Page 20 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
It’s a lie, of course. People have short memories, and I’m sure once I returned home, I’d become discontented quickly and forget my vow. Besides, no one is listening to my prayer. No one except Master Drosselmeyer even knows who took me. Perhaps he’ll come after his book—but I doubt it. How would he even find me?
Since I can’t count on a rescue, I will have to rescue myself.
7
Fin and I pause on a rise in the path, and he sends a flood of tiny glimmering orbs over the valley below us. They swirl and dance like pink fireflies, illuminating the wondrous landscape in the valley below.
The trees end at the crest of the ridge, yielding to mushrooms as tall as two-story houses, with more mushrooms growing on top of them. Our path dives into the valley, snaking along its floor. Fat mushrooms the size of bushes squat along the way, interspersed with tall, spindly ones like parasols. Some of them have plump crowns, while other caps are thin, broad, and flared. There are lumpy ones and smooth ones, spotted and streaked, ridged and frilled. I even spot mushrooms with brilliant crystals growing out of their spongy surfaces.
And the colors! Deep crimson, smooth ebony, pale pink, stark white, creamy yellow, lush purple, ethereal blue, sickly green—so varied and vivid that for a moment I feel like I did when I first set foot in Faerie. I’m overwhelmed by the intensity of the hues and textures. My mind is stuttering, trying to take in the unique shapes, the unexpected lines, the intricate detail of it all. I’m seized with the compulsive craving to paint everything, from the tiniest delicate mushroom to the most enormous towering one; and at the same time I’m in despair because I could never communicate the scope and beauty of all this, not with a thousand paintings.
Fin places one warm hand at the back of my neck and waits, steadying me while I acclimate.
“Your friend lives here?” I manage.
“She has an affinity for cultivating fungi. I come here sometimes to collect ingredients for my spells. Many of these mushrooms have magical properties you can’t find anywhere else in Faerie. And her location is strategic—close to the border wall so she can sell to the Unseelie as well.”
“There’s an actual wall along the border?”
“Oh yes. There must be a wall, you see, or else the Unseelie monsters would wander in, like they did during the Rat King’s invasion. Much of the wall was broken down during Lir’s absence, but he mended it himself once the curse was broken. Made quick work of it, too—I was impressed. He and some of the kingdom’s spellworkers laid magical barriers along the wall, too.”
Still dazzled by all the colors and shapes, I follow Finias through the maze of mushrooms until we reach an immense one, big and broad as a house, with a blue door set into its massive stem. Smoke issues in thin curls from a spongy-looking chimney atop the mushroom’s cap.
“I feel as if I’m in a children’s storybook,” I murmur.
“Gods, no.” Finias looks scandalized. “Nothing about this place is for children. Two things, sweetness. First—be prepared for nudity. You mustn’t stare at the breasts.”
“I won’t.” I quirk an eyebrow at him. “I’m only attracted to men. Louisa is the one who—”
“I know, I know.” His wings whirr, agitated. “But trust me, everyone is tempted to stare at these.”
“All right,” I assure him. “I won’t stare.”
“Secondly, don’t eat or smoke anything she offers you until I’ve sampled it first.”
“Very well.”
“And do your best to answer her questions truthfully. She values honesty above all else.”
“That’s three things,” I point out. “I’ll be fine. She can’t be any worse than—”
“Stop comparing everything to the Rat King,” he groans. “He was dreadful, yes, but believe it or not, thereareworse things. And some things may not be worse, exactly, but they are—different. Unpleasant.”
If he wants to make me wary and uncomfortable, he has succeeded. I trail behind him as he walks up to the door and rings the little bell beside it.
“Come in.” The voice is unexpectedly deep for a female.
Finias flashes me a hard, bright grin—the smile he uses when he’s nervous—and forges inside.
I follow him into a large round room, warm and humid, lit by the glow of a golden fire. In front of the fireplace is an enormous hookah. The base is so big I could probably sit in it if the top part was cut off, and it’s formed of brilliantly painted, jewel-toned glass. A golden hose winds in gleaming curls from the stem.
I follow the winding curve of the hose up to an ornate handle and mouthpiece, held between the plump, blue-tinted fingers of a very large, very beautiful person, reclining on an immense cushioned couch.
Her blue-skinned body is utterly naked, except for a drapery of woven gold between the curves of her thick thighs. And now I understand why Finias told me not to stare at her breasts. They’re enormous, glorious—heavy and rich, pierced with tiny gold hoops and delicate chains in various places.
And there are four of them. One pair below the other.
Her head is smooth, though I can’t tell whether it’s natural baldness or shaved. More golden hoops and chains decorate her pointed ears. She looks like a woman who lives well and allows herself every indulgence.
