Yarrow beckons. “Come closer. I’m almost out of spores. I have enough for two nights, but I can’t make a very big circle.”
“Not like I can go far anyway,” Folly mutters, obeying.
Yarrow chuckles, and Folly feels almost at ease.
As Folly watches from the center of the glade, Yarrow walks a circle fifteen feet in diameter. Smaller than the circumferenceof their curse-bond. With every step, Yarrow dips into a pouch at his belt. Shimmering dust trails in his wake. The magic settles into the grass, and where it falls, little mushrooms sprout. Pale blue and white, bright in the deepening shadows.
Dusting off his hands, Yarrow returns to the center. “Such an ordinary spell, yet you’re enthralled.”
“It isn’t ordinary to me,” Folly says.
“True.” Yarrow gestures around the glade. “I suppose this all must be as strange and fascinating to you, as you are to me.”
He touches his own horn next, grin widening.
Folly tenses. “I’m not fascinating.” Except when someone wants something from him. But Yarrow wouldn’t. Yarrow isn’t like that.
“Even that’s fascinating—the way you can lie.” Yarrow steps closer, head cocked. Inspecting Folly. “Here we are stuck together, and I’ve been doing all the work. Putting you in a nice tree, getting you out of an evil tree. Breakfast and supper and using up the last of my magic spores.” He reaches out. Doesn’t touch Folly. His fingertips just hover right beside Folly’s cheek. “I think it’s time you started earning your keep.”
Resignation mutes Folly’s senses. Slows his thoughts. He barely feels the threat of Yarrow’s presence.
Of course. Even after everything with Roland, even after Folly’s entire life, he’s still naive enough to think someone might be kind for nothing in return.
He should have expected this.
“Fine, but this is a one-time favor,” Folly says blankly. He drops to his knees. “And you only get my mouth.”
Chapter 10
Yarrow
Surprise roots Yarrow to the earth. In most circumstances, this development would be very welcome. An attractive man kneeling before him—more attractive, now that Yarrow’s getting used to his human features. Evening clings to Folly’s shoulders like a silken cloak, and both eyes, bright and dark, are captivating. Yarrow would want this…
If Folly showed any sign of wanting it too. Folly’s jaw tightens as he reaches for Yarrow’s belt. Like this favor is unwillingly granted.
That isn’t a game Yarrow plays.
Seizing Folly’s wrist, Yarrow takes half a step back. “That won’t do at all. My cock is delightful, and you can’t have it if you’re acting like this is a chore.”
Folly jerks, but can’t break free. The wiry muscles of his arm are tense in Yarrow’s grasp. If anything, Folly looks more upset now. “Sorry, you’ll have to work a lot harder to earn aperformancefrom me.”
Yarrow lets go as if burned.
Folly shoves to his feet and retreats as Yarrow’s surprise shatters into anger. The sort that festers, because he can’t chopit to pieces with his axe. He’d rather face another three arberos right now.
Anger, not guilt. At whoever whoever taught Folly to be a tool, reluctantly used. “You assume too much of me, or too little. I intended to ask for information. Not a performance.”
“You said it was time to earn my keep,” Folly accuses. “I don’t have information worth that.”
“Then take delight in swindling a fae, because information is what I want.” Yarrow sits down in the soft grass. The day’s heat still lingers in the earth. “Tell me how you got that golden eye.”
“Does it matter?” Folly asks, still wary.
Yarrow shrugs. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
Folly rubs the side of his nose, right beneath his left eye. Like it itches. He’s attractive like this, bedraggled and gilded with sweat and dust. A fantasy of brushing out his hair whispers through Yarrow’s thoughts. Easing a comb through the tangles until Folly’s hair is dark and soft and sleek again—the better to sink a hand into those lush waves.
If Yarrow was interested in humans, that is. Or if Folly was interested in easily distracted wild fae. Yarrow is still slightly dazed as Folly sits five feet away.
