Page 16 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
“Faerie must be smaller than my world,” Clara says suddenly. “In the human world there are all sorts of continents and kingdoms, nations and capitals. Here there are only two kingdoms, and I’ve never heard anyone mention another continent.”
“There is more to this world than you know. But yes, our realm is smaller, and the Seelie and Unseelie kingdoms share the largest continent, an immense piece of land divided more or less down the center.”
A yawn overtakes me, and I shake myself, trying to dispel the weariness. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I need something to help me stay awake. I access my magical pocket, a sliver of interdimensional space, invisible to anyone else, where I can store a few necessities. Right now, it’s full to the brim with emergency spells and supplies. I extract a pair of licorice sticks, pass one to Clara, and bite into the other.
She hums with delight as she chews. “These taste so much better than the ones in my world.”
“Of course they do. I made them.”
Clara eyes her stick of candy. “Are they spells?”
“They’re infused with emberlin root, which gives energy and promotes healing.”
“Hm.” She takes another bite and chews it thoughtfully, tucking her whip back into its charmed pouch. “I haven’t actually taken the time to watch you work, have I? But I want to. I’d like to know how you make all these portable, edible spells.”
“Ah.” I clear my throat. “Some of them I can create at a moment’s notice, using my own energy and innate magic. Those are simply for food and entertainment, and they usually have a temporary effect. Other spells are more complex, and they require time, as well as a variety of supplies. I don’t think you’d care for some of the ingredients.”
When I glance at her, she’s smirking. “You think I don’t know that? Fin, we’re in Faerie, and you were once apprenticed to an Unseelie spellcrafter. I figured there would be distasteful things involved. It doesn’t matter to me. I want to know everything about you, even the nasty bits.”
“I beg your pardon.” I draw myself up to my full height. “I have no nasty bits. I’m a delight from tongue to taint.”
At that, she laughs until she has to stop walking, which of course makes me laugh as well. When she finally recovers, she slips her hand into mine. “You know what I mean. You don’t have to be afraid that I’ll stop loving you. I won’t, no matter what you show me, or tell me.”
My throat tightens, my breath thickening.
To me, love has always been temporary. My parents died. My uncle rejected and banished me, and my cousin refused to stand up for me. Even though Lir and I have reconciled now—mostly due to my generous goodwill—I suspect his love is conditional. If I behave too badly for his moral standards, he won’t hesitate to oust me from Court again.
Over the course of my decades I’ve told a handful of people that I loved them. And each one of them betrayed me, left me, or simply lost interest in me—usually not long after I expressed the depth of my affection. Clara knows I love her, but I’ve avoided saying those three words—as if they are a curse that will put an end to our bond.
It’s foolish, I know. And as I walk beside her through the night, with the pink lights floating around us, and her brown eyes sparkling up at me, I feel that monumental confession forming on my tongue.
But as I’m about to speak it, a scent curls into my nostrils. A familiar, unmistakable smoke, drifting on the air.
“Ah, here we are,” I tell Clara. “Welcome to the Mushroom Garden.”
6
When the earth disappears from beneath me, I scream. Wind rushes up from somewhere below, making my skirts fly around my waist.
“Quiet,” snaps a voice in the dark—the white-coated man in the rabbit mask. “You will not die, mortal. I thought a sorceress would have more courage, even if you are only an apprentice.”
“I’m not a sorceress or an apprentice,” I gasp.
“But you said you belong to Drosselmeyer.”
“I’m a maid in his household, so yes, in a way, I belong to him—”
“Fuck!” barks the stranger, and I take a startled breath. I’m not used to hearing that word spoken so openly.
Our descent seems to slow a bit. We’re falling at a less terrifying speed.
“You’re a maid,” he says, emphatically. Wretchedly. “So he won’t care that I took you? Your loss will not cause him sorrow?”
“No. He’ll simply hire someone else.”
“Fuck,” he says again. “Then you’re useless to me as a means of revenge. Except… you own the book, the Tama Olc. He will missthat. And I need the knowledge within it, so… ah, very well. I suppose I’ll keep you alive for the time being.”
“How—how generous of you,” I falter. “And you—you’ll answer my questions, like you promised?”
