Page 40 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
“So I smell like food?”
“No.” Lir eyes me sternly from the shadow of his hood. “You smell like foodandsex. And… more.”
Finias glances at him sharply. He seems about to ask something, but then he pops the peppermint stick back into his mouth, where he holds it between his teeth like a pipe.
“In we go,” he says around the striped candy. “Lir, pray don’t reveal yourself until I give you the signal.”
He leads the way to the tavern’s front door, over which swings a creaky sign with a crowned toad on it. The toad’s tongue lolls from its wide mouth rather lecherously.
I follow the two Fae into the tavern, staying close behind them. We wend our way through the noisy front room into a bigger back room, not quite as busy. There’s a large booth built into the corner, where several figures are already sitting. Finias makes for that spot.
“Good cheer, friends!” he calls merrily. He tosses a handful of rainbow dust into the air, but instead of settling it rises up to the ceiling, swirling and sparkling, illuminating the other guests’ faces a bit better. “I know you’ve all missed me terribly. Achorn, for you.” He tosses several wrapped candies to a burly man. “And for you, Theanne my love—” and he draws two crystalline balls from his satchel and passes them carefully to a leather-clad Fae woman with hair the color of fresh blood.
While he’s passing out more treats to the others at the table, Lir pulls up a chair for me and for himself. I had thought we would sit in the booth, but I immediately understand his reasoning—in chairs, we can be part of the conversation, but we can also be ready to run or fight if we need to.
My heart is pounding, but I try to appear calm as I take my seat. I let my fingers play across the hilt of my dagger as Finias perches on the corner of the table and props one of his boots on the bench.
“You come bearing gifts as always, Sugarplum,” growls the big man, Achorn. With his furred calf ears and slightly bovine features, he seems to be a different sort of Fae than Lir and Finias. “Yet the more gifts you give, the more suspicious I get. Why have you called us here at such a time? The charms on this place may have held against the Rat King’s soldiers so far, but the host tells us they press him harder every day. This could be the day they finally break through and swarm in, and I’d rather not be here when it happens.”
“And why is that?” asks a grating voice. Its owner has flatter features than most humans or Fae, partly covered with bluish-green scales. “Why shouldn’t the folk of the Dread Court enjoy Seelie hospitality? Do you despise them simply because they look different from you?”
“I despise them because they are bastards,” growls Achorn.
“Friends, friends.” Finias takes the peppermint stick from his mouth. His tongue has sharpened it to a keen point. “You know I have had allies, acquaintances, and lovers from both Courts. I am a neutral party, am I not? Yet even someone like myself, with a heart wide enough for both courts, can see that the invasion of the Seelie kingdom is throwing our realm off balance. Things were comfortable, yes? Plenty of goods and pleasure to be had, and work enough to keep us busy, if we wanted it. The coming of the Rat King has thrown all that into disarray. Personally I’ve had enough of these mindless rat-beasts rooting around—the mole-rats, rat-bears, and other strange creatures assembled by the dire magic of the Unseelie King. And I don’t take kindly to certain lovely parts of this land being soiled.”
“So you’re taking a side at last, Sugarplum?” asks Theanne, the leather-clad woman.
“Not exactly.” Finias winces as if the idea pains him. “I’m merely saying it may be in all our best interests to restore this realm to its former balance.”
“And how will we do that?” demands Achorn. “The uppity princeling has fled, or was stolen. His claim and his powers are the only way to push the Rat King back into his own kingdom.”
“What if the uppity princeling wasn’t quite gone?” says Finias, with a waggle of his brows. “What if he was simply—indisposed? What if he needed an escort to some place of ancient importance—say, the Unending Pool? And what if some of us could provide said escort, so that the uppity princeling could be restored to his full power and return everything to the way it was?”
“That’s what you’re after.” It’s a Faerie who hasn’t yet spoken, one with long, feathery, gray antennae, like a moth’s. At her back is a brown and gray bundle—her wings, folded. “You want us to help you get through the Rat King’s conquered territory so you can reach the Pool. The young Seelie prince must be cursed, then. Who did it? The Rat King himself, or someone else?”
Finias looks around at them, all playfulness gone. “Drosselmeyer.”
It’s as if he has spoken the darkest curse known to Fae-kind. The reptilian Fae hisses, Theanne’s fingers tighten to fists, and the moth Fae turns deathly gray. A dark-skinned, white-freckled Fae with antlers murmurs to a chubby pink-skinned male beside him. Even burly Achorn recoils.
“Drosselmeyer took the prince?” says Theanne. “And he escaped?”
“He did.” Lir leans forward, pushing his hood back slightly. “And your king needs your help.”
The reaction to the Prince’s revelation is much different than the response to Drosselmeyer’s name. A restless energy travels through the gathered mercenaries, and they exchange wary glances. Finias lets out a huffed breath, as if slightly frustrated that Lir didn’t wait for his signal.
“Your Majesty,” says Theanne, bowing her head. After a moment, the others follow her example.
“You may call me ‘Prince’ until I claim the throne and am officially crowned,” says Lir. “Until then, I require your assistance.”
“Require, but withmoney,” intervenes Finias, with an ingratiating smile. “The Prince recognizes that these are difficult times, and he is prepared to offer a substantial reward to those who aid him in breaking his curse and recovering his throne.”
“What is this curse?” asks the reptilian Fae.
“That’s not important,” says Finias quickly. “What’s important is that, in these troubled days, we are prepared to offer remuneration in exchange for what you already do best—fighting.”
They begin talking about distances, risk involved, the inclusion of meals, and other factors, along with quantities of a currency with which I’m unfamiliar. Instead of listening, I watch their faces, intrigued by the shift of each Fae’s unique features.
Until the Prince reaches over and grips my leg, just above the knee.
