Page 84 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
Let him watch. Today, I’m out to prove to him and to myself that I can act just as Unseelie as the worst of them.
Which is why I don’t react when I discover we’re playing croquet with mallets crafted from human bones. And I don’t scream when the balls are brought out. We’re allowed to choose our own balls from among a selection of immense spider egg sacs, troll eyeballs, or slimy-looking orbs that I’m told are rat-bear testicles.
Caer sidles up to me. He’s wearing a black suit that clings to him as if it’s been painted on his skin, and miniscule skulls decorate the edges of his triangular black ears. “Not exactly a Seelie’s game, is it?”
I gaze coolly at the selection, glad that I tucked a ginger candy into my cheek this morning. “Which type of ball do you prefer?”
“Well, there are advantages to each. The testicles are slippery and roll quickly. The troll eyeballs are best if you plan to knock someone else’s ball out of the way. The egg sacs are a bit lighter and travel farther, but there’s always a chance the little crawlies will hatch halfway through the game.”
That sounds like my worst nightmare. “How precious,” I say through a tight smile.
“Not so precious once they begin biting everyone. They’re toxic, of course. Most of us are fairly resistant, but for you, with your Seelie origins, healing might take some time. Once I saw an egg sac break, and two of the baby spiders bit a human slave. He died instantly.”
I grin at him, while abject terror curdles in my stomach. “Sounds like a good time.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Why, Elowen, perhaps you do belong in this kingdom after all!”
“Such a flatterer.” I tweak his chin lightly.
Once the game begins, Caer lingers near me. He asks me a few questions about my journey, how I reached the Calamity Gate safely. The Queen is within earshot, so I speak clearly and carelessly.
“I’m a friend of Ygraine, the Queen’s hatter, and I arranged to meet her just outside the gate,” I tell Caer. "A bodyguard and a human servant escorted me here from the border wall. They’re both Heartless now, but they served their purpose. I made it through, so I must conclude I’m meant to be a living offering to Her Majesty’s service, while the dead serve our sovereign in a different way. It’s a wonderful system, really. The Heartless ensure that only the worthy make it to the Dread Court.”
The Queen catches my eye, approval softening her pretty face, and I give her a smile and a curtsy.
One of the players in Fin’s area sends their ball skimming off the field into one of the flowerbeds. A raucous cry of delight rises from all the players, and I join in, without really understanding what’s going on.
“Someone has to go and fetch the ball,” says Caer in an undertone. “The Queen will choose a sacrifice.”
Sacrifice… shit, that doesn’t sound good.
Lips primmed in a smirk, eyes sparkling, the Queen holds out her mallet and revolves slowly, until she stops, pointing at one of the Fae servants. He reminds me a bit of a turkey, with his long neck and beaklike nose and chin. Even his fingers are splayed and taloned like a bird’s.
“Majesty?” he croaks.
The Queen gestures toward the flowerbed with her mallet. “Fetch the ball. No magic. You know the rules.”
“As your Majesty wishes.” He shuffles toward the row of glowing orange pitcher plants.
Caer leans in, playing with my hair, his tail slithering against my ass. “If he steps on the leaves, they’ll lift him up and tip him right into one of the pitchers.”
Everything inside me cries out in pity for the Unseelie servant, aches with the hope that he will be quick enough, careful enough. But I release a cruel giggle, exchanging smiles with Caer and the others in our group.
The servant creeps nearer to the pitcher plants and grabs for the ball, but it’s out of his reach. He steps in closer. As his foot falls toward clear ground, a broad leaf slides right under the sole of his shoe.
The second he touches it, the leaf wraps around his foot and ankle. He screams as he’s hauled up by a snaking stem, dangled upside in midair, and then dropped into the gullet of the plant.
The croquet players cheer. I raise my mallet and cheer with them, over the muffled cries of the trapped servant. One of the Queen’s guards does a little wind magic and sucks the ball out of the flowerbed—which means they could have fetched it safely all along. Instead they chose to pointlessly torment one of their own kind.
The servant keeps crying as we continue the game. He’s silhouetted against the luminous belly of the pitcher plant, through which the players watch his flailing struggle, his every hapless attempt to climb out. It’s the entertainment they enjoy while waiting for their turn to play.
I think I’m going to be sick, despite the ginger candy slowly melting in my cheek.
But then I look over at Fin, resplendent in a pink gauze shirt, black feathered cape, and sparkling jewelry. His pants are black leather around the hips and crotch, but below that, they change to loose black mesh, showing off his long legs. He’s laughing with a slim, lovely, green-skinned Unseelie of indeterminate gender.
Irrational jealousy surges in my heart, tightening my movements as I line up for my next shot.
“Wait a moment.” Caer steps in behind me. “You’re too tense.” He slides one hand down the back of my arm to my elbow, then cups my forearm. “All the Seelie are so tense and straightlaced. Like they have rods of iron up their pretty little asses.”
