Page 17 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
A low laugh rumbles through the dark, and goosebumps rise over my skin.
We’re slowing down. Several small orbs, glowing reddish-orange, begin to spin around us, and by their light I can see the stranger again. My skirts are still flying around my waist and body, exposing my stockings and panties to his view. Desperately I try to pin the skirts in place with my hands, while still maintaining my grip on the little book.
The gentleman seems at ease, his hair barely ruffled and his tailcoat moving only slightly.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“From one side of the coin to the other.”
“The truth, not riddles.”
“Truth must be earned. Riddles are free.”
“How do I earn the truth?”
“Give me the book.”
I peer at him, trying to see through the dark eyeholes of his mask. “Since my ownership of the book is the only reason you’re keeping me alive, I don’t think I’ll give it to you just yet.”
“You are only making things more difficult for yourself. I’ll keep you alive for a while either way, for my studies. But if you try to perform any magic in my presence, you’ll be sorry you attempted it.”
“I told you, I’m not a sorceress.”
“You could be lying.”
“And you lied to me earlier, didn’t you?” I ask. “When you said I could go home, you lied. Which means either you are not Fae—or the Fae can lie.”
“It’s so much easier to deceive someone who thinks you cannot lie,” says the Rabbit.
“So the Faecanlie.”
“Figured that out all by yourself, did you?” he says dryly. “Humans think they are so clever for seeing through the simplest of tricks. Like a pig who prides himself on recognizing the danger of fire, once he has already been trussed and hung over the flames on a spit.”
“Pigs are more intelligent than most people think,” I tell him stiffly.
“Anything that allows itself to be trapped and devoured is moronic, and deserves its fate.”
He’s calling me an idiot. Perhaps he’s right. I did jump into a hole with a magical stranger, all because of my foolish curiosity.
I gaze down at the book in my hands. If it truly belongs to me, maybe I can do something with it—gain some knowledge to use against this creature. But I cannot read anything except small, short words in plain, block letters; and while the words on the cover are clearly printed, the ones inside are much longer and more complicated, written in a flowing, elaborate script.
“Get ready,” says the faerie. “We’re nearly there.”
I look down just as my feet pass through a hole, into a room where everything seems to be affixed to the ceiling—tables, bookshelves, chairs, bottles, stacks of paper—all upside down and motionless.
There’s a sickening shift, and suddenly I realize that I came up through the floor of the room feet first—I’m the one who is suspended upside down, my feet pointed toward the ceiling.
The hole beneath me closes, leaving floorboards in its place. The invisible force holding me upside down snaps, and I tumble to the floor in an ungainly pile of lacy petticoats and short skirts. The tall faerie rights himself easily, without so much as a stumble.
I feel a bit bruised, but I’m still clutching the book. At least there’s that.
The large room I’m in appears to be a study, full of bookshelves and cabinets. Skulls of different shapes sit on shelves between leather volumes and colored jars. The firelight glimmers on the faceted glass, a reflective dance that keeps me from seeing exactly what’s inside the jars. Glowing orbs float near the ceiling, providing a soft amber light.
“Come, human,” says the faerie, with a quiet snap of his white-gloved fingers. “I’ll take you to your room. Such a lovely room, well-appointed, full of books, lamps, and comforts. I’ll have tea and cake delivered to you immediately. You must be famished after such a long fall.”
He really thinks I’m that stupid. That I’m simple enough to believe this outright lie, after he mentioned using me for his “studies.” I don’t know what “studies” he means, exactly, but it contradicts his little speech about cozy comforts.
But I’ll play along, for the moment.
