Page 18 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
“Get up.” I kick the Nutcracker’s ribs. “Time to fight alongside a puny mortal, oh great and powerful prince.”
He groans, his jointed limbs creaking as he gets onto his knees. Then he leans toward me and clamps a hand onto my shoulder, using me to pull himself up.
“I’d give anything to have my real body,” he grits out.
“I’d be glad to have your real body right now, too,” I say. “No such luck. We must make do with what we’re given. Back to back is the best course, I think.”
He throws me a surprised look and moves into place. “Indeed. We take these two, and then we help your sister.”
Clara is darting around trees now, keeping the trunks between her and the third rat soldier. She’s quick. She’ll be all right for a few minutes.
One of the rats charges me, and I slash at him, yelling. He snickers and swings his blade, a blow I almost don’t block in time. He rains more blows down on me, until I’m caught in a desperate dance, in which every move of mine must accurately deflect the oncoming blade or I will die.
My brain’s tendency to switch focus to the newest shiny thing works to my advantage here. My attention dances forward, backward, and side-to-side along with the rat soldier’s blade, jumping to each incoming blow just in time for me to block it.
When I’m frightened, I talk. For some reason it helps me.
“Still alive, Your Nobleness?” I throw over my shoulder.
“Barely,” he replies. “The iron shards from the bomb—you protected me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And here I thought you disliked me.”
“I do. I’m fairly sure the feeling is mutual.”
“Indeed. Duck!”
We both bend, narrowly avoiding a swipe of a rat’s blade. I block the next blow with my dagger. Thank goodness it’s a longish blade, more like a short sword, not like the tiny knives Clara picked. Still, I’m a breath away from getting my throat slit or my arm sliced open. My muscles are beginning to ache, unused to such strenuous labor.
“You heard my godfather’s warning, that you’re not to be trusted,” I say. “That you’re not what you seem.”
“Not what I seem? No, I’m not usually a wooden doll, in point of fact.” He staggers, crashing against my back for a second, and I try to brace him up while holding off my opponent’s sword. The rat leans in, grinding his blade against mine.
“Give up, mortal.” The rat soldier’s voice skitters through rows of sharp black teeth. “Yield to me, and I promise to fuck you before I kill you.”
“How is that a bargain?” I gasp. “I’ve slept with all sorts of people—I’m not picky—but I draw the line at a foul rat-bastard.”
“I’ll make you scream for mercy.” The rat gnashes his teeth, still exerting pressure on my dagger.
I can’t hold him back any longer. I’ve got the hilt gripped in both hands, but my arms are shaking.
The rat soldier catches my wrist in his other hand and twists. I scream at the sudden flare of pain, my fingers unlatching from the dagger hilt, letting it fall.
The rat seizes my throat. His fingers are gloved, leathery, unyielding—slowly compressing my airway. He’s inhumanly strong, and I realize he’s been holding back the entire time. Toying with me.
He picks me up by my neck and slams me onto the ground.
My party dress is ruined already—smudged, torn, and singed. The rat seizes my skirts, but I kick him in the face and flip over, crawling away on my belly.
A mistake, because face-down I can’t defend myself as well. His weight crashes onto me.
I don’t have anything left. No dagger, no bag of weapons, no Nutcracker prince at my back. Only myself.
I twist, shrieking my rage, trying to claw him off my back, but the rat delivers a blow to my face. Pain blasts through my cheekbone and jaw. My arms go limp; I’m too dazed to move.
He’s fumbling with my dress, pushing it up my legs.
