Page 21 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
She adjusts her position slightly as Finias comes forward and drops to one knee beside her couch. When she extends her hand to him, I notice a pair of small butterfly wings at her back—pink and purple and blue.
“Sugarplum,” she says in her rich, deep voice.
“Opal.” Finias kisses her knuckles before rising. “It’s been so pleasant exchanging messages with you again.”
“I was surprised to hear from you, now that you’ve joined up with your peevish cousin and his pompous Court again.”
“We have an arrangement,” Fin says. “But I’m as much a rebel as ever, trust me.”
“Hm.” She surveys him from top to toe. “That remains to be seen.”
With a sharp swerve of her head, she fixes her gaze on me. Her eyes are a deep pink, nearly red, and glowing like coals. She sucks at the mouthpiece of the hookah—a long, steady inhale that swells her whole chest and belly. My eyes drop to the heavy globes of her breasts before I remember Fin’s warning. I exchange a glance with him and nearly giggle, but I manage to stifle it.
The Fae woman takes the hookah out of her mouth, still staring at me. “Who are you?”
“I’m Clara. It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Is it?” Her full mouth twists. “And who are you?”
Confused, I glance at Finias again. But he’s silent, arms crossed. Clearly I’m on my own here. “What do you mean?”
“Your human name tells me nothing. It is just a word. Who are you?”
“Well, I’m—an artist. I paint things, and people. I did an entire mural in the palace, depicting the defeat of the Rat King.”
“A human, painting in the palace,” mutters Opal. “They’ll let anyone tell our history these days. Did it ever occur to you there might have been Fae artists who would be glad for the dubious privilege of decking the royal halls?”
“Yes, I suppose there would be… but I was there. I witnessed the events, and my sister and I played a significant role in restoring King Lirannon.”
“Lirannon.” She scoffs. “So you’re a toadie to the king. Anything else?”
I can’t help directing a frown at Fin. How is this interrogation better than being questioned by Seelie guards at the border wall?
“Don’t look athim.” Opal’s tone is louder and more insistent. “Look at me. Who are you?”
Fin arches an eyebrow at me, his eyes flaring with intensity, and I recall his words from moments ago:Do your best to answer her questions truthfully. She values honesty above all else.
I meet the Fae woman’s burning gaze.
Who am I?
“I’m—I’m not who I used to be,” I reply. “I was quiet, shy, slinking through my father’s house, trying to go unnoticed, mostly. Trying not to get into trouble. My sister was always the mischievous, rebellious one, you see, and I thought if I could be the ‘good one,’ Papa would love me.”
I have never said that aloud. Not to Fin, not to anyone.
With a deep breath, I continue. “In my world, I hid all my needs and desires. Crushed them down. I tried not to paint, because Papa didn’t like it, but it wasn’t a choice—art is in my blood, and I had to paint. I’m not sure my father ever loved me, and when he died I felt a little sad, but mostly I felt relief. I was released from that house, those expectations, and I had the chance to become someone new. I became a ward of Drosselmeyer, if only for a few days. And then I came here, to Faerie, and I began to change.”
My attention centers on the butterfly wings I can see over her large shoulders. “It was a metamorphosis of sorts, I think. Qualities that were always inside me began to emerge, unfold, and grow stronger. I let myself be passionate. I let someone see me. And now I am Clara, lover to Finias, painter of Faerie, sister to the human Queen. And I am myself, more thoroughly and vividly than ever before.”
I halt the flow of words and take a deep breath.
Opal sucks at the hookah. After a moment, a voluminous cloud of smoke unfurls from her mouth and nostrils. “Did I ask for your life story?”
Anger sparks inside me, because I answered honestly, with everything I have, and it still isn’t enough for her. “Maybe you should tell me whoyouare.”
Her lip curls. “Maybe you should leave.”
“Fine.” I spin on my heel and march to the door. “I’ll sleep outside.”
