by Lani Lenore
3
In the swirling dark, the invisible monsters began to gather around the girl who was their prey. One’s name was Dread, and it gnawed on the girl’s heart. One was called Anger, and it set her blood on fire. Another creature, Fear, sucked the air from her lungs spitefully each time she took a breath. The air was cold here, Olivia was alone in this rancid place, and she had finally realized that no one was coming for her.
How long had she been here, belted to this device with the scissors so close and never knowing when they would snap? Surely she didn’t have much more time to get out of this. She’d been expecting a swift rescue by her hero, Armand, but nothing had happened. Could her dream have been correct? Could her prince have been so involved with another woman that he’d failed to even notice that she was missing? Somehow, through the clutter of her thoughts, that notion seemed realistic to Olivia.
The girl sat quietly in the dim place where she could only see the gleam of the blades on either side of her neck. She could almost feel the cold rolling off them even though they did not touch her. Her lip quivered slightly and she frowned. She shifted a bit in her restraints and thought that perhaps she had been completely wrong about everything.
Olivia had been the Lady Sovereign, and yet now that she was apart from her advisors and protectors, she could not help thinking that she should have listened to Anne.
Anne–simpleton Anne. She’d begged Olivia to come with her so that they could find a way out of this, but the girl had shunned her. Anne had been the smart one all along. Olivia’s eyes had finally opened–now too late–and she suddenly knew that Armand never could have saved her. There was only one person who had that power.
“Anne,” Olivia uttered, her voice coming out as a helpless whimper. There was no reply from within the cold darkness.
The girl took in a breath and closed her eyes, beginning to concentrate as if she could wish herself out of this predicament.
After her silence, she let out her breath quite suddenly–just as her fantasy betrayed her fully and the scissor mechanism clamped shut with a terrible snip.
4
Armand did not know where to look to find either the doll Clara or the misfit toy, but he had an idea of where to start. The place he had seen them both was in Olivia’s bedroom, and by going there, he might not only find them, but he would be able to assure that Olivia was alright–and perhaps even have a safe place to leave Anne when he had to part from her.
You’re getting too far ahead of yourself, Armand, his self insisted. Yes. His self was right. He was being much too hasty.
He sent a glance back at the woman traveling along behind him, seeing that she didn’t even notice him looking at her. She was perhaps contemplating the very difficult matter in her other life? Or perhaps she was trying to decide how she would console herself after letting him go. There was no way to know; he would not ask. There was too much on his mind already.
A soft noise before them led Armand to turn and put a hand on his weapon, but when he’d seen what was there, his brief anxiety became wonderment. Anne peered past him to see what had stopped him, focusing then on the small figure that stood still and silent before them in the faint shaft.
The doll seemed just as surprised to see them as they were to see her. Clara looked on at Anne for a moment, but her face did not lighten. She simply observed the woman impassively before directing a distasteful gaze toward Armand.
“You weren’t too hard to find after all,” she said hatefully in her perfect English voice.
“You were looking?” Armand asked her.
The child stared into his hollow eyes.
“Yes,” she admitted, not bothering to feign sweetness.
“What a coincidence,” he said flatly. “I was searching for you as well.”
Behind him, Anne watched the exchange quietly.
“And why do you find yourself looking for me?” the child inquired. She had not moved any closer since finding them.
“An inquiry. And your reason for seeking me?”
“He has sent me to retrieve you.”
The statement was not surprising to Armand. Anne, however, was quite baffled. The rat was so anxious for their fight? It didn’t make sense.
“Why does he wish to confront me at all? Why not run as a coward, just as he’s been doing for so many years?” Armand asked, remaining firm in her presence.
Clara hesitated a moment before replying. “He has grown tired of allowing you to live. Now, your inquiry of me?”
“Surely your master does not think that I am so unknowing–to not understand that he is looking through your eyes at me this very moment, feeding you these words you speak,” Armand said, staring at her–staring at his enemy. “I want him to release the woman and the girl from their current state. I will gladly go to him then.”
Clara looked a bit troubled at the notion, silently listening as her master communicated with her inside her mind. Armand’s stare did not falter, and Anne did not lose her mixed look of anticipation and confusion. Finally, the child spoke.
“He gives you his word that after you stand before him, he will deliver the humans.”
“Am I to trust that?” the nutcracker asked with a short laugh. “Once I have secured them, I want it done. Then I will do as he likes.”
There was silence a moment before a cruel, sadistic smile crossed Clara’s painted lips.
“He could just kill them now if you please,” she conveyed.
What?
As if the words were a curse, Anne’s brow furrowed, but it wasn’t long before the pain hit her deep within. Her lungs seemed to shrink so that she could not gather breath. Her heart began to beat at an unworldly pace. Her blood grew hot and her vision turned to a red blur. She lost control of her legs and fell to the floor.
Armand managed to catch her before she hit completely, but that did not stop her convulsions. She struggled for breath, taking it in through short gasps. That was all she could manage. Sweat appeared quickly, and Armand could do nothing but watch her dying before his eyes.
“No, don’t do this.”
Clara watched with pleasure that she’d never truly learned until she’d met Edge. Perhaps, in Augustus’s mind, the misfit had taught the girl one good thing.
“My master admits he was unable to do this before, for the sake of weakness and because he needed them alive for the ritual, but he has, in fact, lost patience with the humans. They have caused him nothing but trouble, and since he has regained strength in another fashion, he has no further need for either of them.”
“Stop!” Armand commanded with desperation, watching Anne struggle, unable to help her.
Clara laughed at his fear. “You are still so very weak, Armand!”
“If she dies, I will burn this place to the ground!” the nutcracker roared, leaving Anne’s side to rush over and grip up the child doll by her thick hair. She squealed in pain as her feet lifted off the floor. “Would you be left with nothing and lose your entire kingdom?”
Armand spoke into Clara as if she was nothing but an instrument. Augustus heard those words. There was not much considering to be done.
The pain lifted from Anne as suddenly as it had come, and she took several gasping breaths until she felt relief that could have been nothing but a miracle. Armand released Clara and moved back to her, cradling her gently until she seemed alright again.
The doll stood away indignantly, greatly feeling the need to dart off into a corner to cry for her mistreatment, but her master urged her to stay with the nutcracker demon. He gave her commands.
“The Master will agree to comply with your request,” Clara conveyed, angry for the rough handling she’d received, “but this will be on his terms, and you will simply have to trust him. You have no other choice, for he is in control of this world. The woman will part from you and secure herself in an area large enough for her to become her rightful size. You are to come with me and not leave out of my sight. When you reach him, he will
remove the curse and let the woman go. The Lady, on her throne, will also be released.”
Armand thought it over a moment; then looked down into Anne’s eyes. She seemed to comprehend it all, even after her sudden brush with death. Her eyes asked him the question. What should they do?
Armand searched his mind for any way out of this. He could, of course, refuse Augustus’s proposal, but if he did, the rat would surely kill Anne on the spot. If he went along with this request, they stood a chance of actually having Augustus keep his word of releasing her, which, despite Armand’s hatred for him, the nutcracker believed he would do.
“I believe it is the only option we have,” Armand said finally with a bit of regret. “I’ll go to him. I’ll make something happen for you.”
“And if not?” the woman asked, gripping his shoulder.
“Then we will be no worse off than we were.”
“Except that you are dead.”
“And my being alive would not save you,” he countered.
She stared at him a moment in shocked silence, but finally her gaze had to relent. She could not argue against this.
“How do we know that he won’t simply kill me once you’re out of sight?”
Armand opened his mouth to stifle her concerns, but before he had the opportunity, the doll behind him spoke up. She had moved closer and had been listening.
“My master may not have much when it comes to honor, but like any good ruler, he is reasonable,” Clara said. “Certainly you know that, nutcracker.”
Armand gripped Anne’s arms and helped her to her feet, holding her until she was steady.
“I agree with her,” he said. “The rat will keep his word.”
For her sake, he hoped he was telling her the truth.
5
Anne bit her lip, not because she was worried about the rat’s words–or scoffing at the idea that living was anything more than a luxury at this point–but because this was finally the time. This was goodbye. She touched the side of Armand’s face, memorizing the feel and the look of it–bloodstains and all.
“I’m troubled over it,” she said, “but I suppose my choice on a very short list of options is that I trust you to make things right for me. And for yourself. You were unselfish for me, so now I must be unselfish for you. You should go and face your enemy.”
Armand managed a short, sad smile.
“I’ll leave this with you.”
The nutcracker took hold of Brooke’s arm that was holding fast to his hand, but without much urging, it released its grip. Armand then took up Anne’s hand and placed Brooke’s atop it, as if performing some odd marriage ceremony. Anne looked on skeptically, but when the fingers of Brooke’s hand entwined with hers on their own, she gasped as a shock ran through her. The arm was conscious?
“If you have trouble, he will protect you,” Armand said.
Anne may not have looked away from the arm save for Armand’s strange wording. He will protect you. Armand had acknowledged Brooke as something more than a simple toy? The woman felt happy for the nutcracker’s inner growth. She could feel tears behind her eyes.
She clenched Brooke’s arm that was aligned with her own, hardly aware she was doing so as she looked at Armand. The former prince stood away from her, he did not touch her, and after everything, there was only one thing left in his mouth.
“I love you, Anne,” he said, “and other than you and my daughter, I’ve only loved one other thing in my life, and that was myself.”
She listened, savoring these words that were surely their last.
“I wasted my life. Don’t do the same.”
She gave a short nod of understanding for what he was trying to tell her. She did not bid him safety or a swift return. She did not hug or kiss him goodbye. If she did, she would not want to pry herself away. Only one thing was appropriate now; only one thing.
“Kill him,” she said with strong emotion in her voice. He could tell by her tone and the look of her eyes that she meant it passionately.
“I will,” he promised her. He meant his words as well.
Armand turned from her then, and Clara sent one last look at Anne before she turned away and began to lead the nutcracker to meet her master. Anne only stood there a few moments, watching him go, unable to move. Eventually, she likewise turned and went her own way. All that was left was for the two of them to follow their own paths.
Throughout the house, a single clock chime was heard.
Chapter Thirty–Six: An Old Game
1
Having completed the first part of her mission, Clara led the nutcracker down into the deepest part of the house and on toward his fate. The negotiations had gone well, and soon Anne would be cast out of this kingdom. All of that was fine with Clara. She had other things on her mind now.
The child doll knew–even before her master had told her–that it was not wise to mention that the Lady Sovereign had been in the Rat King’s custody, that trap had snapped just a short while before. Of course, the girl posing as the Lady would have been dead, but Armand did not need to know that. He was doing well to think she was safe on her throne.
Clara thought about the nutcracker demon as he followed her with the heavy wooden footsteps, and the more she thought, the more strongly she felt her feelings of distaste until they grew together into a huge, terrible mass that could only be described as one thing. Hatred. She could not hold it in. It would eat away at her like an insect if she could not expel it.
The doll halted along the path abruptly and turned around, twisting her attractive porcelain face upward. The one behind her stopped as well. It was by her own admittance that Clara stopped; not her master’s. She had something very important to say.
She looked the nutcracker firmly in the face. He stared back at her impassively.
“I hate you,” she told him seriously.
There was silence for a few moments. Warm air hung about them in the shafts. The nutcracker looked down on her from his superior height, his colorless hair hanging around his face and reminding Clara of an old wizard she had seen illustrated in a book once. But of course, Armand was nothing like that. His solid expression did not budge.
“I don’t blame you.”
She gasped shortly at his response, unable to comprehend it. Then again, neither did she truly understand her hate for him, even though she was certain of otherwise. Her eyes of glass searched his face for a lie. She found nothing.
“You probably don’t even understand why you hate me. But, it’s right. You should hate me.”
The doll just stared at him a moment from within her glass head. Now what was this she felt? Affection? No, certainly not. Sympathy, perhaps? She shook the feeling away, remembering her anger.
“I do know why!” she cried. “I know that you’re terrible!”
“I’m sure those thoughts were embedded within you from your birth. Embedded by your master when he created you–to take her place.”
His voice was unrelenting. The child clamped her hands over her ears.
“No!” Clara protested loudly. She would not listen to this demon and his lies. She would not fall for his tricks!
“It’s alright,” he assured her. “I don’t deserve forgiveness.”
There was a soft quality in his voice with those words. It made the girl feel very uncertain. Why was she passing away from being so harsh and cold toward him? She did not understand this at all. Without another word, the pretty doll spun on her heels with a short ‘hmph’ and started off in the direction of the lair where the Rat King awaited his enemy.
2
Armand watched her shortly before falling in behind her. He reminded himself that this doll was not his little daughter–not anymore. It was her voice that told him for certain. This young doll had been awakened in this country; therefore she spoke its language. This was not his Clara’s homeland.
Still, looking at her familiar face made it hard on him, but he felt very little when she spoke. A doll hated hi
m; a little mockery. He was done with her now, but he felt better. His anger had deepened a bit more.
Armand did not smile, or laugh, or grind his teeth, but great emotions were surging within him. He could not wait until they were unleashed.
3
Anne wished she could hum a short, soothing tune to calm herself and surround her body in something other than dead air and fear. At this time, however, no songs came to mind.
Since she had left Armand–Armand!–and headed off through the shafts with no specific aim, she had not ceased to clutch Brooke’s arm that had attached itself to hers. She had gripped it so tightly that her hand had begun to sweat against it, and she could not feel her fingers. This arm of a toy that she had once cared for–no, he was real–gave her a small bit of comfort now that she was alone and lost, thinking that with every step she might feel the very same as when the Rat King had attempted to kill her from afar. Perhaps he would not keep the promise he had made of setting her free. She carried that weighty thought with her. She clenched the arm.
“I thought you were gone completely. He didn’t tell me you weren’t.”
She spoke to the arm as if Brooke could hear her, even though she must have known he could not. This was solely for her own benefit. She did not consider how it did not help her sanity.
“I watched them tear you apart, but you didn’t give up, did you? That’s it, isn’t it? Under this curse, you can’t die because you’re not really… You can’t die unless you let go.”
Anne thought about that notion a moment, recalling all that Brooke had gone through. And for what? For her?
“You’re very brave.”
The woman knew that she was nothing like he was. They had both faced many things, but she had done so with a coward’s heart. Brooke had given no thought to consequence. Was he foolish for it? Was bravery equivalent to stupidity, even amongst toys? Or was she the fool?
“I’m sorry. I know I am acting silly. You can’t hear me, of course. I’m feeling a bit lonely just now…”
