Page 70 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
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The Unseelie city of Mallaithe rears impossibly, impenetrably high into the midnight sky, stars reeling around the clawlike peaks of its towers. While the rest of the Unseelie kingdom has been deceptively pretty, this structure matches the dark concoctions of my imagination. It is an eldritch, monstrous edifice, veined with vinelike growths thicker than my body, long since turned to stone.
At the base of those soaring walls, like a huddle of insects clustering beside a human’s boot, is a crowd of Unseelie Fae who crave refuge inside the city. But refuge is only granted those who carry essential supplies, or who have a unique talent to contribute to the neverending festivities of the Dread Court.
Once we’re within the boundaries of the camp, Ygraine dispels our shield. “There are patrols to keep the Heartless away from the gate,” she explains. “But they move slowly, usually not before the Heartless have picked off some of the refuge-seekers. We’ll be safe, as long as we can run faster than everyone else.” She giggles, then drags me toward a big armored guard.
“I am Ygraine, the Queen’s Hatter.” She displays a heart-shaped ruby ring. “I’ve brought the artist my Queen requested. We need an immediate audience with the Manager.”
The guard grunts in reply and escorts us along the line of Fae waiting outside the gate. Some of them curse and hiss as we bypass the line.
Closer to the gate, there’s another group of Fae standing dejectedly to the side, or slumped on the ground.
“The rejected ones,” Ygraine whispers. “The ones who aren’t good enough to get inside. Turned away by the Manager and his guards.”
I pity the rejected ones. Most of them look gaunt, frightened, and hollow-eyed, probably from weeks of fleeing or fighting the Heartless. They crave the dubious safety of the enormous city.
I can’t help them—yet. But I want to, despite the knowledge that all of them have probably done terrible things.
Ygraine introduces me to the Manager, a ponderous Unseelie with the jowls, tusks, and whiskers of a walrus. He has a contingent of guards with him, both to deter the Heartless and control the crowd. Every guard wears a harlequin-style uniform of red and black, with mismatched sleeves and pant legs. Their helmets are half red, half black, with narrow slits for their eyes and grates over their mouths. I’m not sure if I prefer these guards to the Rat King’s soldiers or not.
“This is the artist I told you about,” Ygraine tells the Manager confidentially. “She’s Seelie, one of the Inert, but blessed by the goddess with a thousand times the talent of any artist currently within the walls of Mallaithe. Trust me, the Queen will want to see her work. Last time I presented the Queen with a new hat, she said she must get someone to paint her portrait. And now, you and I have discovered the artist she needs. What a delight, to have the Queen’s favor! Elowen, precious, show the Manager your talent!”
One of the Manager’s attendants passes me a graphite stick and a roll of paper, and I set to work, channeling all my anxious energy into the creative effort. I used to make quick, simple sketches like this for Louisa, which she would then give to her lovers as a sign of her affection. After a few minutes, I hand the Manager the sketch—a very flattering portrait that exaggerates his best features.
His bristly eyebrows shoot up, and he gives a low, pleased grunt. “The Queen’s favor is not only a boon, but a necessity,” he mutters. “You may pass, Hatter, along with your talented friend.”
He makes the guards open the Calamity Gate for us, with orders that we be taken to the Dread Court at once, in a carriage. I can feel the eyes of the Rejected, watching us with baleful expressions as we’re allowed to pass inside.
Just inside the gate, robed figures flank the entrance. One of them pulls me aside and removes two of the spells from my satchel. “Only personal, non-aggressive spells are permitted inside the walls,” they mutter from beneath a heavy veil.
The spells they took weren’t aggressive ones, but I don’t protest—I’m glad to be allowed through without anyone taking a closer look at my rings.
As I climb into the carriage with Ygraine, I glance back at the gate, the Manager, and the line of desperate Fae. Finias is somewhere among the crowd of people begging for entrance, trying to prove their worth as entertainment for the Eater of Hearts. If he isn’t allowed inside, I’ll be alone in this city, alone on this mission, with only Ygraine’s dubious friendship to rely on.
Ygraine, who steals from friends and betrays them.
But also—Ygraine who fought to save Finias, and lost her hands as punishment.
It’s the innate duality of the Unseelie—loyalty and treachery running parallel to each other, sometimes intertwining.
As the carriage rattles along the street, I peer between the heavy window-curtains. Once again, the Unseelie Kingdom surprises me. The outer walls were drab, but inside, instead of a grimy, corroded city slouching in the darkness, there’s an explosion of light and sound. Reckless strains of music sear the air outside, breaching the thick walls and windows of the carriage. Unseelie Fae dressed in riotous color line the streets, or flow in and out of uplit buildings. Some of them are dancing, some are fucking, some are seated at tables, playing games of cards and dice in the open air. We pass a large square that seems to be set up for various types of competition, and another square lined with tables, each laden with piles of food, while clusters of colorful lights float overhead.
“It’s a neverending festival,” says the Hatter, toying with a piece of her hair. A band of light from the window cuts across her face, making her left eye shine and her fingers glitter. “The Eater of Hearts is hosting the party to end all parties, and it spills out of the Dread Court into the streets of Mallaithe. This city is the pulsing, poisonous organ that is rotting our kingdom. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Beautiful,” I murmur.
We talk a little—she tells me what to expect when we reach the palace. I try not to appear scandalized or shocked—until I happen to look out the window and see a body flayed open on a table under the open sky, while several Unseelie dine on the organs inside—and then I retch, loudly. I fumble in my satchel for the ginger candies Fin included for just such occasions, and I pop one into my mouth. The urge to vomit subsides almost immediately.
Ygraine scoffs. “It’ll be a miracle if you survive this.”
“The Unseelie are afraid of the Heartless, and yet they dothatto each other,” I groan, pressing a hand to my forehead.
“That was a human. Consuming human flesh is as normal for us as dining on a fine roast goose would be for you. It’s a delicacy, for special occasions. Tastes wonderful, and delivers a burst of magical energy. Dining on another Fae—now that is a darker practice. The Rat King popularized it during his reign—but even he only practiced it when he was especially angry, or celebrating a victory.”
She leans forward, her green-striped eyes wide. “What you don’t understand is that here, there are no rules. To be Unseelie is to live in complete freedom.”
“But one person's freedom is another's oppression. What you call freedom is just an excuse to be cruel to the weak, the defenseless, and the less fortunate.”
