The Lost Codex

by Lyons, Heather

  The Red King’s counterpart, a woman with flaming red hair twisted into her ruby laden crown, claps politely. Ringed around her neck is a scarlet Elizabethan collar so stiff, I’m positive it is a weapon in its own right. “Brazen you may be, you also wish for death.” And I was right to suspect her collar, because she whips out several shuriken from hidden pockets and readies them.

  I’m on my feet, gun in hand. Jace is out of his chair, too, Alice’s vorpal blade in his fist. And most surprising of all, the White Queen lurches out of her throne, feathers flying everywhere as she clutches a coiled, white whip.

  Jace’s counterpart purrs, “You would be the prettiest doll of my collection, little fox. I would comb your hair every night. Put you in a new dress every day.”

  The Red Queen’s laugh is best described as deranged. “Diamonds has long been your dream doll, has she not? I would let you have her if you just step aside. I would not even ask for much, perhaps just a foot for my bandersnatches.”

  The feathers snow about her as the White Queen drifts closer toward the center of the room. “As much as I have dreamed of the little bird becoming part of my collection, I am afraid today, I must resist. I have entered into an alliance, you see. If you attack Diamonds, you attack both Whites. Do you dare to test whether you can withstand us both? We Whites are very good at foxhunts, my sweet kit. I do so love foxes. They are so soft, so wickedly, cleverly soft once I get my hands on them.” The whip cracks, knocking one of the ruby shuriken out of the Red Queen’s hands. “And Diamonds, as nasty as a little bird as she may be, is so, so good with her knives. She could cut me a lovely pelt as a thank you.”

  The Red Queen, grinning, walks backward, her focus on the White Queen the entire time. When she reaches the Red King, she extends her bleeding hand . . . and then he sucks on it. Jace pays the grotesque scene no attention as he sits back down. Alice merely watches with amusement. The other monarch, who must be the King of Hearts, is too busy allowing one of his attendants to jerk him off in front of everyone to notice the chaos.

  Holy shit, these people are mad as the proverbial hatters, aren’t they?

  “I welcome the chase,” the Red Queen sing-songs. “For when you fail, my bandersnatches will dine on your fair flesh for days. And your blood will be such a lovely red. Perhaps I’ll keep some in my rooms, to use as blush on special occasions.”

  I sit back down, but do not put away my gun. Instead, I slide it into the space between my leg and chair. Best to keep it close. These people clearly do not play by any rules I’m used to.

  “Promises, promises.” The White Queen coils the whip even as the Red Queen bounces her remaining shuriken in a hand. “Name the date, little fox, and we shall have our hunt.”

  “That hunt must wait,” Alice interrupts, “for we have other prey to ferret out first.”

  The other queens pause only a second before sitting back down as if nothing had happened. The White Queen resumes sewing up her animal. The Red Queen picks up a fan covered with naked bodies—both human and animal—and proceeds to cool herself in a leisurely manner, blood dripping down her hand and onto her dress.

  Nearby, the Red King stares longingly at the sight.

  “Ah, yes,” the Red Queen sighs. “There are some charges you wish to bring about concerning Hearts?”

  The King of Hearts lifts his head, stilling his attendant. He is effeminate, beautiful, even, his face lean, his hair fair. From what I can tell, there is little muscular definition beneath his tightly laced black and red tunic and pants, reminding me much more of someone used to pleasure rather than work. Ruby hearts glitter upon each tip of his crown. “Are we talking about my counterpart? I want to go on record right now that I have nothing to do with my wife’s shenanigans.”

  “Shenanigans?” Jace inquires tightly, and when I look over at him, his eyes are more enflamed than colorless. I’d seen him look such a way just once before, when I told him about Alice’s boojum infestation. “Because of your wife, Nobbytown and its residents are altered.” He grips the arms of his throne as he leans forward. “Nobbytown is not, and never has been, part of the Hearts’ purview. It belongs to White and Diamonds, and we do not take kindly to anyone tainting our people.”

  The King of Hearts pushes the attendant to the floor. “Now, you have no proof—”

  “Ah-ah-ah!” the White Queen sings. She holds up the animal she’d been sewing, shaking it out. The King of Heart blanches. I want to, too, when I finally get a look at its shark-like teeth. “Such a sweet little rath.” She snuggles the hideous turtle-pig-shark closer. “I always yearned for a whole pack of raths of my own, but they don’t thrive in White territory—or, alas, Diamonds.” Her pert nose wrinkles. “Or Red.” She brightens. “Just Hearts! And there are so, so many raths in Nobbytown, all bearing these lovely heart brands your wife does so enjoy putting on her possessions.” She pauses, nuzzling the rath. “Tell me, little thoroughbred, where did she brand you? I have always been curious. It is on your wee-willy?”

  Both she and the Red Queen chortle, as if they weren’t threatening one another minutes before.

  “I bet it is,” the Red King drawls. “Right on the very end.”

  “Perhaps we ought to ask the Hatter,” Alice offers slyly, and even the White King chuckles.

  I am actually shocked that the A.D. hasn’t cracked a joke about this yet. Somebody must be stepping on his foot.

  Suddenly, the King of Hearts stands up and orders his attendant to unlace his trousers. The Red Queen claps her hands in delight. The White Queen smiles beatifically as she sings an entirely nonsensical song about jam. I glance over at Alice and am relieved when I find her, the Alice I know and love, peeking out from beneath the madness.

  Once the King of Heart’s pants are unlaced, he turns around and allows them to fall to the floor. On both buttocks are bright pink-scarred hearts; inside both are the letter M.

  “Oh, that’s no fun.” The Red King sighs. “No fun at all.”

  As his attendant laces the trousers back up, Alice says, “I have a witness, lest anyone dare to question the White Queen’s proof?” None of the other monarchs say anything. She tries again, “Say the word, and I will have the villain brought forth to swear of an alliance between Hearts and foreigners, in efforts to overthrow White and Diamonds citizens.”

  The Red King yawns.

  “Then you accept the first charge?” When none answer, Alice continues, “The second charge I bring against the Queen of Hearts to the council is the use of a boojum.”

  Save Jace, the rest of the monarchs and attendants, the King of Hearts included, blanch.

  “I second the charge,” Jace says. “My Grand Advisor and I assisted the Prince of Adámas in extracting the boojum. The perpetrator confessed to receiving it, alongside instructions, from the Queen of Hearts.”

  “Treason,” the White Queen hisses. The Red Queen joins in, and soon, the audience is hissing the same word over and over, a room full of incensed snakes.

  “I did not know,” the King of Heart cries above the din. “I am a kept man! She does not tell me anything!”

  Jesus.

  “The use of a boojum carries a death sentence!” the Red King roars. “No one, not monarch, not Sheep, not Walrus, not Rabbit, may use snarks against the living!”

  This is getting us nowhere. I know I’m supposed to pretend to be a kept man, too, at least here in Wonderland, but we don’t have time for this bag of insanity. I lift my voice and shout, “Everybody, shut the hell up already!”

  And I’ll be damned, they do.

  The Red Queen swivels her dark-brown eyes toward me. “I must say, Diamonds. Your prince is utterly delicious. No wonder you are bearing the loss of White so gracefully. Too bad White is still moping about, his heart breaking near daily.” The tip of a pink tongue touches the corner of her mouth. “Perhaps I will have a taste of your prince once this mess is all sorted out. I imagine he is. . .” She lowers her gaze. “Well.”

  Alice actua
lly laughs at this before baring her teeth. “I would like to see you try.”

  “Sharp, sharp knives,” coos the White Queen. She props the rath up on her lap, making it dance.

  Was Alice like this, like them, when she lived here full-time? When she was mad and addicted to both food and drink? There have been times when I’ve interacted with Jace and I’ve found him unnerving, and his people, too, like their insanity bubbles just beneath the surface, but he’s always come off as decidedly more rational than anything else. But is that because of the influence he and Alice have on one another? Are they the only sane monarchs in Wonderland?

  Or are they, when fully submersed in this world, just like the rest of them?

  It’s enough to make my skin crawl, and as I know that Grymsdyke is with the soldiers half a mile away, it’s not because a Spider is traveling across me. “We have reason to believe the Queen of Hearts is hiding in the Venae Cavae Mountains directly behind Cor Castle with a group of dangerous psychopaths who have an agenda that we all need to be worried about. So, can you all just focus right now, so we can figure out what we’re going to do about it?”

  The King of Hearts wobbles to his feet, even as he grips the arms of his throne, as if a ghost was peeling him away. “You are the Prince of Adámas.”

  An attendant drops a red grape into the Red King’s mouth. He mutters, mouth full, “The Diamonds Prince was announced, old chap.”

  The King of Hearts ogles at me—hard. Long. Fearfully. “What is your name?”

  Alice’s answer is swift. “The prince is of my Court. You are not owed such a privilege.”

  The king sways, his gaze so intense I almost worry he’s stripped me bare—not sexually, but in a much more clinical way. He whispers, “F-finn. Is your name Finn?”

  Both Alice and Jace straighten in their thrones, grappling toward weapons. Behind me, rustling indicates Brom and Victor, possibly the A.D., too, have moved closer.

  The King of Hearts staggers toward the middle of the room. Both White monarchs, plus Alice, launch to their feet. I’m up, too, my gun tight in my fist.

  Does the Queen of Hearts think to sic her husband on Alice?

  I cock my gun. “Don’t come any closer.”

  “She told me you’d come. She—she said—” His neck bobs as he swallows. A flood of noisy tears track down his cheeks. Every muscle is taut yet quivering. “I thought it a dream, I hadn’t seen her in. . .” He swallows. Whispers, “Help me.”

  Suddenly, he whips out a dagger, slashing it across his throat. Shouts and cries fill the room as he slumps to the floor, gurgling. An extremely ugly, large-headed woman wearing a ridiculous headdress flings herself at the king, attempting to stem the gushing blood flow with her skirts.

  What. The. Hell?!

  Victor and Brom rush out from behind us, as do Jack and Mary. The Red monarchs order the crowd back even as they, too, converge on the twitching body. Alice pushes me behind her—her eyes are wild, scared even. “Is she here?” she shouts about the chaos. “Is the Queen of Hearts here?”

  If there’s an answer, I can’t hear it. Sobs and wailing override anything else. The King of Hearts is dead. The King of Hearts slit his own throat!

  Victor makes his way to the body, but it’s clear he’s too late.

  Alice brandishes the jeweled dagger. “If you are here, Hearts, come out and face me!” She grips my arm, scanning the room.

  The White Queen wanders closer to the King of Hearts. “Oh, the poor, poor thoroughbred. His life was short, yet beautiful. He ran fast but couldn’t make it to the finish line. He’ll make a fine addition to my collection. I will stitch his neck up in just a way the line will be invisible.”

  The ugly woman clutches the king’s newly stilled body close to her large bosom. “A Heart is a Heart, even in death! His Majesty will be interned with all of the other great Heart monarchs.”

  The White Queen sneers. “Be grateful you are too hideous to join my collection, Duchess.”

  “Any guesses on who his successor will be?” the Red King asks, as if it hadn’t been only mere minutes since the King of Hearts took his last breath. “Can’t think of any standouts that come to mind.”

  The Red Queen jabs the White Queen with her scepter. “Aren’t you dallying with someone in the Hearts Court?”

  “We should leave,” Jace is saying to Alice. “I do not have a good feeling about any of this.”

  The Cheshire-Cat growls. “Nor should you.” He rears back, hopping. “It cannot be.”

  A hush envelops the room seconds before a weight settles upon my head. Those from the Hearts contingency, formerly weeping uncontrollably, dry their faces and smile.

  “I’ll be a Jabberwocky’s arsehole,” the Red King murmurs.

  I reach up and feel more than the Adámas crown. There is thick, embellished metal, and, as I drag my fingers up a spire, jeweled hearts.

  I turn to Alice, stunned. Her cheeks have lost color; her attention is riveted on the top of my head. Nearby, Jace shares a similar expression, as does everyone else I know.

  Because I’m Wonderland’s newest crowned King of Hearts—and the newest counterpart of the woman I love’s greatest enemy.

  NO.

  There is no way in hell that I am the King of fucking Hearts.

  No. Way. In. Hell.

  I rip the damn crown off my head and toss it on the floor, uncaring that it’s undoubtedly a priceless Wonderlandian antique and what I’ve done is probably some kind of treason.

  Alice watches the crown bounce on the parquet, from a black square to a white one, as if it’s an asp, ready to strike at any moment. Bouncing transitions to rolling before it clatters home a few feet away from the newly deceased king.

  “This has got to be some kind of sick joke,” I tell her. “A mistake.”

  She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even look at me, just keeps staring at the damn piece of gold.

  “Wonderland does not make mistakes.” The Red Queen is practically foaming at the mouth, she is so gleeful. “If the crown chose you, then you are its owner and co-ruler of its Court.”

  Jace focuses on Alice, rather than me when he talks. “Wonderlandian laws of monarchy are indisputable. The only way to abdicate is,” his attention slides over to the man in the Duchess’ arms, “death, be it natural or unnatural.”

  The White King’s body is taut as any bowstring, ready to fire as he tells me this.

  “Whether the crown sits on your head, on the floor, in a musty, dusty, closet, or in the Pool of Tears, little lion,” the White Queen says, “you are the King of Hearts.”

  I scoff. “I’m not even a Wonderlander.”

  “Neither,” says the Red King, “is our darling Queen of Diamonds. And yet a crown chose her, and she is Queen until she dies—even if she is forever exiled.”

  Exiled.

  Shit.

  Alice is still, too still, her face so pale, the line of her mouth so grim. She was banished from Wonderland because of a prophecy, one that insisted the Courts were unbalanced, and that if the decks were to shuffle, a great calamity would devastate the land. She didn’t have a counterpart, and she was involved with someone from a different Court. It’s why she left, why she couldn’t be with the White King, even though they deeply loved one another and had been together nearly a decade. She willingly left, because she believed it the right thing to do. She left, and it nearly broke her, but she did it anyway and would do it again without a second thought.

  And now . . . she—they—believe I am the King of Hearts. The Courts are still unbalanced with her here. And if she and I stay together. . .

  No. No way. This is not my story.

  I grab her hands in mine. Ask Jace, ask anyone who will listen, “Clear the room.”

  I don’t bother to wait and see what happens. Instead, I cut the space between Alice and me. Will her to forget the crown and instead see my face, my heart. I say, “We will find a way to fix this.”

  She seals herself into da
rkness, away from reality. Her breaths are unsteady, and each one splinters another crack across my heart. “There is no way. The prophecy dictating my exile provides no loopholes.” Much more quietly. “We—the White King and I searched for months. There was no stone we left unturned. He has since continued to search to no avail.”

  Huh. I didn’t know that.

  Nevertheless, I want to tell her that I choose her, that I will always choose her, that I know in my heart this is a mistake, that I am no king, especially the King of Hearts, but I also know Alice, as she should, will choose Wonderland.

  My destiny is and always will be with the Collectors’ Society.

  Has she made up her mind to give up so easily? Just . . . just like that, with a crown settling on my head? “This is a mistake. I know it is. I can feel it in my bones.” I wish I could elaborate better than that, but how can a deep-settled, inherent knowledge be described anyway else? “This is not who I am supposed to be. I am not the King of Hearts. I am Brom’s heir. I’ve always known that I’ve been groomed to take over the Society when he retires. So, here, in Wonderland, I am only one thing, and that’s the Prince of Adámas. And that only comes from your love and nothing else.”

  Before me, Alice’s strength, her glorious, wonderful, admirable strength, crumbles into fine powder. “Wonderland is never wrong.”

  It’s a sucker punch to the gut, and then one to the chin, close to a K.O. if there ever was one.

  It’s then that I remember the defensive woman who joined the Society nearly a year before, the one who kept me and everyone else at arm’s length. The one who had lost her whole world, her assumed destiny, her identity as a queen. She lost Jace, thanks to this fucking prophecy. There’s no question she now believes that, within the last quarter hour, she’s lost me, too. She’s gone through this before, and she is instinctively reverting to protection mode.

  I can’t blame her, even if what she’s doing is unnecessary.

  I hold on tighter. I won’t let go. “It is this time. I’m not supposed to be the King of Hearts, Alice.”