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 travelled 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 on to 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 spilt 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.

‘I am your witness,’ Cath said. ‘I was there and I have already told you what happened. He is a murderer and he deserves to be punished.’

Everyone tittered, uncomfortable that their new queen was intruding on the court’s traditions.

‘Perhaps,’ said the Rabbit, ‘if there are no other witnesses present, the jury might consider a verdict?’

A wave of glee sparkled over the jury box and Catherine heard mutterings of guilty and innocent and in need of a bath, when Peter Peter cleared his throat.

‘I got something I’d like to say.’

Though his voice was hoarse, it roared through Catherine like a tidal wave. White spots flecked in her vision. She wanted to silence him forever.

The King, ignorant of how Cath’s blood was boiling, pounded his gavel. ‘The murder – er, the defendant wishes to speak!’

Two guards came forward and grabbed Peter Peter by the elbows, hauling him to his feet. The chains the Sisters had abandoned clinked across the floor.

Raven hopped along the rail, putting himself in Cath’s field of vision. It was like having a confidant at her side – someone else who had been there that night, who knew. He alone had not flinched when the Sisters had taken Cath’s heart. There had been a time when he had planned on doing the same thing to her. When Jest had planned to do the same thing to her.

But that no longer mattered to her. Such a heart was worthless, despite what everyone said. There was no value to it at all.

Sir Peter planted his feet so he could stand without the guards’ assistance. Though dishevelled, he was as intimidating as ever. His eyes darted from the King to the jury to the royal courtiers to the guards – and, finally, to Catherine. ‘I did kill him,’ he snarled. ‘But I was defending my wife.’

The jury scribbled on their tablets.

Peter took a step forward. ‘These people – the maid, the Joker, and you.’ He snarled at Catherine. ‘They trespassed on to my property. I’d asked none of them to come there. Nosy wretches they were, coming to see the “monster”, the “beast”.’ He spat. ‘But she was my wife! And you killed her. Right in front of me, you killed her. You’re the monsters. Not me. Not her!’