Unfortunately, Folly was right.
They’ve lost a foot and a half since they started measuring. The curse’s invisible leash has shrunk to a mere seventeen feet. At this rate, Folly has a month before he’s glued to Yarrow’s side.
And Yarrow’s been distressingly vague about subsequent possibilities. He hasn’t kissed Folly since that brief, blissful morning. They spent most of their stay at the menagerie downstairs, playing careful card games with Pennyroyal and the fox fae’s family. All the socializing hasn’t been good for Folly’s nerves—every person he meets could be the shapestealer.
But being alone with Yarrow is bad for his nerves too. Folly wishes it wasn’t. Wishes he could process the confusion of desire and claustrophobia. But every night when Folly crawls into bed, he fears suffocation.
Every morning, when Yarrow’s already left the bed, Folly feels alone.
Folly touches the leather coin purse at his hip. Please let this coin be enough for the summer queen. Folly doesn’t want to commit Yarrow to another quest on his behalf, and he doesn’t have anything else to offer by himself.
Nothing he would willingly give, anyway.
“Are you ready?” Yarrow asks, as the golden ferry bumps against the pier. Silk banners flutter in the breeze. There’s no boatman in sight.
“As I’ll ever be.” Folly shakes out his hands and squares his shoulders. “Are you ready?”
He means the echo as a quiet joke. But instead of laughing and blustering, Yarrow silently extends a hand. His gaze is distant, his hair flowing like the silk banners.
Folly allows Yarrow to help him over the edge, onto the deck. He sways, unaccustomed to the movement beneath his feet. Even more unsettling is Folly’s realization, unavoidable in the set of Yarrow’s jaw.
Yarrow doesn’t answer because he can’t lie, but he doesn’t want to admit the truth either. As they board the ferry to Elladar, Yarrow is nervous.
Chapter 16
Yarrow
Yarrow leans against the railing. Folly leans four feet and seven inches to Yarrow’s right. He’s delicate in profile, and the riverway breeze ruffles his dark hair.
Estimating distances has become second nature. Half Yarrow’s mental capacity seems devoted to measuring his human’s precise whereabouts. He should be rehearsing his new petition, but all he can think about is closing the gap between him and his human.
Easy enough, if the distance was purely physical. Or even if Folly clearly disliked him—Yarrow is too vain to chase after indifference.
He doesn’t know how to ignore a desire so beautifully requited.
The problem is that Folly is sad, scared. Yarrow doesn’t know how to fix that, beyond promising to try. If only Yarrow hadn’t inherited fae truthfulness from his mother. Then he could tell Folly everything would be all right. There’s nothing to worry about.
At least they’ll have a temporary reprieve. Moriath can’t enter Elladar without the queen’s knowledge.
Talking might help. Yarrow doesn’t have anything interesting to say, but he won’t let that stop him. “What are boats like in your realm?”
Folly jumps. The way he relaxes after a glance at Yarrow is gratifying. “I haven’t been on many boats. There’s this one town that’s split by a river and harbor. I hate when we perform there, because all the ferries are so small.”
“Do you get seasick?” That probably happens to humans too.
But Folly shakes his head. “There’s just no room to avoid the ferrymen. They always want to talk, and I never know what to say. Unless they see my eye, but that’s even worse.”
Yarrow sidles two and a half inches closer. “Is your eye truly that unusual where you come from?”
“I may as well have horns like you.” Folly shrugs miserably. “Except I can’t glamour them away, so I can only hide behind an eyepatch.”
Fuck. Yarrow just wanted to ask innocuous questions about boats. Now he’s made Folly sad again. “Maybe you could ask Queen Haelwen to change it,” Yarrow says impulsively.
Folly whips around, rigid with shock. “Could she do that?”
If fear and hope are two sides of the same coin, that coin is clearly spinning in Folly’s heart. Stuck on its edge, and frantic.
Yarrow’s own heart cringes. “Forget I said that.”
