“Could she, though?” Folly steps forward. Only three feet and three inches between them now. “Could anyone else fix my eye?”
“You can’t fix something that isn’t broken.” Yarrow would like a conversation with everyone who’s ever called Folly a freak. The conversation would involve very few words. But first, he needs to clean up his own mistakes. “Queen Haelwen is the most powerful fae in all of Summer, but she doesn’t do favors for free.”
Folly exhales, hope and fear fading to resignation. “Of course. There’s always a price.” He rubs beneath his left eye,lashes lowering. “I don’t even know what price I paid togetthis thing.”
Yarrow wants to catch Folly’s hand. Massage away the tension. Instead, he rests both elbows on the railing. Looks out at the forest, as fluid and lush as the river. “We could ask around. Someone might know who gave you the sight. But information has a price too.”
“You’ve told me plenty of information for free.” Thin fingers tap the railing, before Folly rests his elbows too. “You’ve told me about the summer queen and the traveling inn and how you bargain with trees.”
A foot and four inches of space shivers between them. Shifting his weight, Yarrow lands an inch closer. “Not for free. I tell you things, and in return I get the pleasure of telling you.”
Folly’s breath is almost a laugh. “If you want to sell yourself short, I won’t counteroffer.” He strokes along the railing. “What’s this ferry made of? I thought it was gold, but this has grain and whorls like wood.”
“It’s goldwood.” Yarrow’s taken this ferry half a dozen times over the past ten years, but never contemplated it. Ferry, river, and forest are just the border between the world he’s accustomed to and the world he wants to join. “Extremely clever name, I know.”
“I should have guessed.” Folly doesn’t sound sad anymore. Just amused. “What are the orange fish I keep seeing? Are they deadly or magical?”
“They’re fish,” Yarrow says seriously. “They live in the water.”
Another inch disappears. “You have no idea.”
“They have scales and fins,” Yarrow answers, and thrills with Folly’s bright laughter.
Just talking like this is as pleasurable as kissing marks on Folly’s neck. Yarrow isn’t used to flirting without an agenda.Nobody this handsome and precious wants to talk with Yarrow just for the sake of talking, instead of a prelude to fucking the half-satyr wild fae.
He never imagined the tiny, timid human would relax like this in his presence. Or that humans were so fascinating.
Or that he would come to dread being freed from one.
“And are those sentinel trees?” Folly asks, pointing ahead.
The Pyran narrows and deepens upstream as the forest closes in. Bright gold sentinel trees rise high enough to scrape the clouds. The air beneath them seems to shimmer and flicker, as if the sentinel magic is visible. But the shimmering is just the constant, gentle fall of white petals and bright green leaves.
Elladar Palace rises beyond the sentinel trees. Only the pale stone towers of the central keep are visible from the river. Streaming green banners and clear waterfalls flutter between delicate arches, giving the palace a lacelike appearance. Beautiful, complex, particular.
“Well spotted,” Yarrow says. His shoulders tighten, until he exhales away the tension. “Welcome to Elladar.”
The marble antechamber echoes with Yarrow’s heartbeat. Last time he stood here was as a drunkard. Now he stands here a failure, with the temerity to ask for another favor. The guards on duty stand as motionless as the marble. The only movement is the water flowing beneath the green glass floor.
And the human at Yarrow’s side.
“What are the lights?” Folly asks, his voice hushed. He huddles close, his elbow brushing Yarrow’s. But he isn’t nearly as afraid as Yarrow expected.
Yarrow’s mother always warned him to be wary of Elladar and the high fae. Their danger hides behind pretty masks and elaborate etiquette. None of which are Yarrow’s strong suit. He’s far more comfortable in the untamed forests.
For Folly, however, every corner of the fae realm has been just as frightening. He’s just brave enough to talk and move forward despite his fear.
“The lights are memories,” Yarrow says. His voice echoes too loudly into the marble chamber. With a glance at the stoic guards, he lowers his voice. “Certain high fae have particular talents. The queen can take people’s memories.”
Properly alarmed, Folly edges even closer. “Is that a favor or a price?”
Not a favor Yarrow would ever choose. “Depends on the memory.”
Perhaps he’d pay a memory as a price. If the memory was small enough. If the favor was large enough.
Maybe he’ll face that choice in the throne room today, if the queen isn’t tempted by Folly’s magical coin. Freeing himself wouldn’t be worth a memory. But freeing Folly?
Depends on the memory. But Haelwen would want something of value.
