Folly
The armory walls bristle with shields and swords, maces and spears, and all manner of weaponry Folly can’t even name. Everything is mirror-bright and sharp-looking, and none of it can combat Folly’s giddiness.
Even the dwindling curse can’t dampen his mood.
Do people normally feel this elated after sex? Folly’s used to more fleeting experiences. Mornings after are usually spent in his own bed, alone. Far preferable to humiliating himself with awkward breakfast conversation.
Breakfast with Yarrow this morning was anything but awkward. Especially when Yarrow pulled Folly into his lap and?—
“Her Majesty has forbidden me from helping the wild fae,” Nevander says, laying an array of items on a stone table. “She said nothing about helping the human.”
“That’s convenient,” Yarrow says, sounding pleased.
Stifling his sordid reminiscence, Folly frowns. “Will you get in trouble for this, Lord Nevander?”
“That’s my concern.” Nevander taps the table. “Choose what you want, Great Folarius. Then we can decide the price.”
Polite of Nevander to stick with the name Folly gave. Maybe Folly should say he can stop, though. “What is everything?”
Nevander smiles. “I’ll tell you once you’ve chosen.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” Yarrow growls.
“It’s fine,” Folly says, and means it. Just like browsing variety shops for Roland, except Yarrow won’t yell if Folly gets it wrong. “This is the only thing I’m good at.”
“You’re good at plenty of things,” Yarrow says immediately—his voice low and filthy.
Nevander clears his throat.
Doing his best to ignore Yarrow’s insinuations, Folly inspects the arrayed items. Unlike the variety shops Folly’s used to, almost everything on the table glints with magic. Three bright feathers, as long as Folly’s hand. A golden compact, something like a locket or compass. Four sheathed daggers in varied design—the most ornate is encrusted with emeralds and sapphires, and the simplest is wrapped in plain black leather.
A key on a chain, missing a lock. A thick book, bound in autumn leaves. A round, yellow flower, preserved in glass.
Two items in particular catch Folly’s eye. Chewing his lip leads him no closer to a decision. One he’s sure will be useful. He can guess what it is. The other is a mystery. If he picks the first, Nevander will never tell him what the other was.
Wait. Nevander never said Folly had to pick just one.
“I want this and this,” Folly says, pointing. While he’s tempted to ask for more, he doubts he’ll be able to afford it.
Nevander smiles—which is when Folly realizes there’s a correct answer, and he’s picked it. “Very good.” With a sweep of Nevander’s hand and a flurry of gold sparks, the unchosen items vanish. Nevander picks up the first—the compact. Opening it reveals a small mirror. “This is a scrying glass. With your fae-touched eye, you can use it to spy on any living creatureyou’re familiar with, as long as they’re in the same realm. I’d recommend using it only once a day, to avoid exhaustion.”
Folly glances at Yarrow. They’ll be able to find Moriath with this.
Nevander unsheathes the dagger next—and Yarrow flinches back. Which proves Folly’s guess even before Nevander explains.
“This is an iron dagger,” Nevander says. “The edges are as sharp as the finest steel. The scabbard is enchanted to deaden the iron’s effects once sheathed. Other than that, it has no special properties.”
Perfect. Folly’s only advantages in this realm—besides the wild fae at his side—are his abilities to lie and wield iron.
Yarrow gives a low whistle. “All right, those are both exactly what we need. How did you pick?”
Folly shrugs. “The mirror was the most magical item on the table. The dagger was the least. As for price…” Folly fumbles with his coin purse. “Before we bargain, Lord Nevander, could you tell me what this is?”
He sets the strange coin on the table, raven side up. Its magic sits dormant, but flares as Nevander leans closer.
Surprise crosses Nevander’s face. “May I see the other side?”
Folly turns the coin over, revealing the dragon’s sinuous form.
