Splintered

by A. G. Howard

  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 absent-minded 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 adjective 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.”

  Something about that last step doesn’t sit right. First off, who else would they crown as queen? Second, how exactly would half of me—the netherling half—just disappear? Would I be wiped clean by some magical eraser?

  Before I can air my reservations, Morpheus hits me with the only words that could cause me to forget everything else: “Would you like to see your mortal knight now?”

  I’m at the edge of my seat, about to get up, but Morpheus kneels in front of me, ever the obstacle in my path.

  “No need to stand, plum. You can see him from where you sit.” Next to my right leg, he shoves his hand between the chair’s cushion and frame. The nerve endings in my thigh sizzle. Eyes locked to mine, Morpheus drags out a small handheld mirror, its frame embossed with shimmery silver. He flips the glass side to me.

  In some dank, dark place, Jeb bangs his head against prison bars. Blood trickles down into his face, and he totters backward, dazed.

  My heart breaks in half—a pain so acute, it could launch a thousand wishes and fill a sea of tears. “Jeb, stop …”

  “For reference”—Morpheus studies my reaction—“that is a birdcage. Our pseudo elf is the size of a sparrow. Upon word from me, the guards will feed him to Queen Grenadine’s notoriously hungry cat, Dinah.”

  “No!” I skim my fingers over the cold glass and the image vanishes. I’m faced with only my reflection. The girl whose selfish desires brought Jeb into this journey to begin with. All because I wanted him to myself. But I never wanted this.

  The sob I’ve been holding back rips loose. I was delusional to think I could sway this game to my favor. The checkmate’s already been played. Morpheus has won.

  “What will it be, Alyssa?”

  The fire crackles behind me, a cat-o’-nine-tails whipping harsh tongues of light across his ruthless expression. I wipe my tears and level my gaze on his. There’s no need for another word between us, because he already knows.

  I’ll do anything he asks of me now.

  Morpheus escorts me down a long, dim corridor on the first floor. Candles in brass sconces light the glittery red walls. The lace and bustled skirts of my coronation dress sweep the black marble beneath my feet. This is exactly why I didn’t want to go to prom. I hate being on display, especially in something I would never choose to wear on my own.

  From my hands to my feet, I’m dripping crimson velvet, ivory lace, and ruby jewels. The elbow-length sleeves and floor-
length skirt pouf out like the princesses’ ball gowns in the picture books I used to read as a kid, and the gloves are made of stretchy velveteen.

  My hair’s dressed up, too; long curls pile atop my head, studded with jeweled barrettes that flank my great-great-great-grandmother’s hairpin. Morpheus instructed my sprite attendants that Queen Red’s ornament should remain the focal point.

  I’m the epitome of royalty. I even smell royal—perfumed with sandalwood, roses, and a hint of amber. But I’d rather be Sister One, awash in the scent of dusty sunlight and hiding spinnerets beneath my skirt, so I could wrap Morpheus in a web and leave him to hang.

  As if intuiting my thoughts, he squeezes my velvety palm to his satin one, locking our fingers tighter. His jaw is set in the same severe expression he wore earlier—just after the sprites put me on display for his approval—when I told him how much I despised even looking at him.

  He seemed hurt by that. I wouldn’t think he’d care. I’m only his pawn, after all.

  Our wings accidentally brush, and I reposition the bear tucked beneath my arm to subdue my anger.

  Five card guards from the Red Court lead the way, and five elfin knights from the White court follow closely, their military boots imprinting echoes on my eardrums. I can’t keep from staring at the red jewels that sparkle in pinprick designs on their temples and chins, the same color as Jeb’s labret. Other than the pointed ears, they do bear an uncanny resemblance to him, size and coloring-wise. Almost human but for their lack of emotion.

  They’ve all come to offer protection and to report back to their respective parties after bearing witness to my final test. Just like Morpheus said, the Red Court has agreed to let me be crowned, but they can’t just hand the honor over. I have to prove myself worthy.

  Harness the Power of a Smile: Subdue the bandersnatch with Chessie’s head.

  When my legs turn to jelly at the thought, all it takes is the memory of Jeb bleeding in his birdcage, trying to get to me, and my strength returns. I will do this—for him and Alison and Dad. I will put an end to this crazy nightmare and win our passage home.

  My entourage and I take a right turn, arriving at an arched wooden door painted red and fitted with brass fixtures in the shapes of card suits: diamonds, spades, hearts, and clubs.

  Before opening the door, Morpheus turns. He takes both my hands in his. His fedora’s brim casts a crescent of shade across the upper half of his face. “We must keep the chamber dark. The bandersnatch’s weak vision is to our advantage. He will be slow on the uptake but swift on instinct. In turn, we shall be stealthy and expedient. We’ll have only a matter of minutes before the beast registers us with his other senses. He attacks with his tongues … like a frog would capture its prey. You will need to stay behind me, and that’s easier done if you’re grounded, so resist the urge to take flight.”

  Maybe it should flatter me that he’s so protective. But my safety is an afterthought. He just doesn’t want his hand trumped.

  “Once we get the vorpal sword, you can free Chessie’s head. After that, ready the cello’s bow. Chessie will guide you on what to do. Are you clear on our strategy, Alyssa?”

  I don’t answer, refusing to look him in the eye. I’ve welcomed my darker side over the last few hours, embraced it, because it’s taught me how to manipulate Morpheus. Indifference affects him more than anger. Too bad I didn’t figure that out earlier.

  Hindsight is for losers.

  “Please look at me …” His voice is pleading.

  And again, he falls into my trap—too little too late.

  “I want this to be over just as much as you do,” he says with a sweet sincerity that could melt all of Greenland. Lifting my chin so I have to meet his gaze, he takes the cello’s bow offered him by an elfin knight and holds it out to me. “A trade for the toy?”

  I flash both the knight and him an acidic glare, then take the bow and hand off the bear. The first time I ever held a bow, Alison was kneeling behind me, supporting a cello that was three times my size. She held my wrist to guide the bow across the strings. The instrument wailed beautifully, the most resonant and heartbreaking sound I’d ever heard. That was only a few days before the incident that sent Alison away to the asylum. Thanks to Morpheus.

  “Our plan will work,” Morpheus promises as he traces his knuckles down my temple, disregarding our escorts. He must sense the sadness in me, because he’s very gentle. “Chessie’s body wants to be reunited. You’re simply enabling that to happen. Think of yourself as the bridge.”

  I don’t answer. I give the bow my full attention. It’s wider and has a larger arch than mine at home. I turn the screw to increase the tension, then tap it once on the floor and meet Morpheus’s expectant gaze. “Ready.”

  My hands are sweating inside my gloves, and I’m barely able to ward off the tremors in every muscle. I grab Morpheus’s wrist before he turns the key in the latch. “My wish?”

  He pats his pants pocket, the residue of a hungry smile hovering over his lips. He’s remembering our kiss, but my mind flees in the opposite direction, desperate not to fall into the memory alongside him.

  “You’ll give it to me?” I ask.

  “I vow on my life-magic. When the time is right.”

  I move behind him. In response to Morpheus’s hand signal, the soldiers spread out in a V-formation on my left and right sides.

  The door creaks open, slicing the darkness with light. A humid stench slaps us, as if someone baked an oyster and sauerkraut casserole inside a sweaty sauna. The definition of frumious is vividly clear. Hand over my nose, I stifle a gag.

  As the opening widens, our shadows blot out the light in front of us. Still, I can see that the roof stretches almost as high as the one at Underland, and the room is twice the size of the massive skating bowl. A smattering of windows lines the top quarter of the domed ceiling to coax in a filmy silver haze, just enough light to differentiate between outlines and shadows but not to see anything clearly.

  I have a vague sense of the layout from Morpheus’s description. A thick chain binds the bandersnatch to the back wall. It’s long enough to allow him access to his pen and the radius of the stage that holds the crown and sword, but that’s the extent of his range. This allows the bandersnatch’s keepers to toss in food from the doorway while staying out of reach of his tongues. My eyes adjust so I can make out the shape of the stage. There’s a podium centered in the middle and a hole carved within it. A light is tucked inside the stem, allowing a beam of soft yellow to radiate up from the center into the glass case on top, a gentle beacon in the darkness. Inside, a red crown and a shimmery silver blade are nestled on a plush pillow. From where we stand, the weapon looks as small as the fillet knife Dad uses when he prepares fresh-caught fish; the blade and handle can’t be more than eight inches long. It’s more like a knife than a sword.

  A heavy chain drags on the floor somewhere in the pool of darkness behind the stage. Snuffles fill the air, then escalate to a low, spine-guttering growl.

  Dark dread knots in my throat. Morpheus steps farther into the room, urging me behind him. My mind screams for me to turn back and run. Instead, I force myself to follow. The guards and knights sidle along the walls, backs pressed to the stone, spears and swords drawn, for all the good that will do. A bandersnatch’s hide is indestructible. If the creature attacks, their only hope will be to wound his tongues and buy themselves time to escape.

  Morpheus and I creep within inches of the stage. Gripping the bow, I wait for my cue … heart pounding. The bandersnatch must hear my pulse, because he lashes out a tongue to investigate. The slimy, snakelike appendage slithers by, leaving a glistening streak of mucus in its wake.

  Morpheus’s wings fold around me, and together we sidestep the tongue as it backtracks. Knuckles pressed against Morpheus’s back, I feel his muscles straining.

  “Easy, Chess, old boy … easy,” he whispers. He’s wrestling more than fear. He’s wrestling the cat’s eager spirit. Chessie must sense hi
s other half and is struggling to get to it.

  We reach the stage, and Morpheus hoists me up in my awkward gown at the same instant the bandersnatch lumbers out of the darkness and into a splash of moonlight. One of the card guards along the wall gasps, and the creature staggers in his direction, as clumsy and erratic as a boxcar derailed from its train—except three times bigger.

  Tense, Morpheus edges us toward the glass box on the podium. The beast jerks its head in our direction, chain jangling. We freeze, hand in hand.

  Milky white eyes pass over me, unable to focus. Nothing could’ve prepared me for what I’m seeing: a rhino’s gray hide, pitted and bulging, head triangular and feline with fangs, like a reptilian saber-toothed tiger. The creature’s giant lizard legs bow outward, and its spiked tail whips from side to side as he cocks his head. One of the elfin knights makes a clucking sound for a diversion. Snarling, the bandersnatch turns in that direction, drool lagging like shoestrings from his muzzle.

  Morpheus eases his grip on my hand when we come to the glass case, and he hands me the teddy bear. He slips a key into a brass lock on the front, wriggling it to trigger the mechanism. On some kind of instinctual reflex, my wings flutter. I wince and meet Morpheus’s concerned gaze, but it’s too late.

  The movement snaps the bandersnatch’s attention back to me and he roars—his putrid breath rushing over us with all the heat, thunder, and wetness of a wicked summer storm. No longer under the protection of Morpheus’s wings, I scream in response, almost turning my lungs inside out.

  Morpheus shoves me behind him as three tongues lunge toward us. At the ends of each appendage, a snakelike face opens toothless jaws and hisses. They’re like giant eels, though not nearly as peaceful and charming as my pets at home. Every drop of saliva evaporates from my mouth as one tongue comes within inches of Morpheus’s face. He ducks, but the tongues snap back, winding around his ankles and waist. They topple him to his knees and drag him to the edge of the stage.

  “Morpheus!”

  I want to believe I’m only worried for my wish. But seeing him captured awakens that child who once loved him. Racked with terror, she pushes her way out of the recesses of my heart, casts off the cello’s bow, then launches me forward to reach for him.