Page 75 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
He snarls through the blood. Lifts his head a little.
“Your Chosen, Lir. I’m your Chosen. You have to stop. You promised to protect me.”
He’s withdrawing his fangs, blood streaming down his chin, his eyes regaining focus. “Louisa?”
Sobbing, I clamp my palm over the wound, but my fingers feel weak and fragile, barely capable of pressure. I step out of the hollow and collapse beside Fin’s bag.
“Louisa.” Lir’s voice breaks with anguish. “I’m so sorry.”
“Something for healing,” I manage through a sob. “There should be a few left. Find one.”
He rummages frantically, comparing a few sweets to the chart before he locates the right piece. I swallow it whole. Mere moments later, my wound begins to close and my dizziness lessens.
“Louisa.” Pleading and penitence in his tone.
“We can’t talk about this now,” I tell him. “No more distractions, or we die. From now on, one single focus. Get safely across the Ravine, then head for the Pool.”
“Agreed.” The resigned ache, the self-hatred in his voice—they almost break me.
But I’ve come too far to be broken now. He is fracturing already. And if I let myself crack, even a little, the Prince who loves me will die.
23
Finias has outdone himself. I’ve never been to a Fae revel, but even I can tell.
He created the bathing pools the Rat King wanted, which are now crowded with Unseelie folk slathered in blood or honey-milk—and he made a third pool of warm melted cheese, in which the Rat King himself is rolling and dunking, his fur stuck together in cheesy clumps. It’s all very disgusting. But Finias also produced a bowl of candies that, when chewed, clean every bit of the eater’s body. Some of the Unseelie are going in and out of the pools and chewing the candies just to watch the magic work.
There’s a seemingly endless hiss and crackle of tiny orange, gold, and ruby-red fireworks exploding against the ceiling, and there are great mounds of sugary treats, most of them blended with disgusting things, like peanut brittle with cricket legs, or cotton candy twined with spider silk. He made the chocolate covered eyeballs again, too—several of them are bobbing around in the pools, unspooling melted chocolate and releasing the eyeballs inside.
A number of the Unseelie have sampled Finias’s musical toffees, which apparently play a different song inside each person’s mind. They’re dancing, but to the music in their own heads, so most of them are completely out of sync with the music that’s actually playing—a thumping, shaking, virulent roar that nearly deafens me and seems to have no discernible tune.
Finias isn’t partaking much himself. During the feast he barely ate, and he didn’t touch the roasted meat, for which I was glad since I knew where it came from. Now he’s sauntering among the guests, his black cloak hiding his wings, sipping blood-colored wine and looking altogether Unseelie. But I can feel his restlessness—I can see it in the angle of his shoulders and the sharp turns of his head. I can hear it in the edges of his laughter.
He has only glanced at me one other time. Likely because he doesn’t want to draw attention to me, or indicate any prior connection between us.
Powerful as he is, he could probably destroy everyone in this room. But what about the rest of the army in the underground lair? I doubt he’d be able to fight them all off before he ran out of energy, or whatever fuels his power.
Fortunately for me, he must have recognized these cages for what they are—inescapable. He has probably seen similar ones before, during his prior visit to the Unseelie Court. He knows he can’t kill the Rat King, or every concubine will be crushed to death in their cages.
Which leaves both of us with one option—wait until the orgy begins, and the cages are opened.
This phase of the night’s festivities feels interminable. I sit cross-legged on the bottom of the cage, my elbow propped on my knee, and my chin resting on my palm.
Of all the places I thought I would end up after Papa’s death, I never imagined I’d be a caged concubine in the throne room of the Rat King of Unseelie, while my faerie lover attempts to charm the Court of Dread long enough to claim me and smuggle me out of an underground lair.
I’m not sure how Fin plans to do the smuggling part. I doubt the Rat King will let the two of us walk away. Even if he was distracted, the guards in the corridor would surely stop us.
The Rat King is climbing out of the cheese-pool. He chews one of the cleaning candies, then picks up his scepter from where he placed it right next to the bath.
He’s utterly naked, and the size of his thick, bulbous, gray cock terrifies me. One of the concubines in another cage whimpers at the sight, but she’s too far away for me to offer any comfort.
A servant offers the Rat King another goblet, and he drinks the liquor down. Several of the rats protruding from his body, which appeared rather drowned after his cheese-bath, seem to revive.
“Sugarplum,” he roars. “Come here!”
Finias skips to his side, bowing low. “My liege. Is there anything else I can do to make this evening more memorable?”
“Not exactly,” says the Rat King. “You’ve done very well, boy. But it’s all been a bit Seelie for my tastes. You can’t help your roots, even if your heart is with us and your intentions are good.” He claps a paw on Fin’s shoulder. “I’m in the mood for some hearty fucking. It’s time to bring forth the concubines. As I promised, you get to choose one for yourself. Which one will you have? There’s a new one there, see?” He points to me. “Human, unbroken. I would take her myself, but I fancy a Seelie rump tonight.”
