Heartless(131)

“Oh, my sweet girl,” said the Marchioness, taking a step forward. Hesitating. Glancing at Raven. Then she closed the distance between them and took Catherine into her arms. “You are a beautiful bride.”

“Are you sure?” said Cath, still livid over the roses and the pocket watch and Cheshire’s insolence. “Look again. You might find that I actually resemble a walrus.”

Her mother pulled away, shocked. “What do you mean?”

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from rolling her eyes. “Nothing at all.”

“Catherine,” said the Marquess, placing one hand on Cath’s shoulder and one on his wife’s. “We know you’ve been through some … difficult things recently.”

Anger, hot and throbbing, blurred in her vision.

“But we want you to be sure … absolutely sure this is what you want.” His eyes turned wary beneath his bushy eyebrows. “We want you to be happy. That’s all we’ve ever wanted. Is this what’s going to make you happy?”

Cath held his gaze, feeling the puncture of Raven’s talons on her shoulder, the weight of the rubies around her throat, the itch of her petticoat on her thighs.

“How different everything could have been,” she said, “if you had thought to ask me that before.”

She shrugged his arm away and pushed between them. She didn’t look back.





CHAPTER 52

THE TRAVELING HAT SHOP was empty when she squeezed her heart-studded dress through the doorway—empty but for the marvelous Hatter himself. A cackle reverberated off the wooden walls the moment she stepped over the threshold. Catherine drew herself to her full height and let her gown fall around her feet. She met Hatta’s gleeful laugh with firm-pressed lips.

He was on his throne, feet up, hiding his face behind his purple hat. Mannequin heads were set on all of the chairs, adorned in elaborate hats. None were whispering now. They stared blankly ahead at the assortment of ribbons and felts and half-empty teacups.

“Good day, Hatta.”

He lifted the hat and set it onto his white hair. Hair that was in desperate need of a combing. His cravat was undone, his coat wrinkled. There was a mysterious stain on the handkerchief that was crumpled inside his breast pocket.

“Is it six o’clock already?” he said, picking up a pocket watch from the table. “Why—barely noon. That can’t be right. Perhaps I shall make it forever six o’clock, forever time for tea. Tea in the morning, tea in the middle of the night. Then I shall always be an accommodating host. Would that suit you and your early arrival, Lady Pinkerton? Or shall I say—Your Majesty.”

Cath shut the shop’s door. “Am I early? I did not realize I was expected.”

“I’m always expecting someone. Always coming and going, coming and going.” He tossed the pocket watch onto the table with a clang. The face popped open and Cath could hear it ticking, too loud and too fast, like a manic countdown. If Hatta noticed it, though, it didn’t show. “I hope you haven’t come here seeking my marital blessing.”

“I don’t need anyone’s blessing, least of all yours.”

“Indeed, sweetness. You are the epitome of a royal bride. Tell me, does it make it easier, knowing the union had been foreordained? It was all laid out for you in stone and ink. You didn’t even have to make the decision yourself, just go along with all fate expected of you.”

She approached the table, narrowing her eyes. “That’s cruel of you to say, after my one choice was taken from me.”

“That is cruel of you to say, after being given a choice to begin with.”

She frowned.

“What do you want, Lady Pinkerton?”

“I came to see how you’re faring.”

“Liar.” His white teeth flashed in a sardonic smile. “You came to see if I’ve gone mad. You want to know you’re not the only one to succumb to the Sisters’ prophecy.”

“I no longer care about the Sisters’ prophecy.”

“Convenient,” he growled, “as you’re the one who dragged us back here.”

She clenched her fists. Then slowly unclenched them, smoothing her palms along the stiff fabric of her skirt. “Where’s Haigha?”

“He went to get more tea.” Hatta picked up his cane and stuck the end through a teapot handle. He lifted it clean off the table and the lid clattered onto a saucer. A few lonesome drops dribbled from the spout. “As you can see, we’re out.”

She let out a slow exhale. “I half expected you to have gone back to Chess.”

The teapot slid back onto the table and crashed against a cracked porcelain cup. “Without either of the Rooks, or the heart we came for?” One side of his mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. “You should be afraid, Lady Pinkerton. You are a queen now.” He jutted a finger toward her chest. “That has value.”

“I am not afraid of you. Tell me your riddle again, Hatta, and I will tell you that my heart cannot be stolen, only purchased, and mine has already been bought.”

His cheek started to twitch. “You want to hear a riddle, you say? I know a very good one. It begins, why is a raven like a writing desk?”

She lifted her chin. “Have you gone mad, Hatta? I can’t seem to tell.”