Page 66 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
When she sets the hat on my head, it conforms to the shape of my skull. It’s so lightweight I can barely tell it’s there, unless I glance up at the swirls of netting.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe. “Did you conjure it?”
“I did. My magic is similar to Sugarplum’s. He makes clothes, I make hats. It’s what drew us together. But my creations take a bit longer to fabricate. Both of your hats are spelled with a charm for attraction and fascination. It’s akin to a glamour, and embedded into the conjured clothing, so it won’t be dispelled or noticed when you pass through the gates into Mallaithe.”
“So the hats will disappear in a few days?”
“If you’re still in Mallaithe after a few days, a disappearing hat will be the least of your problems.”
“Won’t people connect me with Fin if we’re both wearing your hats?” I ask.
“Oh no, lovey. I make hats for almost everyone in the Dread Court—my friends, yes, and my enemies, too. Anyone who can pay me—or anyone who could kill me.” Ygraine giggles.
Relieved, I touch the hat reverently. “This is a lovely creation, Ygraine. Thank you.”
“Such nice manners,” she croons. Then her palm explodes against my cheek, and pain floods my face.
Fin snarls—actually snarls, a primal sound that’s both shocking and gratifying.
“Down, boy,” hisses Ygraine. “She has to learn not to act like a Seelie, or a human. You’ll remember now, won’t you, precious?” She pats the cheek she just slapped. “Don’t thank an Unseelie for anything.”
Finias advances, towering over her, his wings stiff and vibrating with fury. He’s about to wreck this fragile alliance, and I can’t let him do that.
“It’s all right!” I exclaim. “She’s right, Fin. I can’t act like that here. No kindness, no gratitude.”
And I slap Ygraine full across the face, as hard as I can.
She gasps—and then she bursts into laughter.
Her laugh is a lovely, carefree sound, like a strain of music on a wild wind, and I can’t help giggling back.
Fin stares at the two of us, confusion and relief storming in his gaze. “Fine. I’ll let it go. But touch her like that again, Ygraine, and I’ll snap your neck.”
“Oh hush, Sugar-Boy. It’s only a little fun between friends.” Ygraine wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, sniffing along my temple. “I won’t make you pay the memory now, sweet thing. If we survive the night, you’ll owe it to me. Come now. I have a couple of shield spells we can use until we reach the Calamity Gate. Sugarplum, you’ll take one, while Clara and I use the other.”
Fin is glowering, but at the mention of this magic, his eyes light up. “Shield spells are usually stationary. Does this one move with the user?”
“It does. I stole several of the White Rabbit’s favorite magical concoctions after he spelled my new hands for me. And now I’m using them against him! Delicious, isn’t it?”
Fin looks from me to Ygraine, a pleased surprise shining in his eyes. But his joy fades the next second as he says, “So this is goodbye, for now. We must travel to the gate separately, enter separately, entertain the court separately… fuck, Clara…”
“It’s only until I can charm the Cat and get us into the White Rabbit’s house,” I reassure him. “Unless… maybe Ygraine can get us in, if she’s had previous dealings with them.”
She shakes her head. “As I said, I stole the Rabbit’s magic, so neither of them will let me in, not ever again. But you, sweet Clara—as a toothsome, naïve Seelie with no magic and a talent for art—they won’t be able to resist you. All we have to do is set you in the Cat’s path, and his own lust and curiosity will do the rest.”
She rummages in her pockets, probably looking for the shield spells, and I seize Fin’s hands, careful not to shred my palms on his claws.
“Tell me you’ll be all right.” His whisper is ragged.
“We both will,” I answer.
“I almost forgot. Your outfit.” He closes his eyes briefly, as if he’s thinking, while I take off my satchel and weapons. Then he opens his eyes again and vanishes my clothes, leaving me naked.
For a moment I wait, expecting my conjured ensemble to appear—and then I catch the smirk hovering over his mouth as he crosses his arms, admiring the view.
But he can’t fool me. His smirk doesn’t quite hide the tremble of his lips, nor does the lascivious sparkle in his eye hide the glaze of tears over the golden irises.
I’ll play along, because he needs me to.
