Page 90 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
I stay motionless, breathing slow. I’ve noticed that the Fae can be nearly soundless when they want to be, and when I open my lashes just a crack, I’m not surprised to see Riordan crouching in the corner of my cell, though I didn’t hear his steps. He’s reaching into the pocket of my folded apron.
There’s a loud hissing crackle and a stab of light. He jerks back, swearing, and I pretend to wake up.
“Trying to steal my book?” I rub my eyes and rise from the bed.
“It should be mine,” Riordan says tightly.
He is dressed in one of his clean white suits, and he wears both a crisp pair of gloves and his rabbit mask. He has come prepared, fully armored for what he plans to do—which I suspect is torture me until I yield ownership of the book and submit to my fate.
I’ve been holding onto the spellbook as my only bargaining chip in a game I don’t fully understand—hoping that eventually I could convince Riordan to free me in exchange for it. Hoping to build enough trust between us that I could count on him to honor the bargain, once we made it.
But he is Unseelie, through and through. Even if he has Seelie blood, he’s been raised in a world of betrayals and torment. He is too deeply mangled inside to develop the kind of bond we would need, in just these few days. Maybe if we had months or years, but we don’t.
Which leaves me with one final choice. A gamble of sorts—a risk that could cost me everything.
“Come,” he tells me coldly. “And bring the book.”
He doesn’t bother with the leash this time, but his gloved hand is a threatening weight on my nape as I collect the book and walk before him along the hallway, to the examination room.
It’s empty, and it reeks of the herbs and oils freshly laid out on a tray.
“Caer completed his task quickly for once,” mutters Riordan. “Strip, and lie down on the table. I will be taking all the parts you can live without—lips, tongue, ears, eyes, fingers, toes, genitals. You’ll survive, because this herbal concoction will stop the bleeding.” He touches a dish full of creamy paste. “These mineral spirits, when sniffed, will keep you alert, preventing you from fainting even during the greatest of agony. And this—” he taps another bottle— “this will give you relief from the pain. You may have it if you yield the book to me. Understand?”
I’ve been disrobing while he spoke, and I stand before him, naked, holding the book in my hand. “I understand, Riordan,” I say softly.
When I speak his name, his mouth tightens and his jaw flexes.
“Lie down,” he commands, low.
“One thing first.” I walk over to the tray of tonics, select the one for pain relief, and dash it onto the floor in a splatter of purple liquid and broken glass.
Riordan stares at the mess, his jaw hard. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
I don’t answer the question. Instead I lift the book in both hands and look into the eyeholes of his mask. “Here. The Tama Olc is yours. I yield it to you, of my own free will.”
Riordan’s body freezes, every white-clad line rigid with shock.
I step toward him, take his gloved hand, and place the book in it, wrapping his fingers around its spine.
No violent magical charge crackles from the binding. It is quiet, docile.
It belongs to him now.
His masked face tilts down, staring at it. And then he lays it aside on one of the tables. “You are a fool. You think I will spare you because you gave it up? I will not.”
“My body is valuable to you,” I say. “I understand.”
“Do you?” He tears off his mask, and beneath it his eyes flame with wretched rage. He grabs me by the shoulders and shoves me against the wall beside the door. He doesn’t hold me there—he plants both hands on the wall above my head and leans in.
“You destroyed the tonic that could have given you relief—the one I promised you in exchange for the book,” he seethes. “You think I won’t cut you apart now, but I will. I’ve screamed for mercy myself, countless times. I received none, and I will give none.”
I simply look at him. And he can’t seem to pull his gaze away—he scarcely blinks. It’s the headiest feeling I’ve ever experienced, holding this powerful Fae captive with my eyes.
“Speak,” he hisses. “Say something. Explain yourself. You gave up the last bit of power you had, knowing that I have you at my mercy, knowing I can—Iwill—do anything I want to you. I will wreak such havoc upon this body—” he looks down at my bare skin, heaving a ragged breath— “I will take all the pieces I can salvage and then keep you alive, in torment, until I decide to harvest your insides. Giving me the book won’t force me to spare your life out of guilt or honor. We did not make that bargain, and I have no such motivation.”
“You’re right. There was no bargain,” I say softly. “We don’t need one, you and I. I trust you.”
“You’re a fool. A reckless, ill-advised fool.”
