"Make them yield first," Roiben said, and the half smile on his lips wasn't quite enough to render the suggestion frivolous. "Or be dead. No one can yet master the dead." He replaced his helm. "Now get Kaye and go.”
With a flick of the reins Roiben wheeled the horse around and rode down the path, dust clouding behind the shining hooves.
Corny threaded his way back through the woods, only to find Adair leaning against a tree.
"You're an ill fit among such beauty," said the faery, pushing back butter blond hair. "It's a mistake you humans often make—being so ugly.”
Corny thought of Roiben's words. Make them yield first.
"This was a pretty cool gift," he said, letting his hand trail across the bark of a nearby oak, blackening the trunk. "The curse. I should thank you.”
Adair stepped back.
"You must have been really pissed off. The curse even withers fey flesh." Corny smiled. "Now I just have to decide what's the best way to express my gratitude. Whatever do you think Miss Manners would advise?"
• • •
Kaye tried to keep her face expressionless as Roiben ducked under the canopy of branches that formed Silarial's chamber. His silver hair poured over his shoulders like mercury but it was sweat-darkened at his neck.
Longing twisted in her gut along with a terrible, giddy anticipation she couldn't seem to quash. The human glamour Silarial had covered her with felt tight and heavy. She wanted to call out to him, to touch his sleeve. It was easy to imagine that there had been some misunderstanding, that if she could just speak to him for a moment, everything would be like it had been before. Of course, she was supposed to stand near the trunk of the massive willow and keep her eyes on the floor the way the human attendants did.
The glamour had seemed clever at first, when Silarial had suggested it. Roiben wasn't allowed to see her—according to the rules of the declaration— and if she was glamoured, she would remain unseen. Kaye was just supposed to wait until he and Silarial were done talking, and then she was supposed to try to convince him to go along with Silarial's plan. If she agreed with it, of course. Which she was pretty sure she wouldn't, but at least she would get the smug satisfaction of pissing him off.
It had sounded like a better scenario than it felt now as she stood there, watching him through her lashes as if they were strangers.
Silarial looked up lazily from her cushions. "Ethine tells me that you will not agree to my conditions.”
"I do not think you expected me to, m—" He stopped suddenly, and Silarial laughed.
"You nearly called me 'my Lady,' didn't you? That's a habit in need of breaking.”
He looked down and his mouth twisted. "Indeed. You have caught me being foolish.”w smile spread over his lips. He could hurt them even if he couldn't resist them.
He let the pixies stroke him, arching up and biting at the exposed neck of the elfin boy, inhaling their strange mineral-and-earth scents, letting lust overtake him.
"Neil!" Luis shouted, pulling Corny up by the back of his shirt. Corny stumbled, reaching out to right his balance, and Luis pulled back before Corny's hand could catch him. Corny grabbed Luis's shirt instead, the fabric singeing. Corny stumbled and fell.
"Snap out of it," Luis ordered. He was breathing fast, maybe with fear. "Stand up.”
Corny pushed himself onto his knees. Desire made speaking difficult. Even the movement of his own lips was disturbingly like pleasure.
A faery rested long fingers on Corny's calf. The touch felt like a caress and he sagged toward it.
Warm lips were next to his. "Get up, Neil." Luis spoke softly against Corny's mouth, as if daring Corny to obey. "Time to get up.”
Luis kissed him. Luis, who could do everything that he couldn't, who was smart and sarcastic and the last boy in the world likely to want an awkward geek like Corny. It was dizzying to open his mouth against Luis's. Their tongues slid together for a devastating moment, then Luis pulled back.
"Give me your hands," he said, and Corny obediently held out his wrists. Luis bound them with a shoelace.
"What are you—" Corny tried to make some sense of what was happening, but he was still reeling.
"Thread your fingers together," Luis said in his competent, calm voice and pressed his mouth to Corny's again.
Of course. Luis was trying to save him. Like he saved the man with the mouth full of pennies or Lala with the snaking vines. He knew about cures and poultices and the medicinal value of kisses. He knew how to distract Corny long enough to bind his hands, how to use himself as bait to lure Corny away from danger. He saw right through to Corny's carefully hidden desire, and—worse than using it against him—Luis had used it to rescue him. Exhilaration turned to acid in Corny's stomach.
He stumbled back and staggered toward the curtain of branches. They scraped his face as he passed through.
Luis followed. "I'm sorry," he called after Corny. "I'm—I didn't—I thought—”