Page 23 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
I look at Fin, wide-eyed. He sighs, pressing his brow with his fingertips.
At least Drosselmeyer’s maid is behind the walls of Mallaithe with the White Rabbit, not wandering the wilderness where the Heartless roam. They sound horrifying, and I am not looking forward to seeing my first one tomorrow. Compared to the Heartless and their bloody Queen, the White Rabbit seems a rather bland foe. A researcher who experiments on humans. Disturbing, yes… but how dangerous could he really be?
8
The two faeries order me to remove my shoes and stockings. I obey, seeing no harm in it. The Cat seems particularly charmed by my small feet. He keeps saying how tasty my toes look.
When they point to a spot on the rug in the parlor, I sit there without protesting. Why antagonize them by resisting simple requests? It’s the same principle I’ve followed when caring for my younger siblings. Tell them “yes” as much as possible, and they’ll be more likely to listen when you say “no.”
Of course, these creatures aren’t children; they’re faeries. And they don’t love me, like my little siblings do in their wild way. No, these men are dangerous. The Rabbit is all studied ruthlessness, while the Cat moves like liquid silk with teeth.
I could give up the ownership of the strange book I stole, in exchange for safe passage home. But the Rabbit is a liar. I can’t trust him to keep his word, so I must keep the book as my only defense against the monsters who think they own me.
The Cat cinches a black leather collar around my throat and buckles black leather cuffs onto my wrists. Then he attaches a thin gold chain to my manacles and loops it over a hook on the wall, so my arms are pulled up high above my head as I sit on the floor. A longer gold chain links my collar to the same hook. I’m not choking, but neither can I move very far without the leash drawing taut.
At last, with drinks and cigars in hand, the Cat and the Rabbit sit down at the table to play.
There was never much time for games of chance in my house. On a farm, the work is never done—especially a farm where there are so many children and so little to go around. My older brother, the one who left home at sixteen and was never seen again, taught me to play chess. Beyond chess, or things like marbles, tag, and various children’s pastimes, I’m not well-versed in the intricacies of games.
The game the two Fae are playing makes no sense to me. I sit barefoot and barelegged on the rug in my short blue dress, trying to figure out the rules. There are ruby dice involved, and a set of worn playing cards with brown flecks on them, like old bloodstains.
The Rabbit is wearing his mask again, and he hasn’t removed his gloves for playing. Either he’s nervous about dirt, or he’s keeping his hands concealed for some other reason.
The Cat has no such compunction. His long fingers are fully exposed, sharp nails and all. He flings down a card, rolls the dice, and then crows in triumph. “I’ve won! She’s mine. Don’t be jealous when you hear how loudly she screams.”
“Best of three,” growls the Rabbit.
“No.”
“That win was pure luck, no skill at all,” the Rabbit sneers. “You’re afraid to face me again.”
“Afraid?” The Cat’s expression darkens. “You already promised me your next capture. Out of sheer goodwill I gave you the chance to win her—”
“Icaptured her!” exclaims the Rabbit, standing up. The cords of his neck are bulging, and his fists are curled, knuckles planted on the table. “I have all the rights here! You couldn’t catch a human if one ran right past you in the woods!”
“You didn’t ‘catch’ me,” I interrupt. “I followed you. And I jumped into the hole myself.”
The Rabbit rounds on me, seething. “Which makes you incredibly stupid.”
“Yes,” I say bluntly. “It does. Or maybe I’m just very, very curious. Strange how similar those two states of mind can appear. Ignorance can make a person foolish, or desperately eager, or both.”
The Rabbit cocks his head, his masked face staring blankly at me. “Have you no fear, little thing? Do you have any concept of what I will do to you?”
“If I give up the book, will you spare me and take me home?”
His throat bobs. After a long moment, he says, “I could lie and say yes. But I suspect you wouldn’t believe me.”
“No, I wouldn’t. If I thought you’d honor that bargain, I’d have already made it.”
“You can’t count on bargains here, mousie,” croons the Cat, rattling a handful of dice. “If we were Seelie types, you might be able to make a deal. But we’re not. No honor, no laws, no mercy, and no rules.” He throws all the dice into the air and catches every single one before it hits the table. His hands move so fast I can barely see them.
“If you don’t follow rules, why should the Rabbit honor his promise to give you his next captive?” I ask.
Rabbit’s full mouth twitches beneath the lower edge of the mask. “Why indeed?”
“Now see here, I won her fairly,” begins the Cat.
“But by your own statement, the laws of the game don’t apply to you, or to him,” I point out. “You already said you don’t follow any rules.”
