Page 106 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
His face remains impassive—or nearly so. There’s a tightness under his eyes, along his bold cheekbones—a tension to the lines of the slashed gaps in his face.
“I don’t know you,” I say. “But I do know Drosselmeyer killed your brother. That must have been terrible. I can’t imagine losing my sister.”
“My brother rescued me from my father,” he says. “The father who didthisto my face.” He points to his cheek. “My brother could be cruel in his own way. But his cruelty felt like a mild spring rain after the hailstorm of life with my father.”
And here is another wounded soul. A Fae male, decades older than I am, with a far deeper pain carved into his mind and body.
“Parents give us our existence,” I say quietly. “But they can also ruin us before we’ve even begun to live.”
He lifts his own glass. “To the bastards who birthed us.”
I can’t help a half-smile as I touch my glass to his, and we drink.
All four of us drink too much, and laugh even more. It’s a reckless joy, a defiance of what might happen tomorrow. Fin and I have had so many of these nights lately—so many “this could be our last” moments. He divides a piece of candy between us, and I dance with him in a giddy whirl of warmth and wine. Riordan won’t let us give Alice any of the candy—he says she must remain unaffected by spells and magic, until the moment she is gifted to the Queen.
Alice drinks herself into a hazy, floppy state and leans against Riordan, smiling. But she keeps asking where Caer is, and as the night wears on, she becomes more and more distressed. At last Riordan picks her up and takes her off to bed.
“He won’t do anything to her, will he?” I ask Fin, my words slurring a little.
“You mean, will he fuck her?” Fin ruffles up his hair into a vibrant pink cloud. His cheeks are flushed, his yellow eyes half-hooded by sugared lashes. “Not a chance. He may be Unseelie, but Riordan always reminded me a bit of Lir in some respects. Once he has a particular goal in mind, he won’t jeopardize it, not for anything.”
“Do you think he can save her?”
“If he can manage it, it will be the filthiest, most brutal, most powerful spell he has ever worked.” Fin sighs. “I wish this house would permit me to do magic. There are several things I’d like to prepare for tomorrow.”
“We’ll be all right.” I grab his arm and loop it over my shoulders. “You and I—we can weather any storm. Now take me to bed, Sugarplum.”
“As my lady commands.”
We make love softly in the guest room and fall asleep tangled together. When we wake, Fin gives me a healing sweet for my headache—the result of overindulgence in the White Rabbit’s good wine.
After a brief consultation with Riordan and Alice about the plan, the Rabbit lifts the magical dampener long enough for Fin to replace my glamour and my false scent. Then Fin and I each leave the house separately and return to our individual quarters in the Entertainers’ Wing. I carry a tiny map the Rabbit drew for me, so I can find my way alone. The Dread Court parties through the night and sleeps late into each day, so I’m sure no one missed either me or Fin.
At least, that’s what I think until I open the door to my room and find Ygraine spinning around, singing to herself.
“Where were you and Sugarplum last night?” she says.
“Hush.” I step to the door and close it. “We were—busy.”
“You found the girl? The Alice you were looking for? Alice, Alice—malice, chalice—”
“Finias hasn’t given you your special candies, has he?”
“Oh, he did. I haven’t taken them yet. See, I’m so much more savage when Idon’ttake them, and I figured if the two of you had some sneaky little plans, I might be of more help in my unhinged state.” Her smile is razor blades, her eyes sharp with bloodlust. “You’re planning something, aren’t you? Tell me, tell me. Say you’ll take her down, and end all this.”
I’m not sure I should confide in Ygraine. She might let something slip to the wrong person; or she might betray us to the Queen. But she does seem to have a strange loyalty to Fin—a lingering love, maybe. If it comes to a fight, she can help us.
“The first thing you need to know,” I say, “is that the Queen has something called acomhartha dia, a tattoo that signifies a powerful curse. I didn’t realize it was invisible until I included it in her portrait, and she told me no one else could see it. She didn’t seem concerned about its presence in the painting, thankfully, or I suppose I could have lost my head—or my heart.”
Ygraine’s eyes widen, and she grips my arm painfully tight. “Acomhartha dia? A god-sign?”
“That’s what the White Rabbit called it, yes.”
“And you could see it?”
“Yes,” I say cautiously. Her excitement is making me nervous.
Rabid joy flares in Ygraine’s gaze. “You were born from a god-touched.”
