Page 65 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
We maintain our dominant stance until the others have ridden out of the clearing. And then the enormity of what has happened rushes into my heart, and I sink to the ground, tucking the spell back into Fin’s satchel.
“We should wait here, shouldn’t we?” I say faintly. “Wait until Fin comes back with my sister, and then go on. We can’t do this by ourselves.”
“The longer we stay in one place, the more vulnerable we are to the Rat King’s patrols, or to monsters,” Lir counters. “We don’t have Fin to cast a shielding spell on your scent anymore. Creatures will be drawn to you.”
“Like the mole-rat.”
“No, the mole-rat simply decided to sun itself when we happened to be there. While their perception of sound and vibrations is highly developed, their sense of smell is practically nonexistent. But there are many other creatures who will catch a whiff of your decadent aroma from far away, and will try to hunt you down. Our best chance is to keep moving.”
He walks over to the two remaining horses, absently stroking the nose of the gray gelding. “I suppose we’ll camp here, as planned. Tomorrow we’ll ride until we reach the Ravine, and then we can try to sneak through it on foot. Perhaps it’s best that the others left. It would be more difficult to slip through enemy lines quietly with so many travelers.”
I’m not sure if he truly believes what he’s saying, or if he’s attempting to reassure me. I think he’s trying to feign hopefulness for my sake. In exchange, the least I can do is not collapse entirely and weep for my sister. I’ll be strong, and I will see this through. For myself, for Clara—and for him.
19
When the Fae who captured me said I was being taken to the Rat King, I pictured two different scenarios.
One, I’d be taken to the royal city or wherever Lir’s palace and ancestral throne might be located. The Rat King would be sitting on a throne of pillows, or possibly a very fancy chair, since he’s magically prevented from taking the actual throne unless the true King dies.
Two, I pictured being dragged into an enemy camp with lots of tents and horrific-looking soldiers milling around. I thought the Rat King might be in the biggest tent, chomping on a leg of mutton or a giant wedge of cheese.
I have no idea which he’d prefer, or what he looks like. Maybe he drinks tea, with eyeballs in it.
But when my captor dives into a large, ragged-looking hole in the earth, my heart nearly stops.
Why didn’t I anticipate that? A rat would of course live in a hole.
For once I’m glad of my captor’s speed, because I only catch hasty glimpses of the tunnels we’re traveling through. Some of them glow with a sickly green light, others flash with spurts of purple fire or orange flame, and others are lined with luminescent bluish worms. By those dim sources of light I glimpse hulking figures with bristling fur, the gleam of armor plating, the toothy grins of soldiers wearing rat’s heads. As we move deeper, the whine of weapons being sharpened and the growls of soldiers give way to screams of agony or shrieks of pleasure. There are twisting naked bodies in the underground rooms, most of them part human and part bestial.
The clang of goblets, the sharp scent of hard liquor, the acrid tang of vomit, and the roars and hisses of undefinable creatures flood my senses in rapid succession. Wings flutter against the ceiling of the tunnel—the shiny black wings of beetles, the leathery wings of bats, and the dark feathered wings of ravens or vultures—but the owners of the wings aren’t any of those familiar animals.
“What is this place?” I venture, as my captor slows down to a walk. I’m not sure how they can carry me when their limbs are thin as flower stems, but they seem to be managing easily.
“This is the Rat King’s headquarters,” they say. “Home to his second army. Most of his forces are gathered in the Ravine, far from here.”
“Why so far away?”
“Why should you care, mortal?” Those strange pale-green eyes blink at me.
“I’m merely curious. I can do nothing with the knowledge, either way.” Remembering the faeries’ affinity for bargains, I add, “You stole me, so it’s only fair you should give me the small satisfaction of answering my questions before you hand me over to the Rat King.”
My captor runs onward silently for a moment, then says, “The Unseelie forces plan to take possession of the Unending Pool, the source of true magic. But the remnants of the Seelie Prince’s army are stationed between them and the Pool. So they are gathering in the Ravine, and when the Rat King gives the word, the Seelie army will be crushed.”
“And the royal city? The palace? Are there any Seelie left to defend it?” I ask.
“Some, yes. But precious few. Most of those guards were killed, eaten, or reside in the dungeons far below us. The kitchen cooks up a few of the prisoners occasionally and serves them to the Rat King’s favorite advisors and concubines.”
I swallow hard, trying to keep from gagging. “And the Rat King plans to use the army gathered here in the caves to overwhelm the royal city?”
“Yes. And now I will no longer speak to you, human. You would be wise to remain silent while I gift you to the Rat King.” My captor hurries forward to a gate woven of thorns, jawbones, and antlers. I have a sick desire to sketch it.
“I bring a valuable gift for His Unutterable Majesty, the Rat King of Seelie and Unseelie,” says my captor to the guards. “See this human female? She will make a wonderful concubine.”
Oh no. Concubine to the Rat King? No, this cannot happen. I try to struggle, but my bonds are so tight I can barely writhe. The most I achieve is a frantic bobbing of my head.
“See how eager she is to serve,” says my captor. “Allow me to pass so I may offer this gift to the King and receive his favor in return.”
One of the guards, a huge one with a bloodstained leather coat, steps forward. The rat-head he’s wearing is white like the others I’ve seen, and has the same perpetual grin full of serrated black teeth—but the eyes are scarlet instead of ebony, the round ears are studded with silver hoops, and blood flecks the white fur.
