Page 105 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
I glance at Fin, and he looks around from the pan in which he’s frying sausages, peppers, potatoes, and onions. He’s been listening, and he knows I want confirmation—assurance such a thing might be possible. I love how attuned we are.
“I can think of a few things Riordan might try.” His tone is gentle. “There is no guarantee they will work. But a little hope is better than none.”
I turn back to Alice, the question renewed in my eyes. Would she want to go back?
“I’m not sure I’d go home,” she murmurs. Her cheeks turn slightly pinker.
It’s as I thought—there’s something between her and the two Fae males—a twisted bond they’ve developed.
I start to ask her about it, but Riordan stalks into the room and sits down on Alice’s other side.
“Just in time,” crows Fin. He serves up plates of the steaming food and scatters silver forks on the table, earning a wince from Riordan as the fine utensils clatter loudly.
“I don’t eat in front of others,” Riordan says, when Finias shoves a plate in front of him.
I can imagine why he wouldn’t. With the gashes in his cheeks, food must be hard to manage.
“I’ve watched you eat,” Fin says. “It’s not pretty, but I’ve seen worse. Try it, at least.”
The rest of us dive into the food, and after a few moments, Riordan takes a small, cautious bite. I avoid watching him, or commenting on the occasional crumbs that fall out of his cheek-mouths.
Alice insists on helping Fin wash up, but Fin produces a cleaning spell and makes quick work of the untidy kitchen. She’s astonished and begins asking him questions about the ingredients of the spell, how it’s crafted, and how big a mess it can handle.
Riordan gets up from the table, smiling a little at her incessant flow of questions. He’s bare-chested, with traces of blood on his skin from recently healed wounds. There must have been a fight between him and Caer.
When he walks over to a cupboard and extracts a bottle of wine, I follow him.
“Where’s your friend?” I ask.
He extends his claws, grips the cork of the bottle, and yanks it out. “When he can’t handle the truth, he flees from it.”
“But he can’t leave the city, can he?”
“He can turn invisible for brief periods of time. He can get outside the walls when he wants to.”
“But there are so many Heartless out there. Do you think he’ll be all right?”
“You mean, do I think he’ll throw himself to the monsters, out of heartbreak over a human girl?” Riordan scoffs. “He’s not Seelie.”
“But Fin says Unseelie emotions run even deeper, sometimes.”
“Sugarplum isn’t one of us.” His voice is nearly a growl.
“But he has observed the Unseelie for years. And it doesn’t take a genius to see the connection you two have with Alice.”
Riordan sets down four glasses, a little too hard, on the sideboard near the cabinet. Then he takes a wooden straw and places it in one of the glasses.
“Her attachment to you isn’t real,” I say, low.
Riordan’s mouth tightens. He doesn’t reply.
“She's been your captive,” I continue. “She acted the way she had to, to survive, to prevent you from irreparably harming her. Maybe she thinks her feelings are genuine, but...”
I let my words fade. He’s still grim-lipped, pouring blood-red wine into each glass.
He isn’t what I expected. I was angry with him when I walked over here, but now I feel a strange sort of pity, like I felt when I looked into Caer’s eyes and saw the restless longing there.
Riordan hands me a glass, and the mere gesture is like an agreement. An assent to what I’ve told him.
