Splintered (26 page)

His gaze snaps to me, shock apparent on his face. Flickering exposes the remorse in his eyes
I turn to the hearth again. “That’s why you dragged me here. It was never about saving your friend Chessie. It wasn’t even about Ivory being trapped. You’re the one who’s cursed. You need me to save your spirit from an eternity as a worm-eaten toy in Sister Two’s lair.”
“You judge too harshly. I do want to save my friends. It just happens that I can save myself in the process. I’ve been enslaved for too many years, racing against a ticking clock. Now, at last, I can make the hands stop. I can dethrone Grenadine and set the rightful heir in her place.”
“Even if the heir is unwilling.”
A heavy silence hangs between us.
Gently, Morpheus captures my chin, shifting my gaze to him. “What of the book I used as my storyboard, that one by the mortal bard Carroll. What are your thoughts on that?”
He’s relentless, leading me deeper into a place of both darkness and light. “Carroll came up with the story. But Wonderland, the place, the characters and names . . . I think that Red, as little Alice, inspired him with the half-truths she used to explain her short absence. Her family all assumed she’d wandered off to have a dream beneath a tree.” I frown. “Red became a child in every way, just like you once did. Her mind was innocent again. It’s a good thing her little-girl’s imagination took over. If she’d been completely honest about the dark, twisted creatures here, she would’ve been locked up in an asylum on her first day as a human.” My attempt at sarcasm is wasted because I’m one of those dark, twisted creatures. I always have been. Only now I look the part.
“Splendidly told,” Morpheus says. “And every bit of it, exactly as it was.” He taps my nose. “Do you wonder how the details come to you with such ease?”
My answers were more than lucky guesses. It’s as if the words were scripted on my tongue. Mentally, I thumb through each dream spent with Morpheus to see if he ever told me, but he didn’t.
Morpheus draws me closer to the fireplace, studying my hairpin in the light. He brushes his thumb across it. “Anything of particular interest happen in the cemetery, other than your retrieval of Chessie’s smile?”
I touch my hairpin, recalling my encounter with the rose. “Queen Red’s spirit . . . it flashed through my veins before escaping into the garden. She must’ve imprinted some of her memories on me! That was part of the Deathspeak, wasn’t it? You had to set her free, and you used me to do it.”
With a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh, Morpheus pulls me into his arms and strokes my hair. His scent enfolds me, his chest solid and warm. As a child, his touch used to make me feel secure when he’d hold me under my arms during flying lessons. But not now. I stiffen for an instant before realizing I’m face-toface with his lapel. Nothing but a layer of silver and black pinstripes stands between me and my wish. Instead of pushing away, I snuggle closer—drawing my hands up between us.
A tremor travels the length of his body in response, fingers weaving through the braids at my nape. “Lovely Alyssa. What a grand pupil you were,” he mumbles, his mouth on the top of my head. “Yet you taught me more than I taught you. You are far more worthy to wear the crown than any other. Courage, compassion, and wisdom. The triad of majesties. You have something I could see even through the eyes of a child. You have the heart of a queen.” His voice cracks on the end of his statement, as if he’s saddened by it.
Gloved fingers—silken and confident—glide from my shoulders to my wrists. I curse him silently for moving my hands as he raises them to study the scars. He kisses them, his lips a fluid brush along sensitive flesh, then places my palms on his cheeks.
Mouth inches from mine, he whispers, “Forgive me for bringing you into this. There was no other way.” His skin is softer than clouds must feel, and the tears gathering around my fingertips are hot and tangible. But are they sincere?
Our breaths swirl between us, and his black eyes swallow me whole. My heart knocks against the bottom of his rib cage. I know what’s coming next. I fear it. But it’s the surest way to distract him and get the wish. And if it has to happen, I’m going to be the instigator.
Rising up on my toes, I press my mouth to his. He moans, frees my wrists, and sweeps me into his arms—sealing the teddy bear between us. My ankles swing at his shins, and my hand creeps toward his lapel.
I’m in control
.
But it’s a lie, because now I’ve tasted him. His lips are salty-sweet with yesterday’s laughter . . . digging in the black sands beneath Wonderland’s sunshine, playing leapfrog atop mushroom caps, and resting in the shade of black satin wings.
I try to shake off the spell, but he angles his face and deepens the kiss.
“Embrace me . . . embrace your destiny.”
He breaks the barrier of my lips, touching his tongue to mine, a sensation too wickedly delicious to deny. As our tongues entwine, his lullaby purrs through my blood and bones, carrying me to the stars.
Behind closed eyes, I’m floating against a velvet sky, lungs filled with night air. On some level, I know I’m still in the middle of a firewarmed chamber, yet my wings pantomime flight on a cool breeze. I’m dancing with Morpheus in the heavens, no longer imprisoned by gravity.
Fluttering our wings in unison, we twist and whirl a weightless waltz among stars that coil and uncoil in feathery sparks high above Wonderland’s warped and wonderful landscapes. Each time we spin, then return to each other’s arms, I laugh, because at last I’m me.
I’m a me I’ve longed to be in my innermost fantasies—spontaneous, impetuous, and seductive.
Morpheus promises a lifetime of dancing, a world where everyone obeys my commands. He shows me every piece and parcel of Wonderland that is mine. Down below, past the stars and night sky, I can see myself seated on a throne at the head of a table, hosting a feast with mallet in hand, prepared to strike the main course dead. Maniacal laughter echoes in the marble halls, sweet to my ears.
The scene makes me drunk with power. I kiss him again. He holds me tighter.
Beneath my feet, the stars burst into a thousand glittering colors: silent fireworks, just like the ones Jeb and I saw in the boat on our first night here.
Jeb . . .
The image of his dimpled smile slams into me like a gasp of ice-cold air. Memories of my mortal life intensify the frost: the pride and satisfaction of finishing a mosaic, the maple-sweet flavor of Dad’s Saturday morning pancakes, Alison’s tinkling laughter that feels like home, Jenara joking with me at Butterfly Threads, and Jeb . . . his loyalty, and his kisses, so magical yet so real.
The spinning in my head slows, like a top falling to its side. I’m back at the castle, pressed against Morpheus in a passionate embrace.
I have to finish what I started, or risk becoming what he is.
I coax my palm into his lapel in search of my wish, returning his feverish kisses. “Checkmate, you son of a bug,” I say against his mouth two seconds before my fingers find an empty pocket.
“Sleight of hand, blossom,” he says right back. “’Tis in fact in my pants pocket, if you’d like to search there.”
I shove him off and drop to the floor, wiping my mouth. “It’s mine!”
“And you’ll receive it when the time is right.” His lips, all I can look at, tilt into that smug smile that I’ve come to detest. He motions toward the chair. “Sit. You’ve just been soundly kissed. No doubt you’re short of breath.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I huff in an effort to hide a gulp of air and hold the teddy bear against my chest. “That kiss meant nothing. It had underlying motivation.”
“Oh, to be sure. That kiss was nothing if not motivational.”
Maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part, but his pale complexion looks flushed as he turns the chair around so its back is to the fire. Considering that my stomach is a pendulum in full swing, I hope he’s at least a little rattled.
Cheeks hot, I sit on the warm cushions, my wings ornamenting the arms like lacy, jewel-studded doilies. I can’t pin down my emotions. I shouldn’t have kissed him. How could I do that to Jeb? But I did it for us, so he’ll understand, right? As long as I never mention how it affected me, how I almost drowned in Morpheus’s seduction, in my own darkest desires . . .
“Have I commented on your loveliness tonight?” Morpheus asks, compelling me to look at him. His eyes follow the lines of my gauzy appendages. “There’s something about a lady in wings. You wear them well. You’re exquisite, in fact. Just like a netherling princess should be.”
The drag of his gaze alerts all my nerves, forcing me to relive his lips on mine. A touch of his hand would’ve affected me less. I reach for his hat balanced on the chair’s arm and flick the red moths so they dance. “Cut the crap, Morpheus. My clothes are shot, and I look like a marshmallow exploded on my back.”
He chuckles, masculine and deep in his chest. “You’ve always been irresistible when you’re cranky.” He sits on the floor in front of me, pinstripe-clad legs crossed like a Boy Scout’s. Too bad Jeb’s not here to pound him to a pulp.
I punch the hat’s brim, exasperated.
Morpheus flinches as if I hit him. “Careful. That’s my Insurrection Hat. I’ve ne’er had occasion to wear it until today. The red represents battles and bloodshed, in case you were wondering.”
“Doesn’t interest me in the least,” I answer, flinging it to the floor.
With a hiss through white teeth, he gathers his prize. “Bah. You’re a descendant of Queen Red. You crave chaos. You’re happiest when the world is in an uproar. You thrive on madness. Even your magic is at its best when it’s the catalyst to confusion. You still can’t admit this?”
I shake my head, not wanting it to be true.
He places his hat on his knee and shrugs, as if too busy to drag the truth out of me. “You will wash up and change. I’ve picked a stunning ensemble for you. A queen must dress properly for her coronation.”
“I’m not going to be queen,” I grumble.
“Perhaps not forever, but you will be temporarily. It is the condition of Red’s Deathspeak. You must be crowned with the ruby tiara. Oh, and did I mention it’s the only way to free your mortal knight?” My chest constricts, the guilt overwhelming.
Jeb
.
“Take me to him. Now.” I start to stand, but my wings refuse to cooperate. My tired muscles prove no match for their weight, which is suddenly overwhelming. I plop down in resignation and groan. Morpheus clasps his hands in his lap. “You need a warm bath and some rest. As I said earlier, your pseudo elf is safe. How long he stays that way, however, depends entirely upon your performance tonight.”
“You can’t touch him!” The only things keeping me from tearing off those flashing jewels on his eye patches are my deadweight wings. “You made a vow you wouldn’t hurt him. A
vow
. If you break it, you’ll lose your wings, your dream manipulation . . . everything that makes you who you are.”
“True. Wouldn’t wish to lose my powers at such a precarious juncture.” Firelight blinks across his clothes in swathes of orange and purple, intensifying the gangster circus-freak image. “But there was a stipulation, was there not? That I wouldn’t hurt him as long as he stayed loyal to your worthy cause. Well, he proved himself an obstacle. He and I discussed your destiny a bit ago, and he has no desire to see you become queen. In fact, he became rather unmanageable at the suggestion.” Morpheus lifts the hair at his forehead, displaying a goose-egg-size bruise. “Imagine that . . . most men would leap at the chance to be in bed with royalty.”
“Shut up.” A sob catches in my windpipe.
Be tough, Alyssa Victoria Gardner.
I can almost hear Jeb’s voice, can almost see the sincere faith in his green eyes. I’m not going to let him down again.
Patting the bear’s mustard-scented fur, I take a steadying breath. “You said I could just be queen temporarily. Explain.”
Morpheus relaxes, elbows on knees. “I want the vorpal sword to free my friends. But we need to crown you as queen to fulfill my Deathspeak. As luck would have it, King Red has the frumious bandersnatch guarding both sword and crown because his absentminded queen kept misplacing her bloody tiara. So for us to get them, you must subdue the creature.”
The jade chess piece with the wide, snapping mouth and spiked tail scrapes along my memory. It struck terror into my heart as a child, and that was just a plaything.
Frumious.
Anything that inspires its own adjectives is a force to be feared. “Wait. No. Since you have control of this castle and the cooperation of the card guards, why can’t you just force the king at swordpoint to get the items for us?”
“Grenadine is the only one who has the command the bandersnatch was trained to obey. It’s a word passed down from queen to queen. But in the confusion of our takeover, Grenadine lost the ribbon that held that secret.”
I bite my inner cheek, determined there has to be some way for us to skip this step. “Okay, but if Chessie’s smile can tame the beast, then we can just cut him out of the toy here and release Chessie into the bandersnatch’s lair. We can all wait out of danger until the bandersnatch is subdued.”
“Ideally, yes.” Morpheus drags the teddy bear out of my lap. Straining, he yanks the stitches apart. Before I can blink, the threads mend themselves, closing the gap. “You see?” he explains. “Because Sister Two’s toys harbor the residue of a child’s innocent love, the world’s most binding magic, the only tool that can permanently sever these stitches is—”
“The vorpal sword itself,” I mumble, rubbing the knot in my stomach. I take the teddy bear back and trace the pits where it once had eyes. “What happens if . . .
after
I tame the beast?”
“The White army has agreed to leave this castle upon the condition that the Red Court crowns a new queen and frees Ivory. Both courts will accept you as the rightful heir once you’ve fulfilled the final test and harnessed the power of the smile.” An arrogant smirk crosses his lips. “I suspect King Red originally penned that with a knack for diplomacy in mind. But this interpretation hits all the high points. No one can argue that.”
Apprehension snakes through me at the thought of standing before both courts. “So, I’ll get crowned. Then Jeb and I can leave?”
“Once you’re queen, you can force King Red and Grenadine to free Ivory. Wonderland will be in balance once more. Both portals will be open to you. And then”—Morpheus runs a finger along the bridge of his hat—“you may use your wish to cleanse your blood of netherling traits, which in turn will save your mum, and your children thereafter. The Red Court will appoint a new queen once you and your toy soldier return to the human realm.”