Page 98 of The Toymaker's Son

It was worth it. The madness, the nightmares, the horror. It was all worth it to wake beside him now.

There would be a way to save him from Adair.

Perhaps Jacapo’s book might have the answers.

I gazed at Devere, loath to leave him, but there was much to be done if I was going to set him free, and I eased from the bed. I found one of his dressing gowns, threw it on, ignoring how it trailed behind me, then padded downstairs to his workshop.

Half-finished and broken toys peered back at me with glass eyes as I passed by. I found the bookcase and peeled back the dusty sheet, and there was the book, exactly where it should be.

The Wonder & Wickedness of the Fae.As before, the name inside its creaking cover declared it Jacapo’s.

I carried it to the stove, tossed a few logs in, set the kettle to boil, and settled into the chair to read.

A few indecipherable scribbles adorned the margins—Jacapo’s, perhaps. Whoever had written in the book had highlighted the fact the fae were organized into courts, each one ruled by a king or queen. Myths told of how the fae were little people, fae-folk, a nuisance, not a threat. But this book showed them in an entirely different light. Little, they were not. And threatening mortals appeared to be a favorite pastime of theirs. There was no mention of Adair by name, but a whole chapter was dedicated to the renowned shadow fae, the unseelie, which could walk between worlds. Some of these unseelie were masters of dreams—dreamweavers. Their own kind feared them, avoided them, and most dreamweavers were driven mad by their abilities.

Was Adair a shadow fae?

A few more faded scribbles caught my eye:Monster,Jacapo had written, clearly referring to Adair. He wrote about amistakeand hisgrief.Those words stood out, while much of the others had faded beyond comprehension.

“You’re wearing my gown.”

I looked up and smiled at Devere in his workshop doorway. His tone sounded icy, but his salacious grin was far from it.

“Oh, yes.” I shuffled deeper into the chair and the lovely gown. “Do you mind?”

He crossed the room, leaned down and planted a soft kiss on my cheek. “Not at all.”

While nice, I’d hoped for more than a chaste kiss.

He caught the need in my eyes and switched to delivering the kind of kiss that had me reaching around his shoulder to pull him into my lap. A kiss hinting at the passion we’d shared, and how he might stoke the embers between us at any moment.

He chuckled and pulled away. He’d dressed in his typical trousers and waistcoat, making me feel entirely underdressed in just a gown with my ankles showing.

“Where did you get that book?” he asked, reaching for the kettle.

“Oh, I found it during a previous jaunt around this carousel I’m stuck on.The Wonder & Wickedness of the Fae—”

His hand slipped, and he sloshed boiling water over himself. “Damn!”

I leaped to my feet and rushed in. “Are you all right?”

“No! I mean, yes, of course.” He grabbed a towel, wet it under the cool faucet, and pressed it to the back of his hand. “It’s fine, really.”

“Let me see.”

“Are you a doctor?”

A flash of unwanted memories assaulted my mind—Russo as a doctor, strapping me down; Miss Couper telling me I’d always been mad, and that my life was a dream. “No, are you?”

“It will be fine,” he said stiffly. “I do not… I am not so easily wounded as you.” He removed the cloth and set it aside. The pink scald was already returning to its natural pallor.

“I don’t care, you know? That you’re different. It doesn’t make you any less of a man.”

“Does it not?” he asked, his voice clipped.

Last night, he’d been tender and kind, all his fears and aloofness tossed aside. He’d been more human to me as we’d lain together than most humans I’d met. “It doesn’t matter who made you, or how, or even why. You are you, Devere. And I love you.”

“Love?” It almost sounded as though he had snarled. “And what if I am fae? Will you still love me, knowing the truth?”

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