Page 53 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
“Even if you did get away from me, there’s nowhere for you to go,” he says. “You could leave the house easily—the front door is never locked. But beyond this place, there are far worse things than my friend and I.”
I nod, pressing a shaking hand to my forehead.
“Put on your clothes.” His tone carries less venom than I would have expected. Maybe there’s even a tinge of admiration in it.
I struggle into what he calls “clothes,” which are little more than a sky-blue bustier, silk panties, and a pair of loose, gauzy pants, also sky-blue, and so translucent I can see the panties right through them.
“If you’re done being a rabid little mouse, we can play.” He seats himself, opens a drawer in the side of the table, and takes out a stack of cards and a handful of red dice. “Would you like to learn, or would you like to run again? Next time I won’t be so forgiving.”
I suspect he’s only taking it easy on me because of what the Rabbit will do to him if I’m damaged. But my urge to fight him has faded anyway. I’ve spent the restless energy I stored up while I was alone in that cell.
The thin gold leash is still trailing from my collar, dotted with blood in a few places. Coiling it around my wrist, I walk to the table and sit in the chair opposite the Cat.
“Good choice.” He flicks the cards, shuffling them so quickly they’re a blur. “I’m going to teach you our favorite game, Jacks-and-Antlers.”
Uncertainty and confinement have taken their toll on me. I’m not at my best. But I invest my whole mind in learning the game.
Caer grows impatient a few times and snaps at me when I forget the foundational rules. He’s far more volatile than the Rabbit—violent in a different way. The Rabbit told me calmly how he plans to take me apart, but I get the feeling Caer might tear into me at a moment’s notice, do irreparable damage, and regret it later.
Lucky for me, the framework of the game soon clicks into place in my mind, and from then on, it feels simple. It’s a mix of applying strategy and reacting to what chance throws my way, much like caring for children.
We play five games. He wins the first two, and the fourth.
“I like the way you play,” he tells me, rising from the game and going to a small table. On a silver tray sits a crystal cruet filled with scarlet liquid. He pours some of the liquor into two glasses and hands one to me. “To your quick mind.”
“I’ve never thought of myself as smart.” I examine the liquid in the glass.
“Why not?”
“Because I can barely read.”
“There are many kinds of intelligence. The lack of education isn’t your fault, I’ll wager.”
“No.” I take a sip, surprised and delighted at the rich, smooth flow of the wine over my tongue.
“What if I could teach you a few tricks for reading better?” The Cat slides into his chair again.
“Not much point in that, when your friend is going to take my eyes.”
Pain flickers across his features. “Seems a pity.”
“You could talk him out of it.” I lean across the table. “Gamble for me again. Take me for yourself—I’ll be your—” I swallow, force the word out— “your pet. Your prey. Anything you want.”
“Desperate, are we?” He throws back a swallow of wine without savoring it.
“Wouldn’t you be, if someone wanted to harvest your parts and you couldn’t heal afterward?”
“Trust me, I’ve been desperate.” He sucks in his cheeks, gazing into his glass.
“After the Heartless tore you up.” I nod.
“Yes, but also… at other times.”
“Someone as quick as you, with your power of invisibility and your strength?” I lift an eyebrow. “What could frighten you?”
“Fear and desperation are different. I’m desperate now, though I don’t show it. The Eater of Hearts, this Queen of ours—she has turned several of my friends into Heartless.”
“I thought the Rabbit was your only friend.”
