Page 17 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
And the next second, the portal does too.
He shut it down, or moved it somewhere…
Whatever he did, it means there’s no chance of retreat.
No way back.
“Stay behind me,” says the Nutcracker breathlessly. “I will protect you.”
“You can’t, fool,” snaps Louisa. “You can barely manage that sword.” She casts me a fiery look. “Clara, help him hold them off for a moment, while I see what I’ve got in this bag.”
“Hold them off?” My voice shrills, and the rat-headed monsters snicker. They don’t seem to be in a hurry—they keep pacing slowly toward us, savoring our fear. They’ve split into three groups. Two advance from the front, while three circle around to the left and three to the right. They plan to come at us from all sides, so we can’t run.
“I don’t know what these are,” says Louisa cheerfully. “But they can’t hurt.”
She holds up a ridged ball and presses the button on its side with her thumb. The ball begins to hum, louder and louder.
“Throw it!” I shout.
Louisa flings the ball toward the two oncoming rats. One catches it, vents a derisive snort, and starts to toss it behind them.
The ball explodes in midair, a concussive burst of hot fire and bits of metal. All three of us hit the ground, and Louisa throws herself on top of the Nutcracker. I’m not sure why, until a shard of hot metal lands near me with a glowing hiss.
Iron. This was a bomb specifically designed to harm the Fae.
The two rats in front of us have been reduced to scattered, steaming chunks. The reek of burnt flesh rises into the air. One of the rat’s heads was only partly destroyed, and underneath the scorched white fur I see a face—not a rat at all, but something else. Not human, but wickedly, beautifully Fae. The eye is open, its slit pupil fixed vacantly on the roiling smoke.
The Nutcracker climbs to his feet, staring at Louisa. But the remaining six soldiers rush at us with screeches of anger.
“Throw another of those things!” I yell to my sister.
“I have one more,” she shouts. “There were only two in the weapons room!”
“Now!” I scream.
She seizes the second bomb, presses the button, and flings it toward the group of three on our left. But they’re much closer to us than the other two were.
“Run!” shouts the Nutcracker, and he shoves us both toward the trio of rats on our right. We’re practically racing into their arms when the bomb explodes behind us.
6
The shockwave flings me forward, and I crash onto gem-studded, root-laced ground. Every muscle and bone in my body screams from the impact. Even if by some miracle I didn’t break a rib, I will have bruises for days.
I’ve lost my dagger. I scrabble around for it, hunting desperately—until my fingers graze a spiked black boot. The rancid smell and the black hem of a robe tell me it’s a rat soldier. Standing right over me.
I look up.
Grinning, he lifts his thorny club.
A twinkle of light on silver metal, and the slim blade of the Nutcracker’s rapier slides into the rat’s leg, piercing it through and through.
Enraged, the creature squeals and swings the club at him instead. It bounces off his arm, stripping away a few splinters.
If he takes many more of those blows, his arm might break right off. And I don’t know what that would mean for his real body, once the curse is dispelled.
My fingers close on the dagger hilt, and I scramble to my feet. Clara is already up and fighting one of the rats—if shrieking like a banshee and slashing wildly with her knives can be called fighting. It seems to be doing the trick, for now. The rat is circling her warily, keeping his distance.
The other two rats close in on the Nutcracker and me.
