Folly takes Yarrow’s hand and stands up. He’s shaky on his feet, like a nervous deer. Nothing like the confident man holding court at the dinner table just an hour ago. “I can’t lie,” Folly whispers, his lips chalky. “Yarrow, what do I do if I can’t lie?”
The question is like asking how to breathe.
But Folly didn’t grow up how Yarrow did. Yarrow can’t relate to the dilemma, but this must be frightening. “Think before you speak.” Yarrow lifts Folly’s chin, squarely meeting his mismatched eyes. “Silence is always an option, until I get you an antidote.”
Folly swallows. “She said it was temporary.”
“That’s good,” Yarrow says, letting himself sound relieved. Hopefullytemporaryinvolves a reasonable timescale. “We need to explain ourselves now, but I can do all the talking.”
Sure enough, Pennyroyal stomps over—as heavily as a light-footed fox fae can stomp. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kick you out of Milla’s Menagerie right now,” Pennyroyal demands. His earlier flirtatious interest is nowhere to be seen.
Yarrow exhales. Flirting his way out of this one won’t work, and besides, he’s not in the fucking mood. “A shapestealer was impersonating one of your kin,” Yarrow says quietly, though the sharper-eared onlookers can likely hear. “I’ll tell you more in private.”
Pennyroyal braces his hands on his hips. He looks skeptical, until Hummingbird alights on a nearby table.
“I caught a glimpse before she vanished,” Hummingbird says. “She looked like one of you, but her outfit was all wrong. I would know. That was a fake.”
Pennyroyal gestures, and the noise around them muffles. “Then we’re in private right now. Talk.”
Yarrow sorts out his story quickly. “I fought a shapestealer in the human realm recently. The shapestealer was attacking Follyat the time. I didn’t expect the shapestealer to follow us into the fae realm, but he must have been after Folly again today.”
“Must have been,” Pennyroyal repeats, crossing his arms as his tail swishes. “I don’t care about what happened in the human realm. I care about what happened here at the Menagerie. Which of you can explain?”
Yarrow hesitates. Making Folly talk under a truth potion isn’t fair, but Pennyroyal likely won’t see it that way. He’ll see it as convenient, not a violation. Yarrow came very close to violating guest obligations—Moriath may have harmed Folly, but Yarrow drew his weapon first.
“I can explain,” Folly says, his voice quiet but clear.
“Don’t lie to me, human,” Pennyroyal warns. “I don’t want a pretty story.”
Folly laughs shakily, and squeezes Yarrow’s hand as if in reassurance. Which is when Yarrow realizes how tense he’s gotten, worrying about Folly.
“What I thought was another fox fae approached me,” Folly begins. He pauses between sentences, gathering up his truths. “She did the same spell you just did, so nobody would look at us, and nobody could hear us. She also tricked me into drinking a truth potion, so she could ask me questions about Yarrow.”
Yarrow starts. “What questions?”
Folly’s lips press together, and he glances at Pennyroyal and Hummingbird. Instead of answering, he says, “She said her name was Oleander.”
Pennyroyal goes gray. His hand lifts to his mouth. “Oleander vanished thirty years ago.”
Yarrow winces. The Menagerie is a family business. “My sympathies, Pennyroyal. The real Oleander’s likely thirty years dead.”
“Spirits. She was such a jerk,” Pennyroyal says, with painful fondness. He looks away, ears flicking back. “What else happened?”
Folly twists his fingers in his robe. “I tried to call for help. When that didn’t work, I triggered a spell that was already on me and Yarrow.” Folly shrugs. “You saw the rest.”
That part surprises Yarrow. He’d assumed the curse triggered when the shapestealer tried abducting Folly. But Folly had done it on purpose to get his attention.
Clever little human.
Hummingbird’s wings twitch, sending pixie dust sparkling. “Are we done? We’re not technically under your roof, so there shouldn’t be a problem. I want to drink more.”
Pennyroyal scratches behind his ear. His smile is hollow, like he’s trying to hide his sadness. “Yes, we’re not technically in the inn, and you didn’t technically draw your weapon on another guest. So, no problems with the Menagerie. Just, you might want to stay in your room, at least until we reach the next stop.”
“Fine by me,” Yarrow says. He wants to get Folly away from all these prying eyes. All these faces that might conceal Moriath’s identity.
With a wave of Pennyroyal’s hand, the surrounding noise sharpens. A drinking song winds through the revelers. Night birds call from the nearby forest. Pennyroyal pats down his apron and heads for the inn.
“That was interesting!” Hummingbird says. “Care for another round?”
