Page 71 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
With a doleful sigh, he crawls a little farther forward and cranes his neck, peering in first one direction, then the other.
A frown puckers his brow. “By the stars,” he mutters, and squints harder. “I think you might be right. I can’t tell if it’s a lift or a bridge—maybe both, or neither, but there’s a tower on each side of the Ravine in that direction.”
“That’s our way across. How far?”
“I think we could walk it in an hour.”
“Before we go, I think you should drink some of my blood,” I tell him. “It’s been a while, and we can’t have you reverting to Nutcracker form while we’re crossing.”
He keeps staring in the direction of the towers until I wonder if he heard me. But then he says, “We’ll need to find a quiet, safe place. And you should keep your knife ready. Once I start drinking from you, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”
21
The “clothing” provided for the Rat King’s concubines is scanty at best—black ribbons wound around my arms, chest, belly, and thighs. The broad ribbons cover my nipples, and there’s a bit of black lace between my legs, but otherwise I’m bared to anyone’s view. My hair is pinned up partway, the rest of it tumbling in long curls down my back.
The Unseelie woman who dresses me adds makeup as well—scarlet lip color, face powder with glints of gold, a little rouge, some kohl around my eyes. If I’m honest, I rather like the look, though I despise the reason for it.
Since my ears aren’t pierced, she pierces them three times each, swiftly and expertly. She inserts long glittering earrings into my lobes and two small gold rings in my upper cartilage on each side.
“I’m sorry for the pain,” she whispers. “I don’t have a choice.”
Her ebony skin is pierced along the brows and cheekbones, and ram’s horns curl from her abundant hair. She might be from the Court of Delight, if not for the fact that most of the flesh of her chest is gone, peeled back to reveal a live bird fluttering inside the cavity, beating its tiny wings wildly against her exposed ribs and sternum. I can’t see any heart or lungs, only a crystallized red interior behind the bird. Was she born this way, or cursed?
“Poor little human.” She pats my shoulder, eyeing me from top to toe. “Unlucky.”
“Can you help me?” I whisper. “Please?”
She shakes her head. “I wish I could.”
I consider telling her about my connection to Lir and Finias, but revealing my link to the true king of Seelie might get me tortured, not freed.
“Here.” The woman hands me a tiny green pill. “Keep that with you, and swallow it before they begin to have their fun. It will numb you to what’s happening.”
“Thank you.” I pinch the pill between my fingers.
A pale, oozy-looking Unseelie male with eyes like a frog comes to lead me back into the throne room. He pushes me into an empty brass cage and seals it seamlessly behind me—no door or lock to be seen.
“Don’t think of trying to escape, human.” Each word is a wet gulp from his throat. “These are Inescapable Cages. They can’t be unsealed but by the Rat King’s will. And if by some chance he dies, the cage will shrink and crush you.”
He must like the expression of horror on my face, because he gives a slow, gurgling chuckle. He lifts a slimy, three-fingered hand, and the cage rises until I’m swinging above the heads of the Court.
When the froglike Fae walks away, three winged Unseelie take to the air and hover around my cage, sliding various appendages through the bars to poke me.
But the teasing only lasts a few minutes before all three of them are yanked backward by tendrils of the Rat King’s shadow magic. He leans forward, palming the head of his scepter.
“My new human concubine is not to be touched until I wish it,” he bellows.
Small mercies. I watch, wincing, as he throttles all three of the creatures until they go limp. When he drops them, the bodies are dragged away.
I squint at the Rat King, watching as he removes his paw from the ruby orb at the top of the scepter. Strange how he fondles it whenever he’s using his magic. Perhaps he needs it to perform magic at all. Intrigued by the idea, I watch him closely for the next two hours, but he doesn’t use the shadows again, although he kills two more supplicants and beats a third nearly to death with the end of the scepter. The others who come to him receive their boons, or a place at Court for the night’s festivities, which apparently involve feasting and an orgy.
I curl one hand around the bars of the cage, still holding the pill in my other hand. It’s my lifeline, the sole indication that I might survive this night—or at least die in less pain than I’d feared.
“Next!” roars the Rat King.
The tunnel leading to the throne room remains empty. No supplicants appear.
“Next!” he shouts again, spit flying from his lips.
