Page 56 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
“What do I owe you for these, and for saving our lives?” he asks, eyes narrowing.
“Ah, it’s such a delight to be back in these lands, where everyone expects to be paid for their good deeds.” I smirk complacently at Clara. The Seelie like a fair return for good deeds as well, but among the Unseelie, doing someone a favor is practically a demand for a hefty reward.
“I could give you one of the children,” the Unseelie says. “Or their memories, at least. They can make new ones.” His features tighten. “Perhaps you’d want part of my wife’s corpse? For your spellwork?”
“We’re not accepting payment,” Clara exclaims. “Saving you was a kindness, and the spells are a gift.”
The male growls suspiciously at that. He’s already looking better, though the healing candy hasn’t repaired the damage to his body completely. Very strange—it should have finished the task within moments. The boy isn’t entirely healed either—his heart is intact again, but his breastbone and ribs are exposed between edges of raw flesh. My usual formula isn’t enough to counteract this toxin.
Clara and I leave the Fae family to their recovery and go outside, cleaning our weapons on the grass before sheathing them.
As we depart from the clearing, she cuts a keen glance my way. “What’s bothering you?”
“Opal told us it was bad here, but seeing it with my own eyes—” I wince, shaking my head. “I’m beginning to think I should have spoken to Lir before we left, after all. He needs to know what’s happening. He must interfere before this spreads past the border.”
“He should intervene, not simply out of concern for his own kingdom, but because the Unseelie are Fae too, and they don’t deserve to die like this,” she says. “I don’t care what your stupid Fae rivalry and differences are—no one should be subjected to this horror. And those with the power to help have a responsibility to do so.”
I seize her arm and reel her in for a kiss before I remember I can’t let my mouth touch her skin. So I let my lips hover near hers, an unbearable proximity.
“You have a beautiful heart.” My voice is low, intense, buoyed on the tide of emotion welling in my chest. “And you’re absolutely right. Lir must know about this. It must be stopped.”
“Can you send him a message?”
“I might be able to, once we reach the tower and meet with the Hatter.” I scoop her into my arms, and she gives a faint, adorable squeal of surprise. “I’m going to run with you for a while, until we get closer. Hang on to me, but don’t try to kiss me, sugar. I know I’m irresistible, but you really must control yourself.”
She nuzzles into my hair, whispering, “Asshole,” over my ear. I shiver at the delicious heat of her breath.
As I run with Clara in my arms, I think of the bat-winged male. His agonized grief, begging for me to end him, to let him fade. And then his tight, despairing resolve as he offered his wife’s corpse as our reward.
Nothing else expresses the Unseelie quite so well. The depth of their passion, coupled with their full acceptance of pain and tragedy. They embrace the duality of life, the glorious and the grotesque, and thus, to me, they have always seemed more vibrantly alive than the cool, civilized Fae who inhabit the Seelie Court.
Faerie is two sides of a mirror. But one is a distorted reflection, warped and untrue. I have not yet decided which vision most closely aligns with my nature. I am forever caught in the middle, halfway through the looking-glass, with a foot on either side.
And that is another way Clara and I are alike. She never fit into the cage she was forced to inhabit, back in her world, nor has she quite acclimated to Faerie. Yet she and I fit together. We reflect each other, mirrored souls, matched hearts.
The decision forms in my heart—sudden, impulsive, and right.
I pull up sharply and set Clara on her feet. The forest is darkening around us, but I don’t smell immediate danger in this spot.
“Before we reach the tower, I have something to say.” My breath is short, my heart beating fast. I don’t speak the rest of the thought:In case we die and I don’t get the chance to tell you this.
With her usual cleverness, Clara divines that my revelation is something monumental. She stands perfectly still, as if she’s trying not to startle me or scare me off. I know what she’s doing, yet her stillness, her steadiness—it has the desired effect. It grounds me.
“Anything.” Her brown eyes are pools of truth, of acceptance, of unshakeable love. “You can tell me anything.”
16
Footsteps on a wooden floor.
I’m too warm and comfortable to move, or to open my eyes.
The steps approach, and stop.
Drowsily I realize that I’m lying on my side, curled up like a child, and there’s a lean, muscled body curved around me. I can feel warm, smooth skin against my back and feel slow, steady breath in my hair.
There’s something soft under me. Pillows. I distantly remember the Cat staggering around the parlor, loudly declaring that he would make us the finest nest in Faerie.
He’s the body behind me. His arm is around my waist.
