Heartless(37)

Catherine blew a lock of hair out of her face, frustrated with her behavior from the past few days. All those dreams, all those fantasies, all that time spent wandering in a giddy daze—all over what? A boy she’d barely met, hardly spoken to, and who, it was quite clear now, had not spent half as much time thinking about her. Who would just as soon see her married off to the King!

He was right. He may be the one dressed like a fool, but it seemed the title was reserved for her.

She noticed Jack stalking toward her, one fat fist strangling his flamingo’s neck. His expression was dark and Cath stiffened before he could reach her.

“You haven’t even started yet!” Jack accused. “What were you doing, talking to the Joker all this time? Are you playing or not?”

“It’s no concern of yours who I talk to,” she spat. “And I was just about to start my turn. If you’ll step aside…”

Jack snarled and turned to look at the Joker with his good eye. Jest, however, was paying them no attention. “You think he’s funny or some such?”

Cath rolled her eyes. “Well, I don’t know, Jack. He is a joker.”

“I think he’s funny looking.” He faced her again. “And so are you, Lady Pinkerton!”

She waved her free hand exasperatedly. “Thank you for clarifying that. Could you kindly move so I can take my turn now?”

His face had gone red, but he didn’t move. “Did you bring any sweets?”

Cath thought, briefly, of the macarons in her pocket, but shook her head. “Not this time, I’m afraid.”

The Knave seemed caught momentarily between staying and going, like he wanted to say more but could think of nothing else worth saying.

Finally, he raspberried his tongue at her, then took off across the court at a quick jaunt.

Cath’s shoulders dropped. Her weariness came on fast, her annoyance with Jest and the King and now Jack all burning in her veins. She was glad for the distraction of the game.

She took the hedgehog into her palm. “Let’s get on with it, then,” she said, setting him in front of the first hoop—the Nine of Clubs. The hedgehog curled himself into a ball.

Cath lifted the flamingo so they were eye to eye, and tried not to breathe in too deeply. “I propose a deal. You help me win this game, and the next time I come to the palace I’ll bring you coconut shrimp cakes.”

“Ah likes shrimp,” said the flamingo.

“I can tell.” Wrinkling her nose, Cath flipped the flamingo upside down and took hold of its legs. She lined its head with the hedgehog. Aimed. Swung.

The hedgehog galloped through the first two hoops, rounded smoothly to the right, over one hill, darted right by the King’s retrieved hedgehog, swooped back to the left and beneath two more hoops and finally tumbled to a stop. He flopped onto his belly, grinning at Catherine.

She gave him an approving nod, feeling better already.

“Bravo, Lady Pinkerton!” said the King. The audience that was watching from the sidelines started to cheer as well, having picked up on the King’s preference.

“It’s not who wins or loses!” Margaret shrieked. “It’s how one stays the same!”

“Well said, Lady Mearle!” cheered the Duke, standing alone to the side of the crowd.

“No one asked you!” she yelled back.

Ignoring them all, Cath made her second shot, surpassing Jest on the court.

“Nice shot,” he said, echoing her previous words back to her as she passed by.

She preened. “Why, thank you.”

“Will you wish me luck on my next play?” he asked. “It seems I’ll need it, if I’m to take the egg.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “I will do no such thing.”

He started walking backward toward his hedgehog. “You are a tough adversary.”

Cath’s eyes widened as his heels nearly collided with one of the in-play hedgehogs—Jack’s, she thought—but even walking backward Jest knew when to hop over it. He chuckled at her surprise and turned away.

Shaking her head, Catherine yelled, “I hope your hedgehog goes into early hibernation!”

“All the easier to hit him,” he called back.

Catherine’s eye caught on a squat figure hurrying toward her. The King’s face was rosy with excitement and a sheen of sweat had formed on his brow.

“Lady Pinkerton!” he said, dabbing at his forehead with the corner of his cloak. She considered offering him a handkerchief, but decided to pretend that he wasn’t sweating instead. “Did you see?”

“Um…”

“My hedgehog went—scheeew!—right through three hoops.” His hand gestures mimicked the roll and bounce of his last shot. “It was glorious! Didn’t you think so?”

Cath resisted the urge to pat him on the head and offer him a biscuit for a job well done. “You were splendid, Your Majesty.”

Beaming, the King turned to watch Jest take his shot. Cath glared at Jest’s hedgehog, willing it to go off course.

“What were you and Jest talking about, anyhow?” asked the King.

“Oh. Uh—you, Your Majesty. And your phenomenal croquet—”

There was a kathunk as Jest sent his hedgehog rolling toward wide-open grass … at least it was wide open until all three of the absent Clubs raced over and threw themselves into arches just in time for the hedgehog to roll beneath them.