Page 8 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
“You’re going to tell me everything,” I say. “But first we have to get out of this room, and I have to go get my sister. I know somewhere safe I can put you in the meantime.”
“I’m not an object to be stowed away,” he grunts as we hobble across the showroom. “I am—”
“A Fae Prince, yes, yes. We’ll get to that. For now, do shut up.”
“You know,” he says airily. “I don’t think I like you much, human.”
“The feeling is increasingly mutual.”
Thank the stars he doesn’t talk any more until I get him safely into the secret gallery Clara told me about. Bless my sister for her need to tell me every little thing, including how to open the painting that conceals the door. Goodness knows we have our differences, but she and I always talk to each other, about everything. It’s the only way we survived our restrictive upbringing.
“Stay,” I tell the Nutcracker.
The pink circles on his cheeks seem to darken. “The insolence of you mortals. It’s not to be borne.”
“You’ll have to bear it, since it seems you’re in some kind of trouble and I’m your only hope.” I smile sweetly at him. “You might want to lean against something before you fall over.”
3
“Wake up, Clara. Wake up!”
I blink, dazed by the sudden light of a candle. “Louisa?”
“There’s something I must show you, right now! Come!” My sister’s eyes are wild, her fingers tight on my arm.
“Why? What did you—oh heavens, did you go up to the third floor?”
“Of course not. Come with me.”
Snatching a robe, I follow her downstairs, then through the concealed door behind the painting. “I already know about this room, Louisa,” I grumble. “What do you think—oh! Oh my god—what isthat?”
“That,” says Louisa triumphantly, “is the Nutcracker.”
“I am not a Nutcracker,” says the tall figure. “I am a prince of Faerie. King of the Court of Delight, actually, or I would be by now, if that Fae hunter Drosselmeyer had not captured and cursed me.”
“Right. I’m going back to bed.” I turn my back on both of them.
But Louisa snatches my wrist, pulls up my sleeve, and pinches my arm, hard.
“Ow!” I jerk away from her.
“You’re not dreaming.” She seizes my shoulders. “I thought I was, too, but this is real.He’sreal.”
“I can explain all this in very simple words—so simple even mortals can understand,” offers the Prince.
I peer around my sister, frowning at him.
She sighs. “Yes, he talks like that. Has a very poor view of humans, apparently, even though one was clever enough to ‘capture and curse’ him, so he says.”
“Drosselmeyer is not just any human.” The Nutcracker takes an awkward step nearer to us, holding onto the wall. “He is far more intelligent than most of your kind, and he’s been hunting my race since he was quite young. He has studied us for decades—learned our weakness, developed poisons, traps, and weapons to subdue us. And he’s a sorcerer, specifically gifted with the ability to cast terrible curses. Most of the dolls, puppets, or automatons you see in this house are cursed Fae, trapped here and forced to do his bidding.”
“Iknewthose automatons weren’t scientifically possible,” I exclaim. “So why are you moving and talking and—life-sized?”
“My blood had something to do with it,” says Louisa slowly. “I broke a little piece off the Nutcracker when I dropped him, and when I tried to glue it back on tonight, I cut my finger. My blood got on him—in him, I suppose.” She points to the Nutcracker’s arm, where a long sliver of the wood has been clumsily replaced.
“Yes, your mortal blood interfered with the spell temporarily,” says the Nutcracker. “But I fear the effect won’t last much longer. To be permanently freed from the curse, I must return home to Faerie and immerse myself in the Unending Pool. Only then will I regain my true form and my powers.”
I can hardly grasp what he’s saying—it seems so foolishly fantastical, like something out of a child’s storybook. What if he’s actually some local farmer’s son whom Louisa convinced to dress up like a Nutcracker and trick me? Though when would she have had time to make such a costume, or consort with any locals?
