Heartless(135)

“Wh-wh-what is this?” the King stammered, looking at the Sisters like they were a nightmare turned real.

“That is Sir Peter,” Catherine answered. The name tasted like iron and filth.

Peter Peter snarled at her.

Mr. Caterpillar, one of the jurors, blew out a ring of smoke that swirled around the Sisters’ heads. “And who,” he asked, “are you?”

Elsie clasped her hands together, as if she were about to recite a poem. “There were once Three Sisters who lived in a well. They were very ill.”

“They were dying,” clarified Lacie.

Tillie nodded. “They were dying for a long time.”

“But they knew,” continued Elsie, “that one day there would be a queen who would have a heart she had no use for. Such a heart could sustain them.”

“That queen is here,” said Tillie. “That time is now.”

In unison, the girls drawled, “We have brought your vengeance, and we shall have your heart in return.”

Cath’s attention didn’t lift from Peter Peter. “Take it. As you said, I have no use for it.”

The Sisters’ wretched smiles glinted and Lacie stepped forward, her long white hair swaying against her ankles. She pulled out a jagged knife, from where Cath couldn’t tell.

Choking, the King pushed back his throne, putting more space between himself and the child. But Cath didn’t move. She held Lacie’s gaze and listened to the rush of blood in her ears.

Lacie climbed up the Queen’s box with the grace of a fox. She sat back on her heels, her bare, dirt-crusted toes curled around the wooden rail. Cath smelled the treacle on her skin.

She raised the dagger and plunged it into Cath’s chest.

Catherine gasped, and though there were screams in the courtroom, she barely heard them over the cackle of the Three Sisters.

Cold seeped into her from the blade, colder than anything she had ever known. It leached into her veins, crackling like winter ice on a frozen lake. It was so cold it burned.

Lacie pulled out the blade. A beating heart was skewered on its tip. It was broken, cut almost clean in half by a blackened fissure that was filled with dust and ash.

“It has been bought and paid for,” said the Sister. Then she yipped and launched herself back to the courtroom floor. She was joined by her sisters, cackling and crowding around the Queen’s heart. A moment later, a Fox, a Raccoon, and an Owl were skittering out the door, leaving behind the echo of victorious laughter.





CHAPTER 54

CATH STARED AT THE DOORS still thrust wide open, her body both frozen and burning, her chest a hollow cavity. Empty and numb.

She no longer hurt. That broken heart had been killing her, and it was gone.

Her sorrow. Her loss. Her pain, all gone.

All that was left was the rage and the fury and the desperate need for vengeance that would soon, soon be hers.

“W-what happened?” stuttered the King. “What did they do?”

“They freed me,” Cath whispered. Her gaze traveled to the prisoner who was kneeling on the floor, his arms shackled by chains but with no captors to hold him. Peter Peter, alone, did not look appalled at what the Sisters had done. He looked bitter. To be caught. To be brought here. To be kneeling before the Queen of Hearts. Cath’s lips twitched upward. “They fulfilled their promise.”

“But … your heart…,” started the King.

“Was no longer useful to me, and I am most pleased with what they brought me in return.” She narrowed her gaze. “Hello, Sir Peter.” She spat the name, her anger roiling, bubbling, steaming inside her, filling up all the barren spaces. Her knuckles whitened on the rail. “This man is the murderer of the late court joker of Hearts. He cut off his head, then fled into the forest. He is a killer.”

When she had imagined this moment, she’d worried that she might cry when faced with Jest’s killer again. But her eyes were dry as sifted flour.

Already the numbness was fading. Now her body was enflamed.

The King hesitantly stood. “That is—yes. Yes, indeed. It’s so good of you to join us, Sir Peter. I believe this calls for, uh…” The King scratched beneath his crown. “What happens next?”

“A trial, Your Majesty?” suggested the White Rabbit.

“Yes! A trial. Excellent fun. Good distraction. Yes, yes. Jury, assemble yourselves. Write down the Queen’s accusation.”

The jury rustled and pulled out slate tabs onto which they began to scribble notes with white chalk. Peter Peter stayed on his knees, but his head was lifted, his gaze piercing Catherine. She stared back, unafraid, for once. She was filled with the anticipation of seeing his blood spilled across the courtroom floor.

“The jury would like to call a witness, Your Majesty.”

The King clapped his hands. “Oh yes, jolly good. Who shall we call?”

“We would like to call the court joker to the stand.”

Cath growled. Whispers and glances passed through the crowd. Everyone seemed to be waiting for Jest to appear on a silver hoop from the ceiling.

“He is dead,” she said through her gritted teeth. She had to fend off a fantasy of having every imbecile in this courtroom beheaded.

“Oh yes, that would be so, wouldn’t it?” the Badger muttered, punctuating the realization with nervous laughter.