Chapter 8

Touchy subject, then. A history, maybe even some pain. Family-related. Aidan, who could sympathize, said, “Ah. Okay, then. Just you and me. A bargain. Personal. I won’t even do it on behalf of the MED. Only myself.” A faerie-bargain would be binding; they’d each have to fulfil their promised obligations. Restoring that order, that balance.

What he’d just suggested would make it more intimate, more private, though no less binding. About them, the two people in question. Not official, not representative of anyone else, not carrying that weighty import.

The young man gazed at him. Those ears came back up.

“I mean it,” Aidan said. “If it’ll get you to agree.”

“You didn’t ask,” the pooka said, “why I don’t have a herd.”

“Is it any of my business? You don’t have to tell me.”

“And you offered to make it personal. Whatever’d get me to agree to repayment.”

“I—”