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."

"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 to get this 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.

Muffled footsteps sound before a side door opens, invisible before the opening.

Nevander strides in silence, eyes as cold as the blade at his hip. He's not quite as tall as Yarrow—few pure fae are. But his presence looms like a shadow.

"I expected to see you sooner, Yarrow." Nevander's gaze sweeps across Folly. "Why have you brought a human to Elladar?"

Without thinking, Yarrow takes Folly by the hand. "There is no rule against it. As for why, that's my next petition to Her Exalted Majesty."

Nevander stalks closer. His movements are steady, threatening more in their perfect balance than outright aggression. If he has any reaction to Folly's fae-touched eye, it doesn't show. "Who are you, human?"

Folly is rigid. For one silent moment, Yarrow thinks he should answer on his human's behalf. Nevander is fucking intimidating.

Then Folly takes a deep breath and answers with a smile. "I am the Great Folarius. A fortuneteller of much renown and little truth." His grip tightens on Yarrow's hand, but his shoulders square with the confidence of performance.

Yarrow wants to kiss him.

He would, if he knew how Folly felt about being kissed in front of a squad of guards.

"A pleasure to meet you," Nevander says politely. "I am Lord Nevander, of Queen Haelwen's guard. Do you seek an audience as well?"

"I do." Folly glances up at Yarrow. "Rather, we seek an audience together. Our request is shared."

"The petition is mine," Yarrow corrects quickly. He won't let Folly be responsible if the price is too steep.

"Daring to seek another favor before earning the first," Nevander comments. Impossible to tell whether he disapproves, or simply states a fact. "Unless you have succeeded in slaying the shapestealer?"

"I encountered a complication. Is Her Majesty able to hear me today?" Remembering last time, Yarrow adds, "Or tonight—that counts too."

Ha. A twitch of Nevander's lip hints at a smile. "What is your petition? I'll convey it to Her Majesty."

This could be a good sign. Nevander himself carrying the message, instead of an ordinary herald. "Moriath cast a curse on Folly, which went awry. The curse now binds Folly and myself. I wish to ask Her Majesty to remove the curse, so Folly can return to his realm…" Yarrow pauses. The words feel wrong—but that's what they want, isn't it? "And I can continue my quest."

"I see," Nevander says seriously. "Is that what you want too, Folarius?"

Folly hesitates, his earlier confidence diminished. "I want the curse removed."

Nevander exits through the magic veiled doorway. The green gold veil shimmers, then falls hazy again. Silence floods in Nevander's wake.

Yarrow should say something reassuring. He should comfort Folly. But he himself feels strangely unmoored. Yarrow's been so caught up in Folly, he's hardly thought about his original goal. Slay the shapestealer. Win his place in the summer court. Become fully part of something, instead of neither one thing nor the other, never fully fitting in.

Yet tracking down Moriath only feels urgent because he threatened Folly.

They have to break the curse, one way or another. The binding keeps shrinking. Even at its current distance of seventeen feet, the proximity clearly grates on Folly. He needs space that Yarrow literally can't give him right now.

But breaking the curse means Folly returns home. While Yarrow remains here. Without a lifemark or another binding, they're destined to part.

"After we fix this," Yarrow says quietly. "After I slay Moriath. We can still meet."

Folly drops his hand, but stays close. "How? I don't know how to travel between worlds. Unless..."

"It would be difficult," Yarrow says, glancing at the watchful guards. He probably shouldn't discuss illicit trips between worlds in their presence.

Folly chews his lip, then takes a deep breath. "Would you want to see me again?" he asks in a small voice.

"If you'd let me." Yarrow touches Folly's chin. Tilts his face up. He can't resist turning those beautiful, mismatched eyes into the light. He wishes he could fill them with only joy, no worry. "I'm not done kissing you senseless."

Folly's ears heat with color. He glances away, and Yarrow mourns the loss of his gaze?—

Right, the guards.

"Let's talk about this later." Folly looks down, shy, but doesn't pull away. He touches Yarrow's wrist, slim fingers a welcome binding. His next words are even quieter. "I'm not done kissing you, either."

Now Yarrow's face heats, as the words thunder through his every nerve. He would happily kiss Folly breathless in front of the guards. More than happily go further, showing off his claim over the beautiful young man. But quiet confessions should be for Yarrow's ears alone.

"Later," Yarrow agrees.

An irrepressible grin lights his face until the door to the throne room shimmers again. Nevander returns—and a seed of worry takes root in Yarrow's heart. Yarrow had thought Nevander cold before. Now he knows the hint of warmth by its absence.

"Your journey was in vain," Nevander says. "Her Majesty will not hear your petition today."

The bad news doesn't sound real. "I would rather skip the song and dance, Lord Nevander." Yarrow smiles, his friendly drawl compensating for his annoyance. "If she means tonight, or first thing tomorrow morning, tell me now."

Nevander lifts a golden brow. "You are ill suited to Elladar if you can't enjoy the song and dance. However, Her Majesty was quite straightforward. She's already given you the route to break the curse. Do not return until Moriath is dead."

Folly touches Yarrow's hand, which is when Yarrow realizes he's clenching his fists. Under Folly's soft touch, he loosens his grip.

"I'll be able to fulfill the queen's will better without a human bound to my side," Yarrow says—because that's the only thing that might persuade Haelwen. She won't care that the quest will put Folly in danger. She won't care that the shrinking curse scares Folly.

But even this isn't enough, he knows as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Haelwen set him a task. She's interested in his failure as much as his success.

Nevander remains impassive. "You will have to rise to the challenge, then." He pauses. In another man, Yarrow would call it hesitation. "Stay the night, and find me in the armory tomorrow. I have some tools that may help."

Yarrow's fists clench again. It's Folly who says, "Thank you, Lord Nevander. Your aid is appreciated on our grand quest."

Nevander nods to him. "Keep him close," he tells Yarrow, before returning through the veil.

Leaving Yarrow stunned.