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All the same, ambition sits unsteadily on Tinder’s face. He’s taking this risk not because he wants to preside over anyone. I think he wants to validate himself in front of Puck. I think Tinder’s close enough to the satyr to conclude he wouldn’t share this information freely with me. I think the youth’s certain I have no clue what the answer is. I think he wouldn’t have gambled otherwise.

But if Tinder is betting on a sensitive female, he hasn’t been paying attention. I understand why the satyr hasn’t revealed his moniker to me. And in my eyes, he’s always been just Puck. That’s all I need him to be.

Soon enough, I sense Puck rationalizing this, his muscles unwinding.

Not long ago, I would have felt degraded by this exchange. But now, I feel the merit of my answer. I tell them, “I don’t know.”

The Faeries gnash their teeth, and Tinder’s face falls, all of them disappointed by the lack of drama and my swift response.

My turn. I hadn’t known what to ask, but it comes to me while recalling those initial days in which I’d reminded Puck that he doesn’t know me, that none of them do. Sometimes, the simplest questions are the hardest to answer.

I ask, “What is it like to be human?”

Tinder’s eyes widen into saucers. He twiddles his thumbs and thinks, thinks, thinks. It’s not a trick question, but it’s not an easy one. At the very least, he would have to know a human as a friend, not as an enemy.

After quite a while, his nose twitches in annoyance. “I don’t know.”

Technically, it’s an answer. Despite the Faeries keeping time, it’s clear he had taken much longer to reply.

A moment of silence ensues. Puck grabs my hand and squeezes it. Rather than a gesture of pride, it’s a cautionary touch. Although our captors must honor the deal and let us out, they possess weapons. We don’t.

Puck and I rise. I glance at the tube trees, checking the perimeter while Puck levels his gaze with the Faeries.

“Fine,” the leprechaun snarls around the copper stubble of his jaw. “Go ahead. Leave.”

Tinder’s features spasm with indecision, his fingers faltering over the throwing stars. Pity and compassion well in my chest. He’s no different from a human boy, one who reveres the satyr yet has a world of peers hovering at his back.

Puck gives him an understanding look. “Not to worry, luv. Just remember what I said amongst the elms—what I told you about the foxes and the elks. Heed that, and you’ll do fine.”

The Fae swallows and nods. The others spread out.

My elbow taps Puck’s. We swap a quick glance—a quick plan—then we spring forward. I dive across the ground and roll through a dryad’s tall limbs. With the heel of my boot, I thwack his lower spine and send him careening into a tumbleweed. In my periphery, I catch Puck delivering a sequence of punches and kicks that take down the rest.

The youth skitters backward, a throwing star in his grip. I spare him the burden of having to choose and swipe my leg under his feet. Tinder smacks into the earth, and I lean over him. “Stay down.”

They won’t notice if they think he’s knocked out. After that, it’s up to him whether to pursue us.

He gawks at me, stupefied. I lurch up as Puck seizes my hand and hauls me into the trees. We barrel between the trunks while livid voices holler behind us.

A mile later, we jump over a winding creek. The shouting fades, and conifers usurp the tube trees. Based on the needles growing in single limbs rather than clusters, I gauge them to be fir trees. We vault into a clearing and then jog to a halt, pinecones shivering around us.

Puck hoists me off the grass. He snickers and twirls me in a circle, as if we’ve emerged victorious. “That’s my woman,” he cheers, planting a swift but hard kiss to my lips. “Giving them as good as they gave. I knew you were smart, but that question damn near castrated them.”

“Puck,” I gasp. “They’re coming.”

“Ugh.” He sets me down and heads for the nearest tree.

I waver in place. I want to ask what the plan is now. I want to ask where Cypress is being held and where our weapons have been taken. I want to ask why in Fables Puck is going near that tree!

But anxiety thrums in my veins, because I know exactly what he’s doing and what he intends. For a while, I’d forgotten. Now that we’re free, reality comes rushing back.

“Puck,” I spurt. “Puck, wait.”

“I’d be delighted to, but there’s no time for a quickie.” He kneels, reaching for one of the trunk bases. “Faeries can only transport themselves, so I can’t evanesce us both out of here. If we want to keep ahead of the posse, we need to hitch a ride.”

“Don’t call her,” I plead. “She shouldn’t—”

“Don’t worry, she’ll come. The Gang of Elks isn’t her terrain, but she’ll travel quicker than we will on foot. I’d summon an elk, but they’re an unpredictable bunch, with all their unpredictable elkish ways. Better if I call out to Sylvan.”