Page 38 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
“First, your glamour. From the moment we step outside this tunnel, you must appear Fae.” I place my hands on her face, letting my mind weave the image I want, impressing it onto her skin. “A glamour like this is similar to the conjuring of clothes and sweets. Glamours can be thin, filmy things, or they can be solid, tangible—deep enough to physically alter the flesh. This one will change your ears and sharpen your features. It’s thicker and stronger, so it won’t dissipate as easily as the one I put on you in the Rat King’s lair. It should hold up against most counterspells. If you get hurt, it will provide the temporary appearance of healing—though you’ll need to get somewhere quickly and deal with the wound, because too much human blood will eventually dispel the glamour altogether. I will also hide your human scent and overlay it with a new one, something more Fae.”
“When we traveled with Lir and Louisa, you said your shield over my scent kept wearing off,” Clara reminds me.
“True. You and I will need to meet secretly now and then, so I can strengthen the glamor and the scent shield.”
“Secret meetings.” She gives me a sly smirk. “I like it.”
I catch my breath, because now that the glamour is complete she looks startlingly different. She is still herself, but with keener, crisper edges, pointed ears, and a haunting savagery to her beauty. She’s my Clara, but Fae, scented like a clear, cold north wind fragrant with snowbloom. She touches her newly pointed ears, and the dappled sunlight gleams on her glossy auburn hair.
My pants feel suddenly tight. And they were tight before, so they do little to hide the thick erection beneath.
Of course both the women notice my reaction. Clara grins wickedly, and Opal vents a scoffing chuckle as she heads into the tunnel.
“What you do to me, sweetling,” I hiss to Clara.
“Do you prefer me this way?” she whispers.
“I prefer you any way. But dressing up is always fun, and I must say, I did my work exceedingly well.”
“Always so humble, Sugarplum,” drawls Opal. “Come along, you two. No fucking beneath the border wall. In fact, we should be quiet. Sometimes they employ listening spells at the watchpoint near here.”
The tunnel’s ceiling is just beyond my reach, tall enough for Opal to slither through in her serpent form. We proceed silently for a long time, beneath the conjured orbs of light spinning over our heads.
At last we reach the end of the passage. A dead end, some might think—but I know better.
“The Hatter will meet you tomorrow night, at the abandoned tower outside the Calamity Gate of Mallaithe,” Opal says. “Be well, Sugarplum. And listen to your consort. She has a good mind and brave heart.”
I hesitate, a question on my tongue. Opal is strong. She could help us fight the Heartless, yet she doesn’t volunteer to come with us. For all her wisdom, she is ruled by fear.
Am I becoming like her? I’ve danced with all the dangers in the Seelie realm, laughed in the faces of the Rat King’s guards, sauntered right into his court… yet these past few days I have let fear stifle me, turn me into someone else.
If Clara and I are to make it through this, I cannot allow the terrorized Fin to take over. I must be as wild and charming and lethal as I have ever been.
I discard the question I was pondering, the request for Opal’s help. Clara and I alone have a better chance of managing this quietly and escaping with our prize.
“Be well, Opal,” I tell her.
“Thank you for your considerate hospitality.” Clara’s words are genuine gratitude, coupled with a faint rebuke.Perfectly done, dearest.
With a nod to Clara, Opal approaches the blunt earthen wall of the tunnel and presses both hands to it. A soft blue glow emanates from her fingers, and the exit unseals, revealing the sunny forest beyond.
Clara slips her hand into mine, and we step out into the kingdom of the Unseelie.
12
They fed me. I suppose that’s something. And the Cat provided a large washtub of hot water, along with soap and towels, so I could bathe. The tub vanished the moment I stepped out. I suspect the Cat was watching me the whole time, invisible—although he did say he would be playing cards with the Rabbit. Perhaps they did give me privacy, after all.
I hate my cell, partly because everything outside it is so interesting. Questions hammer at my skull, questions that need answers.
As near as I can figure, it’s several hours before I hear footsteps on the stairs again.
When the White Rabbit opens the door and attaches the thin gold chain to my collar, I’m more eager than terrified. I practically leap into the hallway, with barely a twinge of embarrassment over the fact that I’m only wearing my underthings.
I don’t let myself think about why I didn’t put my dress, apron, and stockings back on after my bath. That’s a shadowy truth I don’t want to stare in the face just yet.
“You have some mental difference,” the Rabbit comments.
“What do you mean?”
