Page 25 of A City of Emeralds and Envy
There’s a flicker of carnal suggestion in his eyes—and it surprises me, though it shouldn’t. Innocent as he appears, the Scarecrow is Fae, after all. During my last visit, Riordan taught me about the Fae’s need for sex—how it’s connected to their magic, their healing abilities, their longevity. I suppose even this angelic-looking male has had dozens of sexual partners in his lifetime.
“You can repay me by resting and recovering your strength,” I reply.
Jasper smiles. “As you wish.”
I pull the basket closer and lay back the covering. The cloth is bigger than I thought—more like a sheet, folded in half and used to line the basket. Under parcels of food I discover an herbal-smelling paste and some neat white cloths, perhaps intended as napkins or handkerchiefs.
“These will work just fine as bandages.” I unfold one, spreading it out on my knee.
“I wish I could heal you,” Riordan says tersely. “But I can’t, not with this armor on—andhe’stoo full of cursed water to be of any help.” He jerks his helmeted head toward the Scarecrow, then glances at Dorothy. “Andshecan’t even heal herself. She’s half-Fae, but she’s been raised in the human realm, so her innate Fae powers were unable to fully develop.”
“Sorry I’m so useless,” Dorothy snaps. “At least I kept the crows off our backs.”
“I never said you were useless,” Riordan answers in an exasperated tone. He falls to one knee at my side, takes one of the cloths, and slices off a strip. Then he lifts my arm and ties the bandage around the worst of my wounds, careful not to lacerate me with the sharp edges of his metal fingers.
“You’re very good at that,” says the Scarecrow admiringly, his blue eyes following Riordan’s every move. “I never imagined I’d be rescued by such wonderful beings—so strong, beautiful, and kind. And you’re all so full of confidence and plans! It’s marvelous, how you freed everyone in the village. I was in my cell when it happened—I was watching one of the guards and I saw the East Witch’s control over him dissipate, like fog in the sun. I hoped I would be released, but they gave me to the crows, and I thought that was the end. Now that I’m going to live, the world seems so full of choices and pleasures…it’s dazzling! But it’s frightening too, the idea of being alone, of not having a place to be, or someone to—”
“Hush, would you?” snaps Dorothy. “I’m trying to think.”
Jasper falls silent instantly, his head bending, golden hair tumbling around his face as if he’s used to being hushed, as if he expects a blow.
“You can talk if you want,” I say defiantly on his behalf. “Dorothy can plug her ears if she needs to think.”
Dorothy shoots me a glare, but she doesn’t protest. Cautiously Jasper lifts his head, and I meet his gaze while Riordan meticulously binds more of my wounds.
In the Scarecrow’s blue eyes I see that pain again, the look he had out in the field. The ache of repeated rejection—years and years of it. I’m not sure how old he is—younger than Riordan, I think. It’s difficult to tell with Fae.
“You can come with us,” I tell the Scarecrow gently, and his face lights up with pure, passionate, grateful joy, so intense that I can’t help smiling, almost laughing.
Riordan scoffs inside his helmet. “He doesn’t want to go where we’re going. Look at him. He’s a delicate, forlorn creature, not much better than that scrap of fur Dorothy calls a pet. He’ll be devoured before we reach the Emerald City.”
“Don’t judge him so harshly. You didn’t think much of me when we first met.”
“Yes I did,” Riordan mutters. “Youwere clever. He’s…well…”
“Hush!” I jab my elbow against his metal arm. “We’ll be all right. We’ve made it this far.”
“Small comfort,” Dorothy says darkly. “Your friend is out here. The monster you spoke of. He haunts these woods.”
Riordan’s helmet dips, a nod of assent.
“He’s sensitive to sound and movement, isn’t he?” Dorothy continues. “If we see him, we should be still and quiet until he moves on.”
“But I need to talk to him,” I protest.
She sighs. “You’ll get us all killed.”
Riordan tears off another bandage. “How do you know those things about the beast, Dorothy?”
She grimaces, then says, “After the green smoke came, I thought I saw the Wicked Witch of the West in the forest. I chased him, and I spoke to him. That’s how I knew for sure it was him who helped us, and why. It’s true that without him, we would have died out there, in the cornfield. But that doesn’t mean any of us are safe from his magic. He’s capricious. Vile. Another beast we have to worry about.” She plucks at the grass, refusing to meet my eyes.
“Did he hurt you?” I ask.
“No.” She gets up suddenly, almost angrily. “We should keep moving.”
“Can you go on?” Riordan asks me, low.
“I just have scratches and surface wounds. I’ll be all right.” I give him a wry smile. “There was a time you would have cut me to pieces yourself.”
