Trapped

to hate your life. The ones on earth are based on coordinates. Tír na nÓg is odd, though, as you might expect. You kind of need to know where you’re going or else you’ll appear in the middle of an ogre orgy or something horrific like that. We’re going to a popular destination here—there will be plenty of Fae around, but Flidais and Perun will follow. «
    › Are you sure about that? Because I’m fairly certain they’re hoping we’ll leave them behind. ‹
    I cast a glance behind us and saw that Perun was now carrying Flidais, supporting her buttocks with his hands as she wrapped her legs around his waist and locked them behind his back. They were playing tonsil hockey already and making soft, muffled moans. Granuaile followed my gaze and flinched.
    » Ew. How did she even find his mouth behind all that hair? « she wondered aloud.
    » Honestly, I’m surprised at how much restraint they’ve shown so far. I expected them to slip off to a room in the castle somewhere. I don’t care at this point if we ditch them. Do you? «
    My apprentice shook her head. » No, I think that would actually be good. I don’t want to listen to them. «
    › They kind of sound like those chefs on TV when they taste their own food at the end of their shows. You know what I mean? ‹
    Foodgasms, yeah .
    › Excellent word! I’ll have to remember that. ‹
    We shifted to a well-traveled riverbank in Tír na nÓg, and I smiled as Granuaile gasped and dove for cover, while Oberon began to bark loudly.
    Heh. Calm down, buddy, it won’t get us .
    › Oh. Warn a hound next time, will you? ‹
    » Oh, my God! Is that a dragon ? « Granuaile said, peeking from behind the trunk of the ancient tree we’d used to shift.
    » Yep. «
    » Like, for reals? It’s not a wax replica or something like that? «
    » No, it’s very much for reals. «
    » Then how come it’s hanging in the air there and not moving? «
    » It is moving. It’s just in a slower timestream. Welcome to the Time Islands, the source of all those stories about how time moves differently in Faerie than in the mortal world. «
    We stood on the bank of a river not quite as wide as the Mississippi but doing very well for itself. In the middle, stretching both upriver and down, islands of various sizes displayed rather interesting vignettes. One of the more stunning was the huge golden dragon floating only thirty yards in front of us. Its wings were outspread and beating slowly downward against the air, its jaws open and presumably hissing. An egg warmed in the sand of the island beach beneath it.
    » Can it see us? «
    » Nope. We’re a blur to it—sort of like mist—since we’re in a faster timestream. See those islands there? « I pointed downriver to some nebulous shapes. » They’re moving even faster than we are. To anyone standing there looking at us right now, we’re either moving very slowly or as good as frozen, like that dragon seems to be frozen to us. «
    » So that dragon thinks it’s flying in its normal timestream? «
    » Yep. Eventually, if it keeps going in the same direction, it will bust out of there. That will be an exciting day for the Fae, if they let it happen. About a thousand years ago—the last time I checked—the claws of its hind legs were still touching the sand. She’s launching an attack, you see, defending her egg. «
    » Defending it from what? «
    » Whatever asshole faery decided to go bag it centuries ago. Maybe it was one of the Tuatha Dé Danann who brought it here, I don’t know. Somebody wanted to show off. «
    Granuaile cocked her head to one side. » Isn’t that what you’re doing right now, sensei? «
    » What? Well, no, « I said. » This is definitely somebody else’s show. I just thought you might like it. Don’t you think it’s cool and neato-schmeato and stuff? «
    » Oh, yes. I do. « She fluttered her eyelashes at me. » Is there anything else you’d like to show me? «
    » There’s someone upriver you might recognize, « I said. » It’s not that far. Keep your eyes open as we go. « I pointed up into the canopy, where several pairs of eyes were already watching us. Pixies and other flying varieties of Fae hovered or perched in the tree above us.
    » Right, « Granuaile said, her tone businesslike. She hefted her staff in her hand. At my suggestion, which she accepted readily at the time, she had affixed iron caps to either end. The Fae would see that and know that messing with her came with a certain