Page 62 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
“I’m not sure I need a hat.” Clara’s arched eyebrows lift higher as Ygraine dances around her.
“Not need a hat?” Ygraine recoils, blinking. “The hat is protection. The hat is everything. Tell her, Finias. Tell the stupid human. Not just any hat, one ofmyhats. My hats are a privilege—everyone wants one. Tell her.” Her metallic fingers tug nervously at her hair.
“It’s all right,” Clara says softly. “I would be honored to wear one of your hats. What kind of memory would you like?”
“A memory of him,” Ygraine hisses, nodding toward me. “Him, inside you.”
“Fuck, Ygraine.” I wince. “I don’t think that’s—”
“Done,” says Clara.
“Yes, oh yes.” Ygraine steeples her sharp, coppery fingertips. “It will be the finest of hats. I will put my best spellwork into it, if only I can settle, if I can sing to it, if I can soothe these things that go round and round in my head. Sugarplum used to give me something, something to keep it all balanced.”
“Her mother was under a curse when she was born,” I tell Clara. “I used to make her candies to help with the tempest inside her head.”
“He filled a whole chest with the sweets,” Ygraine mumbles vacantly, running a single jointed finger over her lips. “They helped, they helped. But I ran out. Long ago. Since then it’s been torture, Sugarplum, sheer torture. You must make more.”
“If you can get Clara safely into the Dread Court, I will.”
“Safely? There’s no safety inside Mallaithe. Never has been, which you know better than most, but it’s worse now, worse than you can imagine. My brain may be muddled, but I have a heart. I think.” Ygraine presses sharp fingertips to her chest. “But the Queen, the Eater of Hearts—she has nothing inside her. A head for games, yes, oh yes, she loves games. But her heart—nothing. No pity, no honor, no mercy. The Rat King ate some of his supplicants, yes, but he had his courtiers, his favorites, and they were safe, mostly. This Queen will eat the heart of a favorite for no reason at all. She wants to kill everyone, Sugarplum. She wants to corrupt all of Faerie, until she alone is left. They’ve tried to end her, oh, so many have tried. She cannot be killed.”
“She must have a weakness,” I say. “Desires are a weakness for most Fae. What does she desire?”
“New games. Entertainment. Fresh, bloody hearts.”
“Sex?” I try not to notice the glance Clara shoots my way.
“Sometimes, yes,” Ygraine admits. “But only with a few who intrigue her. You’re both too cute for her taste—too sweet and soft. Weak little Seelie with sugar mouths and gentle eyes.” She stands on tiptoe, palms against my chest, peering at my face. “Even when you were wicked and wild, you were kind, Sugarplum. That’s your weakness. It’s still there, the kindness. I can see it. They didn’t eat it all up.”
She sighs, setting her heels back on the floor. “We must prepare. We must be at the Calamity Gate of Mallaithe by midnight. That’s when the Court Manager comes out to see all the people, the ones desperate to be inside the city walls. Better to rot in the city than wander the wild where the Heartless roam. Nowhere is safe, nowhere is safe, but stay close to your enemies, your lips stuck to their asses. Lick them well, and they may forget to kill you. So we’ll join the line of entertainers, and if the Manager chooses you, you’ll be brought before the Queen tonight. If you please her, she’ll offer you rooms in the Entertainers’ Wing, so she can call upon you whenever she likes. That’s where I live. I make hats for her and the others. Everyone loves my hats.”
“And you’re helping us, yes?” I ask. “Helping us win the Manager’s favor?”
“I’ll help this one.” Ygraine pinches Clara’s arm. “You’re on your own, Sugarplum. You’ve been introduced at the Dread Court before, so that’s an advantage. Still, you should bring your best magic.”
“You say the Queen likes games?” An idea sprouts in my mind, unfurling new possibilities.
“She loves them. Chess, croquet, dice, cards—any test of skill or luck.”
“I may have just the thing.” I grin at Clara. Her smile is edged with pain, so I quickly produce a healing sweet for her to chew.
As I hand it over, I search her gaze. What memory of us will she gift to Ygraine? Some of our sexual encounters are especially precious to me, and I don’t want her to forget them.
But that’s a concern for another time. Right now, we have a more pressing need. Communication between the Seelie and Unseelie kingdoms is difficult at the best of times, due to the defensive spells along the Seelie border, but there are a few devices that can pierce that distance, and last I knew, Ygraine possessed one such object.
“Before we dress for our appearance at the Calamity Gate, we’d like to communicate with someone,” I tell Ygraine. “Do you still carry your ligation mirror?”
Ygraine reaches into her skirts and produces a golden compact encrusted with amethysts. “If you want to borrow it, you have to give me one of your spells.”
“Anything in particular?”
“Some of those cleaning spells.”
“They don’t last more than a few days.”
“That’s all I need. My quarters at the palace could use a good cleaning.” She hands me the mirror, then cups her spidery metal hands and holds them out expectantly.
I conjure half a dozen of the orbs for her and she dances off, cooing to herself while she stuffs them into her pockets.
