ground. “Get comfortable.”

The youth doesn’t get comfortable, but he does listen as Puck tells him our story, how we met as children. Tinder’s expression thaws little by little, like pebbles loosening from a rocky facade. It reminds me how stories can change one’s perspective, how they can make a person see the same scenario from a new angle. If the tale finds the right audience and strikes true, it can inspire empathy or even change.

What I hadn’t expected was for such a tale to influence a Fae. Yet when Puck finishes, the youth’s eyes have mellowed from simmering orange to ripe persimmon.

“Choosing Juniper was inevitable for me,” Puck dares to say. “You might accuse me of being mad for her, aptly wooed indeed, but here’s the thing: It doesn’t lessen the way I feel about this world or you. Do you seriously think I would forsake that? Do you think I’ve stopped fighting for that? Have you forgotten how clever I am? Remember, there’s another way to preserve this world, without anyone from her side having to die. That’s what this bargain is about.”

Tinder glances at the other Faeries who have noticed our huddle. He turns back. “I’ll let you out,” he says to Puck, then cuffs his head toward me. “But not her.”

This is hardly a surprise to either of us. As much as he’d appreciated the story about Puck and me, we can’t expect an abrupt transformation.

A seed has been planted. That’s all for now.

Thus, I take my cue. “Then we’ll play a game for your help. A guessing game, involving trivia.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “You ask me a question about your world, and I’ll ask you a question about mine. The one who takes the longest to answer loses. If I win, you let me out with Puck.”

The youth snorts. “I’ve already got you where I want you. Why would I play? What do I get out of it?”

Also, expected. “In addition to my staying in here? Fair point. What would you like? Name your trophy.”

Temptation alights his face. He won’t risk his world or his survival, but his problem is the same one all Faeries have: He doesn’t believe I’m a formidable opponent. Additionally, he’s going to make sure the price is something that protects this land, should I happen to win by sheer luck.

His comrades start toward us, sensing trouble. The youth needs to accept this match before they get here, otherwise it won’t be set in stone.

He glances between Puck and me, then makes his request. “You choose the next human.”

I force myself to keep a straight face. If I fail at this match, I'll have to select the next mortal who gets sucked into this world, into a game tailored for them by the forest. Whether I free myself or burn, I’ll carry that weight on my conscience.

Puck opens his mouth. Tinder and I move in unison, clapping our palms over his lips while taking one another’s measure.

“Deal,” I say, pearls of sweat beading in my armpits.

“What’s going on?” a leprechaun grumbles when the clan approaches.

We release Puck’s mouth, allowing him to get cheeky. He gloats, casually revealing the most recent events, to which the Faeries curse and bark at the youth. Again to his credit, Tinder seems unruffled, his confidence buoyed in front of the satyr.

Nonetheless, they gather around and rub their hands as if this is a baiting ring and they’re about to place bets. That they capitulate so quickly is rather comical, making the satyr’s lips quirk with irony.

Faeries. I’ll grant, they’re consistent.

They agree to keep tabs on the time, alongside Puck. Each of them vows explicit honesty, void of duplicity.

“Ask away,” I invite, because there’s no way I’m going first.

The youth deliberates. “What is Puck’s name?”

Damnation. Once more, I keep my features in check. I had counted on trivia, but his question veers off that default path.

Puck draws in the slightest intake of breath. I sense his impending panic, his desire to warn me through a hand gesture or a covert glance, which would constitute as cheating.

We mustn’t do that. Besides, I know what he’ll say: It’s a trick question.

Tinder isn't asking for the obvious. The canon about humans possessing a Fae’s true name and having power over them applies to fellow Solitaries as well. That’s what this is about.

It's an impossible question to answer. If I know and share Puck’s true name with Tinder, the youth will acquire power over the satyr. But if I don’t know the name, not only will I lose, but it will serve as a belittling reminder that I’ll never know Puck fully.

Under benevolent circumstances, the satyr might be impressed. This inquiry attacks from multiple angles, backing its recipient into a corner. Tinder might be busy idolizing and impersonating Puck, but someday he won’t have to. He’s intrepid enough on his own.