The innocent look wrinkles like a badly made backdrop at the theater, letting a hint of irritation peek through the curtain. He paces forward as smoothly as if he was made of liquid. “Didn’t anyone ever bother to teach you that it’s unwise to be rude to faeries?”

Fear surges up briefly, but I force myself to think. The truth is obvious. “If there was anything you could do to me, you would have already done it by now.”

Gossamer stops short, his eyes narrowed. “You seem terribly sure of yourself, Seelie.”

It would probably be a bad idea to point out that, by not outright denying what I’d said, he’s as good as confirmed it.

Truth is a tricky thing that way.

I lean against a rock, watching the faerie warily. He’s just a few feet away now, studying me like I’m some kind of rare butterfly he’d like to add to his collection. The chill of his pale gray gaze makes me shiver.

“But if you won’t spare a thought for yourself, perhaps you should think of your annoying little friends.” He casts a meaningful look behind us at Raze. “It would be a shame if anything happened to him...or the others. The one’s interesting, for a mortal. The one you call your sister. I’ve never seen one like it before.”

“Leave them alone,” I mutter, not daring to raise my voice. “Just tell me what you want. Why you’re in my head.”

Gossamer sighs, almost like a human. He closes the distance between us, standing almost nose-to-nose with me before shifting to lean against the stone beside me. “When you freed me, Seelie... I tried to get away. I tried to return to my realm, where I could gain strength again. But I was tethered to you, to your magic.” He turns, his face too close to mine as he leans in. “Ask all the questions you like, little changeling. I know that you can feel it, too.”

My skin crawls, tingling with a magic that isn’t my own. Now that he mentions it, I can feel the tie between us. Even if he’d been on the other side of the crevice, standing under the cliffs, I would be just as aware of his presence as I am now. As if it’s a part of me, like my magic or my fingers. I swallow hard, forcing myself to form words without shaking. “You want to get away. Couldn’t I just free you, then?”

“No!” Gossamer says, too quickly. The feeling of magic on the bare skin of my neck and scarred hands turns ice-cold. “It’s not that simple,” he adds, a note of something dark and bitter in his tone.

I suck in a breath, my chest squeezing. My anxious fingers go to where my necklace should be. “You need me,” I say on a breath. This time, I turn to look at Gossamer’s face, to examine it for any sign of the truth.

He leans back against the cliff, scowling at the stars.