Jubjub birds flew in at regular intervals with updates from the battles raging across Wonderland. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear that word has gotten out about my presence yet. The only soldiers outside of the White King’s to see me are either dead or in the barracks at this camp, still hopped up on Mindly pills.
“I think,” Ferz Eponi says at dinner, “we must leave tonight rather than in the morning.”
He is holding a note from one of the White Queen’s Ferzes. She has announced a visit in three days’ time to discuss a situation that she has apparently discovered concerning the Hearts.
This does not please the White King one bit. He leans back in his chair, the front legs lifting off the ground, and stares up at the canvas ceiling above us for many long seconds. “Send word that preparations will be made to accommodate Her Majesty and her entourage.”
“How long has it been since you last saw your wife?” Mary asks with mock innocence.
The King’s chair clatters back to the ground in surprise. Mary’s obviously digging for information—that, or she’s trying to rouse Victor’s jealousies despite their recent reconciliation. Either way, I am not pleased.
“Their Royal Highnesses of the White Court are not married.” Ferz Epona’s voice is strained. “None of the current monarchs in Wonderland are.”
This is a surprise to the Society members sitting at the table.
None of this fazes Mary, though. She’s not embarrassed by the gaffe one bit. “I suppose I just assumed. Most monarchs are, you know. At least where I come from.”
“Wonderlandian politics are complicated,” Ferz Eponi explains, “and often contentious. Many of our monarchs do not find it to suit their purposes to join into such a restrictive union, although there are certainly those in the past who have done so. Most of the Courts are built upon alliances and shared goals rather than romantic entanglements. Emotions often muddy decisions.” And then his face darkens into a mottled red as his eyes surreptitiously flit between me and the White King. He knows he’s taken it a step too far.
Mary will not let the subject go, though. “Do monarchs get to decide who they rule with?”
“No,” the White King says flatly. “That is not a choice we are afforded.”
It was the most painful of lessons for us to learn.
“It seems as if you and Alice have a decent alliance, though,” Mary adds. Her fingers tap against the table as she eases her attention from the King to me and back again. “Clearly, you are allowed to build alliances outside of your Court, as well, correct?”
Both of the Ferzes cough, one right after another. Awkwardness blooms right before our very eyes. Several seconds pass before the White King says, his voice thankfully steady as ever, “It is uncommon, but it does happen.”
What he means by uncommon is that we are the first to ever do so—and it has gone horribly, horribly wrong.
The King sets down his napkin. “I believe Ferz Eponi is right. If you are feeling strong enough to ride, we shall begin our travel to the tulgey woods by moonlight. That will give us ample time for you to retrieve your crown and depart Wonderland before the White Queen arrives.”
Never one to accept a gentle hint, Mary presses the issue once more. “Wouldn’t you want to visit with the White Queen, Alice?”
I nearly choke on the tiny sip of water I’ve just allowed myself. Finn smacks me on the back. “Easy, tiger. It’s a marathon, not a race.”
Heat steals up my neck. I tell Mary, whose knowing, small smile tempts unkind words from my tongue, “I think it best I forgo such a visit.”
The Ferzes and Nightrider stand up. The commander for the White King’s army bows; hilariously, his horn comes within inches of Mary’s head. She jerks back, startled. “I shall go prepare for your journey, sire. I expect you will be able to leave within the hour.” The Unicorn will stay behind in his liege lord’s stead once more.
“Thank you.” The King also stands up. “Please excuse me.”
When they leave, Mary feigns bewilderment. “What did I say?”
“Sometimes,” Victor mutters, “you can be right bitch, Mary.”
She pops a tiny piece of dried meat into her mouth, unbothered. But I’m given an apologetic glance as I finish drinking my water. And then, as we step away from the table, she whispers, “It’s important to learn how the game is played, and who all the players are, isn’t it?”
It’s a lousy apology, but I suppose it will have to do.
An hour later, bundled in warm clothes padded with tove fur to lessen the sting of night air, we leave the camp. I’m exhausted, painfully so, but I refuse to give myself over to sleep. We will be traveling through enemy territory, and while we have Ferz Epona, Sir Halwyn, and a handful of pikemen, including the Five of Diamonds, at our sides, we must remain alert at all times.
Our pacing is brutal. We stop to water the horses every hour and a half along a burbling river whose stream changes direction haphazardly and often depending on the day of the week. The river winds in and out of the path we’re taking, but for the most part, our pace does not falter. Cannon fire pepper the distance, alongside screams and shouts, and it’s enough to set everyone’s nerves on edge. Battles, Sir Halwyn tells me as we pass a site littered with broken weapons, rusting cannons, and horse skeletons, spring up nowadays like wildfires after a lightning storm. “Can’t throw a hedgehog and not hit one, it seems.”
Ahead of us, I’m amused to find Victor attempting to make small talk with the Five of Diamonds. The pikeman doesn’t know what to do with the attention, though, and spends half his time giggling and the rest trying his best to appear stern. In the end, Victor is insulted enough to move away.
“Where are all the animals?” Finn asks once dawn breaks. “We’re in the woods. Doesn’t Wonderland have animals—I mean, outside of the ones in the military and all?”
“We do, good sir,” Sir Halwyn says. “But many have fled to the outermost boundaries.” He sighs as he pans the quiet forest surrounding us. “Our great country has seen better days. That’s the honest truth if there ever was one.”
“Are they similar to those from home?” Finn asks me.
“You mean, outside of the ones wearing clothes who talk?”
“What do you mean? Those kind are all over New York—or haven’t you noticed?” His grin makes my knees tingle. Thank goodness I’m already seated.
I rub my cheek on the tove coat I’ve borrowed from the Ferz. It’s small yet ginormous, as her body is more like an egg than mine, but it’s better than nothing. “There are some of those that do not talk which are similar. And then some look like nothing you’ve ever seen before.”
“It’s different here than I thought it would be,” he admits.
“How so?”
“It mostly looks . . . normal, I guess. There are some things that are crazy, like how the trees don’t have green leaves and that the sky changes color throughout the day, but, Alice. I’m kind of disappointed.”
My laughter is like a shot in the morning air. “Disappointed!” But that addictive grin of his tells me he’s only teasing.
We pause briefly for a mid-morning meal before riding again. An hour or so after our break, the White King raises his hand. All our horses still. Voices, not too far away, drift through the leaves.
Swords are drawn, pikes are readied. The horses dance quietly in place, just as jittery as their riders. Less than a minute later, branches crackle. Somebody yells out, “White knights!”
Less than a dozen Red soldiers charge from the trees. The battle is swift yet ruthless. Their crimson, curved blades are nothing to our pikes.
None of us had to get off our horses during the melee.
There is no time to deal properly with the dead. Bodies are stacked just under the tree line, and the soft songs for safe travels into the journeylands are offered. Less than forty minutes after we’d stopped, we’re on our way again.
We push harder come evening. There is no stopping for a meal
break, not when a scout sent ahead reports back that there are pockets of Red soldiers littering the way. Luckily, there are no further ambushes, no more chances for any lives to be stolen.
Shortly after midnight, we reach the edge of the tulgey woods. It is dark as we first enter, with precious little light from the moon and stars above, but then, that’s always been part of the allure. The tulgey trees are more twisted than others found in Wonderland—their silvery-golden bodies contort into bizarre yet oddly beautiful shapes reaching toward a sky’s light that rarely touches them. Dark-purple, velvety mottled leaves that sparkle sweep against us like gentle hands leading the way. And once we push farther into the woods, lamplight flowers push up through the dead litter of the forest, illuminating our path home.
Our scout reports no Red soldiers have entered the woods. This is unsurprising. There is a lot of fear of the tulgey woods within the villages, of the jabberwocky that resides within, but I’ve always considered these trees dear. So many happy memories are tied within them. So many dreams, now broken and yet still cherished.
It takes another hour to reach the house. The trees have long guarded our hideaway for us, leaning their branches across the changing, magical wooden slats and blocking them from occasional wanderers. But they recognize us now, because the moment we ride within view of the house, indistinguishable voices whisper through the trees.
Once upon a time, as I laid in his arms in the large bed upstairs, I had told the White King that I believed the forest recognized us, that each time we came, they called out greetings. “They know our names, of that I am sure. They know us.”
He’d rolled me over and kissed me senseless before pushing into me once more. As we moved together to the rhythm of tree and flower songs from outside, he murmured, “Of course they do.” And now here I am—here we are—and it’s all so bittersweet. The last time we were here, I broke down in tears in his arms and he cried alongside me. That day, fragile still in my mind, was not happy—passionate, yes, but nothing close to happy.
The pikemen take the horses to a small barn hidden behind the house while the rest of us go inside. Everything is exactly like I remember it, only a bit dustier. My books litter the tables in the main sitting room. A blanket I knitted for him for his birthday lies across the back of a velvet couch we’d had designed just for us. Teacups I picked up at a flea market near my Court sit upon a shelf. A stray shirt of his is draped over one of the dining room chairs. A chess set his father had carved for him sits out, a game partially in progress yet long ignored.
This was our home. This was where we pretended it was all okay, that love conquers all. That we were not the White King nor the Queen of Diamonds, but simply Alice and Jace, and we had a future together and a family to plan no matter what anyone said.
It was a beautiful, beautiful dream. But that’s all it was, wasn’t it?
“This place is gorgeous,” Mary murmurs. To Victor, she says, “Now this reminds me a bit of Misselthwaite.”
“Because of its gloominess?” Victor is doubtful as he glances around.
“Yes.” She lets out a strangely happy sigh as she wanders into the next room.
Ferz Epona lights several candles in the sitting area. “Will we be staying the night, Your Majesty?”
The White King, who has said very little over the day’s journey, now turns to me. “That solely depends on whether or not the Queen of Diamonds wishes it so.”
Mary peeks in her head from the next room over. “I’m exhausted. We can edit after a good sleep. Nobody knows about this place, do they? Besides, I want to see if there’s a garden out back. The view from the windows tells me there might be.”
There is a garden, one that both my and his hands cultivated.
So much of me wants to tell them no. Being inside these beloved walls is akin to pouring salt on a wound that will not close properly. But we have all ridden hard and have had little to no sleep over the past few days—most especially the King.
“We’ll rest,” I say.
After given directions toward the guest rooms littering the second and third stories, Mary and Victor head up the stairs. Ferz Eponi says, “Sir Halwyn, Ferz Epona, and I will keep watch while you sleep.”
“Ensure you get some rest, too.” The White King clasps his loyal advisor on the shoulder. “And some food. Let the pikemen know they are to rotate their duties. Everyone must have their turn at sleep.”
Minutes later, I find myself in the unbearably awkward position of being left alone in the sitting room with both Finn and the White King. They are talking, though—and not spitefully so. The White King has asked about the Collectors’ Society, and Finn is more than willing to fill him in on the details. I join them but do not add to the discussion.
I am amazed that there is an ease between the two of them that I would not have guessed at before.
I doze on and off as they talk, doing my best to pretend I’m paying attention. They’re discussing politics, I think. Liaisons. The Society. The wars. The Courts. Todd. Rosemary. Catalysts and Timelines. I finally force my eyes to open wide, but it’s a rather embarrassingly loud yawn that finally draws their attention. Both men turn a bit sheepish, and perhaps I’m a bit delirious, but I find it adorable.
Past and future all in the present.
“Let us finish this once we’re rested,” the White King says. And then, carefully, “Perhaps you would be most comfortable in the master bedroom, my lady?”
I know he does not mean it as such, but it is a needle straight into my heart. I do not know if I can go into that room again. So many memories are tied up in there. My clothes still hang alongside his in the wardrobe. My hairbrush lies on a dresser. A painting we had done of the two of us hangs on a wall.
I am still too raw to be amongst such things. I fear I always will be.
“I truly appreciate the thought, but I must insist you take the room. This is, after all, your home.” It goes unsaid that my words would have been followed by now.
He nods and bids us goodnight.
Once we’re upstairs ourselves, Finn gently kisses me on the forehead and then goes into the room down the hallway. I peer in the opposite direction, toward the master bedroom, only to find its door still wide open. The White King has also chosen a different room, and probably for the same reasons as mine. I shut the door of the guest room I’ve selected behind me and slowly slide down to the floor. And then, as I stare at pictures and objects I hand chose for this beautiful room that hardly anyone else ever used or knew existed but I wished decorated anyway, I finally cry. Not a lot, and certainly not loud enough for anyone to hear, but just enough to relieve a bit of the pressure in my chest.
I’m finally in the only home that I truly felt safe in, only to turn around and abandon it once more.
MARY IS ALREADY IN the garden.
From a large bay window that curves through the wall facing the back, I watch her wander the small paved paths. Every so often she bends down and intently examines whatever it is she finds. My garden is not large, but its flowers, kept in line by a stern Rose named Begonia, are neat and well groomed. Their morning songs fill the damp air of the morning, pretty ones that highlight floral vanity. A snow-white tree rooted in the middle of the garden sways to their tune, its branches dipping gingerly over her head. They must be thrilled to have an audience now that I have been away for so long.
“She likes gardens.”
I turn to find Victor snacking on bits of dried meat as he lounges against a doorframe.
“She grew up with one,” he says between bites. “At that gloomy manor house of hers. Found a key or whatnot, and spent all sorts of time bringing it back to life.”
“And now she lives in a concrete city,” I muse, “and is denied such simple pleasures.”
“We all make sacrifices for the Society. This is hers, I suppose.”
I ought to mind my business, but my defenses have been weakened over the past few days. The Caterpillar would be utterly horrifie
d. “What is yours?”
“I lost me mum.” He pauses as he tears apart one of the bits of jerky. “Both, to be honest.” A small smile surfaces. “I imagine you’re feeling like you’ve lost this.” He motions in a wide arc.
I turn back toward the window. “I’d already lost it before the Society. I suppose . . .”
He wanders closer as my voice fades.
“I suppose the Society has given me a place of my own now. A new place.”
He comes to lean against the wall closest to the window. “It’s done that for all of us. It asks a lot, and yet gives in return.”
“What are you two doing?”
Finn’s come to join us. I’m pleased that there is no hint of his paralysis at all in his gait.
“Watching Mary putt about in Alice’s garden.” Victor points at the window. “She’d probably be happy to stay ages out there if we had the time. How much do you want to bet she’ll find a way to finally create that greenhouse garden on the roof of the Institute she’s been prattling on about for years?”
Finn stuffs his hands in his pockets as he ambles over to where we are. “I wish we could allow her this afternoon, especially as she’s pissed she hasn’t collected everything she needs yet, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to leave shortly. I was talking with the King when one of the Ferzes came in with news. Apparently, some kind of birds brought messages early this morning. The Queen of Hearts has gotten wind of Alice’s presence in Wonderland. She’s threatening to execute some kind of political prisoner she has unless you show your face.”
The floor drops out from beneath my feet. Queens don’t make deals, she always told me. And yet, here she is, throwing one out? “How could she have heard?”
“Their guess,” Finn says quietly, “is that somebody in Nobbytown spilled the beans under duress.”
I close my eyes and rub my forehead. “The Hatter or the Hare. Or—more likely, both.”
Finn reaches out and gently massages my already tensing shoulders. “They were positive it was under duress.”
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