Heartless(54)

A bird cawed.

The Lion’s eyes widened in panic as Cath planted herself behind the Turtle. She angled the stick beneath his shell and jabbed him, hard.

The Turtle yelped in pain and bucked forward, scrabbling at the ground.

“Move, move, move!” Cath yelled, poking him again and again, urging him along to a chorus of whimpers and yelps. He reached the path. His flippers treaded against the brush.

“Lady!” Haigha screamed.

The scream of the Jabberwock shredded her ears. Heart in her throat, Cath spun around, gripping the stick like a sword, just in time to see the shadow of the beast soaring toward her.

Every limb tightened and she could see its neck outstretched and its fangs bared and its tongue lolling toward her—

A blur of orange flashed in her vision, mixed with a ferocious roar and a whinny of tiny horses. The Lion threw himself in front of Catherine, one massive paw lifted as if he would bat the Jabberwock out of the sky.

The monster screamed and pulled its head back, shifting so that its massive talons were extended toward them.

Cath heard the moment of impact. Flesh and bone and soft ground and a cry of pain and beating wings and a triumphant screech—and then the Jabberwock flew upward again. Its prey was caught in its claws, the tuft of the Lion’s tail dangling in the air behind it.





CHAPTER 21

CATH WAS STILL STARING after the Jabberwock, the stick clutched in her shaking hands, when a shadow of feathers and bells dropped from the sky. Jest grabbed her shoulders. His gloves carried the memory of soft quills before they were leather once more.

“Are you all right?” he asked, breathless.

“N-no,” she stammered. Her eyes were full of the horizon and the memory of the Lion’s body, all grace and muscle, so quickly taken. So easily defeated.

Hatta was there too, then, in the corner of her vision. “Come,” he ordered, shoving the two of them toward the forest. “Let’s get to safety, in case the beast comes back.”

“The Lion…” Cath’s voice cracked with a sob.

“I know,” said Hatta. “I saw.”

Hatta ushered her past Haigha, whose eyes were glistening with tears. She heard Raven’s wings beating behind them. She spotted the Turtle’s shell past the Crossroads door. Everyone was waiting for them on the other side, clustered together on the black-and-white tiles. Their frightened eyes began to turn away when they realized that one of their party had been lost.

The Crossroads felt too quiet, too ordinary, too safe after the horrors of the glen.

“He’s gone,” Cath stammered. “He … he saved me.”

“He was a king among beasts,” said Jest. It sounded like a memoriam.

“He was indeed,” said Hatta. “Some might call that a checkmate.”

*

CATH PUT UP NO ARGUMENT when Jest offered to take her home. Though there was a sense of protection in the Crossroads, with its mismatched doors and access to all corners of the kingdom, as soon as they stepped onto the shores of Squeaky Creek, Cath felt the same terror wash over her.

Hearts was not safe. The Jabberwock was real and it was here and they were not safe.

“My lady,” said Jest, his voice heavy. They had hardly spoken once the other guests had scattered and headed for their own homes. Even Raven had seemed happy to abandon them, flying off into some unknown corner of Hearts. “I am so very, very sorry. I put you in danger. I—”

“You had no control over the Jabberwock.” She stopped and turned to face him. The creek burbled behind her. “Did you?”

Their hands were intertwined and had been the entire walk, but it didn’t seem as romantic as it had when they had left her home earlier that evening. Rather, there was a need pulsing through her fingertips. For touch. For security. She felt safe with him there, whether or not it was warranted.

“If not for me,” said Jest, “you would have been safe in your bed, and wouldn’t have had to witness something so dreadful.”

She looked down at their fingers. Hers so pale against the black leather of his glove.

“Perhaps tomorrow, when my senses are clear, I will feel that the whole night was a mistake. But I don’t feel that way now.” She took in a long breath and raised her eyes again. “Monsters notwithstanding, I enjoyed my first real tea party.”

A ghost smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. “And I enjoyed taking you to one. Monsters notwithstanding.”

“Then let us not end our night with talk of dreadful things,” she said, and though there was a sting of guilt at her words—how could she dismiss what had become of the brave and gallant Lion?—it was refreshing to think back on the music and the hats and the tea that had come before.

“As it pleases you, my lady,” said Jest, and he, too, seemed willing to think of more pleasant things. He tugged her up the bank of the creek. “I didn’t have a chance to compliment your performance. The macarons were marvelous, just as you said.”

She pressed her lips against a proud smile and shrugged. “Why, thank you, Sir Joker.”

“Where did you learn to bake?”

She considered the question. Baking had been a part of her life for so long, it was difficult remembering a time when she hadn’t enjoyed digging her fingers into a bowl of cake batter or warm, rising dough. “Our cook started teaching me when I was a child, but mostly I taught myself, using what recipe books I could find, and experimenting from there. I like the idea of taking ingredients that are unappetizing on their own—chalky flour and oily egg whites and bitter dark chocolate—and making something irresistible with them. This might sound mad, but sometimes it feels as though the ingredients are speaking to me.” She flushed. “Which must be nonsense.”