Page 100 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
“The bottle is charmed,” I tell him. “The liquid inside is as potent as ever. I brought it along in case any Unseelie tried to curse me or Clara. And I’ll give it to you, on one condition. You must relinquish the human girl you stole from Drosselmeyer—yield her to my protection. And you must give me the Tama Olc. Then you’ll provide us with safe passage back to the Seelie kingdom through whatever portal magic you have at your disposal.”
Riordan steps forward, but I quickly slide the bottle back into my pocket, vanishing it from his sight. “If you agree to those conditions, I’ll give you the water from the Unending Pool, and you can dispel the curse on your Queen. She’ll die once it’s broken, and I suspect the Heartless tethered to her will perish as well.”
“What human girl are you talking about?” Riordan says.
“Don’t play the idiot. It doesn’t suit you. Clara will have found Alice by now—she’s clever like that.”
“Your Clara is also gifted with sight beyond any normal human or Fae,” interjects Riordan. “You realize what this means? What she is?”
My brows pull together. “She’s an artist. She perceives the soul—”
“No.” He shakes his head. “She saw acomhartha dia, Finias. Only the god-touched or their offspring can perceive such things.”
“You think she’s—” My world shudders, its edges crumbling. “Bullshit, Riordan.”
“Does she remember her mother?”
I can’t answer him, not while my understanding of Clara’s origins is being dismantled and rearranged. My heart is pounding, my wings humming in a frenzy I can’t calm.
“Believe me or not.” The White Rabbit shrugs. “But you should be prepared, in case I’m right.”
“Do you agree to my terms?” I say hoarsely.
“I can’t portal you back to your kingdom. The device I have can only access the human world, and it must recharge before it can be used again. Nor will I give up the book. It is my birthright, written by my grandfather and yielded to me by the girl, Alice. She had managed to lay claim to it, by sheer accident.” He gives a faint, incredulous chuckle. “And as for giving Alice to you—I can’t do that either. I won’t. She belongs to Caer and me.”
“Then we have no bargain.”
Riordan’s face darkens. “I could make you suffer, Sugarplum. You’re not more powerful than I am—not here, in my home.”
“I think you overestimate your chances.” I smile broadly at him. “And if you kill me, you’ll never obtain the water from the Unending Pool. My other pocket will collapse upon my death, and everything in it will disappear.”
“I won’t have to kill you,” he growls. “I’ll bind you and make you watch while I remove the stomach, lungs, and heart from your precious human. You’ll give me that bottle in exchange for her life.”
“And what will you do with the water? Pour it down the Queen’s throat? Inject it into your dick so it flows through your cum into her?”
A hard muscle flexes along his jaw. “That wouldn’t work. It appears she’s done fucking me, at least for a while. She barely let me touch her tonight.”
“Lovers’ quarrel?” I say, with a pout of false sympathy. “Poor Rabbit.”
But when he looks up at me, agony contorting his features, my mocking expression drops. That look tells me everything I need to know about what he has endured these past months.
“How would you get the water into her, then?” I ask, more kindly. “They say she eats and drinks nothing but hearts’ flesh and hot blood. You would have to dose her next victim with the water. But it’s impossible to predict her next victim, since she chooses at random. And I have only one bottle of water in my possession, so we have only one chance to poison her with it.”
Somehow the tension between us has shifted, and we are in league, Riordan and I. Joined against a common enemy.
In the silence that follows, I catch an exquisite aroma—the unveiled fragrance of my darling girl—fiery, floral, and golden. There’s another scent, too—earthy yet sweet, like rain-washed leaves and peony blossoms.
Clara has returned to the foyer. She’s visible now, and beside her stands a young blonde woman who must be Alice. She’s taller than Clara, her arms toned as if she’s used to labor. And she’s beautiful, her shape pleasing even through the bulky folds of the dressing gown she wears. I can see why the Rabbit spoke of her possessively.
How long have the two women been standing there? How much did they hear?
A low moan draws my gaze to the floor, where the Cat is beginning to stir. He yawns, stretches his long limbs, and props himself against the wall. “The Seelie isn’t a Seelie, Riordan,” he mutters.
“I know,” the White Rabbit answers.
“Are you all right, Caer?” Alice says anxiously. “Did they hurt you?”
“I’m fine.” He gives himself a little shake.
