The carriage loped to a sudden, jarring halt, the wheels catching on something that sounded suspiciously like a wet sponge alongside the road. Micah, breathless and disheveled from Margo's "Great Discovery," opened his mouth to ask if they'd arrived at the Northern Marches, but he never got the words out.
Margo pressed two fingers to the pulse point on his neck, a faint, shimmering spark of energy danced at her fingertips and into the man's body. Micah's eyes rolled back, a look of profound confusion frozen on his face, and he slumped into the velvet cushions in a deep, magical stupor.
Elliot adjusted his silk cravat, looking thoroughly amused as he took a slow sip of wine, "Was all that really necessary, Margo? The poor boy was finally starting to find his rhythm. It's a bit 'Sleeping Beauty' in reverse, don't you think?"
"It's called a palate cleanser, El," Margo said, smoothing her skirts. "It is always important to check the vintage before you consume the whole bottle. I was just... tasting. Making sure the merchandise isn't tainted by whatever psychological baggage his brother was hauling."
Elliot gave a slow, approving shrug. "Spoken like a true sommelier of sin. Though I must say, making Prince Charming take a nap mid-make-out is a level of wicked even I haven't reached this week. Bravo."
"I'll finish my meal later," Margo replied, her eyes flashing with a promise. "I'm just letting the oven preheat for the marathon we're having tonight. Now," she grabbed her traveling cloak, "let's see what the fuck actually stopped the carriage."
She kicked the door open and stepped out into the crisp Northern air. Elliot followed out and they both stopped dead in shock at the sight in front of them.
"What... the actual... fuck?" Elliot whispered.
"Are you kidding me?" Margo shrieked and her voice echoed across the surrounding in a pitch that could peel paint. "Is this a joke? Is the universe just a giant, unfunny stand-up set now?"
Sprawled out before them, as far as the eye could see, was not a regal Northern forest or a unified march. It was a dense, undulating, and sickeningly vibrant field of big mushrooms. They were everywhere, sprouting from the road and choking the trees, "Why in all of God's green and purple hell is there a fucking plantation of mushrooms here?" Margo demanded, gesturing wildly at a particularly large toadstool that looked like it belonged on an acid trip. "I came out here for an 'inspection,' and I found a colony of Smurf-housing projects?"
Elliot walked to the edge of the road and poked a squishy, neon-blue stalk with his toe, and let out a tragic sigh, "The orchards, Margo. The royal peach orchards were supposed to be right here." He looked across the horizon of fungi with genuine heartbreak. "They're gone. Replaced by... what is this? Portobello-geddon?"
"It's a fungal middle finger and I know that bitch, the Fairy Queen is behind this. She probably thinks 'diversity' means replacing this part of the forest with this disgusting sentient umbrellas."
In the distance, a few Fairies were moving around watching the mushrooms and from the way they moved like goons on guard duty, it looked way too much like a labor union for Margo's liking.
"Look at them," Margo hissed, pointing a manicured finger at a patrolling sprite. "This isn't a 'Northern Unification.' This is a diabolical, spores-and-sores plantation. I've seen drug farms in the 90s with less questionable lighting than this crap. Why are they growing a continent-sized crop of Smurf-condos, El?"
Elliot looked around before squinting at the horizon to see just how far the whole thing went, "It's weird, isn't it? We're in the Far North. It's supposed to be crisp, dry, and smelling faintly of pine and abandoned dream, but this..." He gestured to the air, "This is a tropical steam room and It's moist, Margo."
"Moist," Margo repeated with her lips curling up in disgust. "Of course it is. Those stupid, iridescent bugs and their Queen. She's always bathing, always moisturizing, always acting like her stupid skin is a delicate silk wrap. She's basically a walking, winged Sephora ad and it smells like the fairy realm."
Elliot's eyes widened suddenly, "Oh... oh my God."
Margo's brain synced up with his in a terrifying instant of realization. Her jaw dropped as something clicked in her head,"The motherfuckers are terraforming?! They aren't just gardening, El. They're turning Fillory into a giant, damp, mushroom-flavored steam-distillery!"
"That is not okay!" Elliot whispered, "I am a High King, not a fungus-tender! I didn't sign up to rule a kingdom that feels like the inside of a sweaty locker room after a hot yoga session. My hair is going to be a disaster by Tuesday!"
"This is beyond fucked up," Margo growled, her fingers beginning to glow with a dangerous, violet sparks of magic, "While we've been busy with the 'bullshit alliance' and wedding planning, these stupid pixies have been turning our realm into a literal petri dish. I'm going to burn this whole spore-farm to the ground."
"Wait, Margo, let's not start a diplomatic forest fire just yet—" Elliot started, but he stopped mid-sentence.
One of the larger red mushrooms right at Margo's feet shuddered. It gave a distinct wiggle.
Margo froze as she looked at the mushroom. She looked at Elliot and then looked back at the mushroom, "Did that toadstool just catch a vibe? El, tell me I'm hallucinating from the fumes. Did that thing just move?"
"It definitely wiggled," Elliot whispered, leaning in closer. "It wiggled with intent, Margo. It had... agency."
Margo's curiosity, which was usually just a polite word for her desire to break things took over. "Should I touch it?"
"Probably not? In my experience, wiggling flora usually ends in a quest or a very awkward medical bill," Elliot cautioned.
Naturally, Margo didn't listen. She reached down, grabbed the stalk of the red mushroom, and gave it a violent, royal yank.
"Jesus, what the fuck!" Elliot shrieked.
As the mushroom came up, it wasn't just roots dangling from the bottom. Attached to the underside by a thick, was a large, leathery, translucent egg.
It wasn't a plant or anything one would expect to be inside a transparent egg that was inside. What was in the clear, gelatinous sac, was a tiny, developing baby, curling its fingers and shifted in its sleep.
"It's a nursery," Margo whispered and her outrage was replaced by a cold, sharp horror. "They aren't just growing mushrooms, El. They're growing Fairies."
"Oh, son of a multi-colored bitch," Margo hissed, holding the wriggling fungal-umbilical cord at arm's length like it was a dirty diaper. "It's a factory, these are little organic flash-drives pre-loaded with 'Annoyance' and 'Totalitarianism.' They're growing a goddamn army!"
Elliot leaned in as he stared at the translucent fetus. "This is a botanical coup, Margo! An incursion! A literal 'invasion like the body-snatchers' but with more damp and fewer special effects. We are being out-moisturized in our own kingdom!"
"As if the pale hemorrhoids currently living in my guest rooms weren't already driving me to the brink of a homicidal break," Margo growled and her eyes darted across the field of thousands of caps, "Now they're printing them in 3D? No. Absolutely not. My crown doesn't come with a side of fungal infestation."
"We can't allow this," Elliot said, pacing the road with increasing agitation. "This is an existential threat to our people and our kingdom Margo not to mention our wardrobe, our wine, and our sanity! We have to call a war council, or at least a very aggressive gardener. Margo, we need to—Margo?"
He turned around, expecting a witty retort, but the space behind him was empty. The carriage door swung idly in the breeze. "Uhh, Margo? Did you phase out? Please tell me you didn't leave me alone with the baby-mushrooms. Margo?!"
He spotted her a few yards into the field, her royal silks dragging through the muck as she frantically yanked red-capped mushrooms out of the ground.
"Uhhh, what exactly is the play here, Janet? Are we making a very questionable risotto?"
"Shut up and help me!" Margo barked, her face flushed with a mixture of exertion and pure, unadulterated spite. "Grab the ones with the red caps. The ones that look like they've got the 'Premium' subscribers inside. And don't use your magic yet! We need to be sneaky, or the bug-patrol is going to notice their 'Spring Collection' is being shoplifted."
Elliot nodded at her and began plucking the vibrating fungi, piling them behind another ancient, gnarled oak tree a safe distance from the main field. Once they had a sizable heap of pulsing red caps, he wiped a smudge of dirt from his forehead.
"Okay, I'll bite. What the fuck are we doing, besides potentially kidnapping the next generation of our oppressors?"
Margo didn't answer immediately. She slammed her palms together and her eyes glowed with a sharp blue, "Invisique!"
With a soft whoosh, half of the pile of mushrooms and the leathery eggs attached to them vanished from sight.
"Uh, what did you just do?" Elliot asked, staring at the empty patch of grass.
Margo turned to him as a diabolical, teeth-baring smile stretching across her face. "Hostage situation, darling. It's the only language these pale faced fascists speak."
Elliot's eyes widened, a slow, pleased smirk mirroring hers. "Oh... Margo. You're a monster and I love it. We're holding their babies for ransom!"
"Exactly. We demand an eviction, a repeal of the humid-air act, and maybe a few shiny trinkets for the trouble," Margo said, though her breath was hitching. "But my reserves are low, El. Hiding things with actual heartbeats is like trying to hold back the tide with a sieve. It's a magical drain. Use your juice to veil the rest of this 'nursery' section. If they can't find their spawn, they can't hatch their plan."
Elliot nodded and used the cloaking spell on the other half of their new hostagee, erasing them from sight and detection, "Consider them 'off the grid.'"
The two of them scrambled back into the carriage just as Micah groaned, his eyes fluttering open as he sat up, looking utterly disoriented.
"Uhh... what happened? Did we arrive at the North?" Micah asked, rubbing his head.
"Oh, honey," Elliot said, smoothly refilling his wine glass and looking perfectly composed. "The moment must have been a bit too intense for you. You fainted right in the middle of a very promising sentence. It was quite poetic, really."
Margo patted Micah's cheek with a smirk. "Performance anxiety is totally normal, Prince Charming. Don't beat yourself up. We just took a little detour while you were in dreamland."
As the carriage lurched forward, heading back toward Whitespire, Margo and Elliot shared a long, conspiratorial look. The bug infestation finally had a counter-measure. And if they could extort a few concessions out of the Fairy Queen along the way? Well, that was just good governance.