Page 73 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
“Ah.” She smiles brightly, laying down her own. “I win.”
“Gracious Majesty.” The cat-eared Fae slides from his stool onto his knees, bowing low. “Have mercy on the Fae outside the gate. I beg you.”
“Don’t make a scene, Caer,” the Queen says coldly. “You’re a fine challenger, and I would hate to have to punish you. Go. Accept your loss with grace.”
Rising, Caer gives away to a trio of jugglers who are tossing tiny skulls from hand to hand. His features are stiff and expressionless, but the panic and rage churning in his eyes sends a dart of fear through my chest.
Something is happening at the Calamity Gate. Something he tried to prevent.
Where is Fin?
21
Last time I was in a crowd of Unseelie, I had to expend nearly all my magic to please the Rat King, and then I had to fuck my darling in front of them all.
It’s a complex memory, anxiety threaded with bursts of pleasure, and it gnaws at me while I wait in the line for the Calamity Gate.
When I first arrived at the gate, I saw Ygraine and Clara being taken to the head of the line. A good sign—if being admitted to the Dread Court can ever be consideredgood.
I keep telling myself not to worry about Clara. I’ve honed my craft for years; her glamour is secure, and her false Fae scent won’t dissipate for hours. I redoubled its strength when I gave her the conjured clothing. Besides, my dearest is talented enough to secure the Queen’s favorable attention.
As for me—I’m buried in a throng of desperate Unseelie. Each of them are preparing their magic, practicing their talents, and rehearsing the speeches they hope will buy them passage into the city.
Last time I was here, I arrived in a carriage with Unseelie friends, and my introduction at Court went smoothly. My reputation should still mean something, even though the monarchy is in new hands. But I can’t mill about with all these other Fae. Their desperation will tinge my arrival. No, I need to step out of line. I need to stand out.
Fortunately, I excel at making a spectacle of myself.
I’m vacillating between a few options, trying to decide how best to achieve the impact I want, when someone jostles my shoulder, and I bump into the Fae in front of me.
He whirls, a toothy maw blasting spit in my face as he roars.
I squint, flicking his spittle off my cheek.
Suddenly his maw closes back up, retracting to normal lips. His eyes have double pupils, each with one violet and one green iris. His ears are larger and longer than those of most Fae, drooping with the weight of the earrings strung along their edges. His nose and eyebrows are pierced in several places.
“Sugarplum?” he says.
A memory shears through my brain—his fanged mouth gnawing between my legs while I screamed until my throat was torn out—
“I’d know you anywhere,” he says. “Back for more, are you?” The ghost of a grin.
It’s Ushur. He’s bonier now, clad in faded finery.
My heart is racing, and a cold sweat breaks out over my body. My claws slide out while my lips curl back in a snarl.
“You almost killed me,” I growl.
“We didn’t take you past the point where you couldn’t heal.” Ushur snorts. “We spared your life because we all liked you. Do you know how many other Seelie we had eaten to the bone before you? But you couldn’t be grateful—of course not. You couldn’t just enjoy the game. You had to go running back to suckle the teats of your soft little kingdom.”
If I kill him, will they still let me into Mallaithe? I suspect approaching the Court Manager with fresh Unseelie blood on my claws wouldn’t be ideal. I could glamour myself an Unseelie form, take on an impenetrable disguise. But I’m counting on my previous reputation to get me through the gates. I can’t lose that advantage.
The Unseelie who do remember me should only remember the wild amusements I conjured at the Imbolc revel. Magda liked to keep her orgies private; word of what happened at her party wouldn’t have circulated widely. So my true identity is still my best chance of getting through the Calamity Gate.
I should ignore this cannibalistic bastard and continue with my plan.
“Why don’t we stick together, for old times’ sake?” Ushur’s eyes light up with a frenzied hope. “I’ll talk to the Manager for you—we can both get inside the gates if we work together. You’re guaranteed entrance if we tell them about your secret gift. You know, your tasty little—”
He reaches toward my crotch.
