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Noel grimaced and shook his head. “That sounds pretty unsettling. If anything, they’ll probably argue that memories won’t do them any good, not unless they’re using you for some sort of sick high.”
His hands dropped, and he shifted to clasp them in front of him. “Part of the problem is that I’m not sure why they want me. I read all the reasons, but the worst possibility is that they want me for a”—he shifted uncomfortably—“a lover. Which is absolutely ridiculous,” he quickly added, drawing his arms around himself in a hug.
That line of thought always left Grey uneasy, mainly because he’d never really felt that way about anyone he’d come across before. While he craved that deeper, emotional connection, he’d never really felt that urge to take up any of the propositions from some of the people back home to enjoy themselves. To try to find that sort of relationship from a fair folk lord or master sounded impossible and wholly carnal in nature—something that made Grey’s skin crawl.
Grey cleared his throat. “They probably just want me to do their bidding. I can’t imagine them wanting anything more than that.”
“What makes you so sure?”
He reflexively reached for his eye, turning his head away with his fingers curling into a fist. “The fair folk only enjoy pretty things.”
The table nudged some as Noel pushed away and moved in front of him. “I think you’re being a little hard on yourself.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“By devaluing yourself?” Sorrow rippled his features.
“Noel, I’m a hemomancer.” Grey tugged on the collar. “And other hemomancers only look at me with pity when they see or hear I’ve been tortured. Some people told me I deserved it or I had it coming. And maybe I did—maybe I do with reading things like hydromancers existing and then being changed into hemomancers, so we can’t defy the fair folk. I’m just an abomination—just another monster…” He forced out a curling breath and tousled his hair, cupping his hands over his forehead. “If anything, this is all just another way to drag me into the Hunt. You had your dream to hand me over, and when you said no, the fair folk decided they’ll come after me.”
The quiet that settled in left Grey with a horrible ache, like his heart longed for another answer. Fingers wrapped around his wrist and pulled his arm away from shielding his face. Noel took a step forward. “You didn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve this.” He motioned to the collar resting around Grey’s neck. “You haven’t done anything to warrant my distrust, let alone any reason to make me think you’d use your hemomancy against me. And you’ve had plenty of chances to kill me and run to try to increase your odds of surviving?—”
Grey quietly snorted. “If anything, my odds would plummet.”
“Regardless,” Noel breathed, “we’ll find an appropriate trade. Something valuable this thing won’t say no to.”
“Maybe a finch would work,” Grey muttered, fidgeting with his collar as he stared at one of the bottom shelves.
“A… finch?”
“They called me their little finch.”
Noel’s hand squeezed his wrist even tighter, taking him by surprise. He jerked his head up to see anger darken his features.
“Noel…” Grey began cautiously, trying to twist out of his hold.
His grip loosened. “Sorry, I… I don’t think a finch will work, and I’m not exactly sure a fair folk looking for another servant is going to give them a pet name.”
Grey pulled away and reached back for his books. “Like I said, Noel, I’m only useful as a servant.” He moved past him to replace them on the shelves, sliding them back into their little nooks. “I think the better question is what sort of trade would get us out of this.”
Noel rubbed the back of his neck and rocked against the table again. “I think it’s going to be tricky to offer something up in place of us being in the Hunt.”
“Especially since I guess we’re technically offering something to Queen Mab,” Grey said with a grimace. “She wants the Hunt to happen, so the only thing I can imagine her accepting is another person in our places.”
“Maybe, or”—Noel snapped his fingers, his eyes lighting up—“maybe she’ll accept something that shows our devotion to her as a ruler?”
He made a motion for him to continue. “With?”
Noel’s excitement faded. “Um…”
Grey stepped past him, collecting Noel’s book. “Maybe let’s start with a meal and asking around? Then we can figure it out from there.”
12
NOEL
Little finch.
Without a doubt, those were the two most upsetting words Grey could’ve uttered. Noel couldn’t shake them from his mind as they started out of the archives and headed to dinner. He kept reminding himself that he didn’t have a valid enough reason to be upset, considering he and Grey weren’t… anything, really. Friends, maybe, but nothing more than that. Just a boy wearing his gloves and warming his back whenever they traveled—intimacy in the form of an awkward hug. And Noel felt sickened by the idea that this fair folk creature might be preparing to take him for their own pleasure.
