The Forgotten Mountain (The Collectors' Society Book 3)

by Heather Lyons

  Jace waves away a page and pulls my chair out himself. Once he is seated across from me, we share an amused, knowing look. Some things will never change.

  Soon, the Caterpillar’s hookah is set up and he is puffing away at an alarming rate. His nerves are calmed enough to allow two of his many feet to actually offer the weakest, tiniest of claps when the flowers finish, though, so there is that.

  Begonia nearly withers in shock, she is so delighted.

  The Cheshire-Cat swishes his tail as he motions for his cream. “My seneschal has brought the White Queen’s documents as requested. May I just say that dealing with the Tweedles is exhausting. I very nearly clawed the both of them before it was all said and done.”

  “Where was the Sheep?” Jace inquires.

  The Cheshire-Cat shrugs in his cat-like way. “Mostly likely off doing the White Queen’s nefarious bidding as usual.”

  “I am surprised she would not have her Grand Advisor there to ensure such important papers were proper,” Jace muses.

  “Oh, have no doubts. The Sheep, Caterpillar, and I spent many long hours in the days beforehand poring over the documents. But even she could find nothing amiss in the wording. She signed the documents prior to teatime yesterday.”

  “Her absence meant she was most likely readying her network of spies to inform the White Rabbit, the Walrus, and the Carpenter of the contents.” The Caterpillar blows a perfect smoke Sheep, bonnet and all, morphing into the White Queen. “Never mind that we already had envoys ready to deploy with the same news.” Another figure is blown, that of the Sheep with her legs in shackles. “Of course, the possibility that the White Queen had her jailed for daring to sign the decree is to be considered, too.”

  “I certainly wouldn’t put it past her,” I mutter. “It isn’t as if she hasn’t jailed her Grand Advisor countless other occasions for lesser offenses.”

  “It astounds me that the White Queen brought in the Tweedles in lieu of the Sheep.” Jace frowns. “She often rails of their buffoonery in Court even when they come in victory.”

  The Cheshire-Cat looks up from his bowl of cream. “Yes, well, they are loyal buffoons, aren’t they? And dangerous, if not valuable, ones to boot. They have gone to hell and back for Her Majesty, have assassinated countless people both innocent and guilty, and still have those inane smiles upon their faces.”

  “To follow blindly,” the Caterpillar says languidly, “is to yield possession of your own compass.”

  If there were anyone that this could ever describe, it would be the Tweedles. Chances are, the White Queen has found a way to extract their souls and sew them up within a pair of her many dolls she collects within the White Court.

  “Nonetheless,” Jace says, “the contracts are signed.” He lifts his cup of tea, a special blend made by the Hatter for us that is far more potent than any wine. “To the White and Diamond Courts unifying.”

  The Caterpillar and I raise our cups, too. The Cheshire-Cat mimics the action, as his bowl is too large to lift.

  Biscuits are consumed, much tea is drunk. Everyone is in fine spirits, even the Caterpillar. His rhetoric tones down into something almost cheery. Faint praise is offered to Begonia: “My ears did not bleed this time, Madam.”

  A petal drops, she quivers so strongly with pride.

  Jace and the Cheshire-Cat excuse themselves to the library to look over documents. I am ready to follow when the White King leans down and says quietly, “Talk to him?”

  My defenses go up. “There are more pressing—”

  He lifts my hand and presses a gentle kiss against my wrapped palm. And then he leaves.

  The Caterpillar lifts an eyebrow, smoke hazing around his head. “What are you to talk to me about?”

  His hearing, unfortunately, is quite excellent. “I am apparently having—”

  “Apparently?” He tsks. “Queens do not use improper or unreliable wording.”

  I sigh quietly. “When I awoke this morning, I was disoriented and believed I was in a dream. I was quite insistent about it, I’m afraid.” I proffer my wounded hand. “I required proof that I was awake.”

  His pipe stills. “What kind of dream?”

  “That is the thing. I cannot quite remember what it was that I dreamed about during the night that led me to believe this was not real. I can only summon tiny slivers of memory, of pictures, but the sensations remain.”

  “What sensations?”

  “That . . . this is wrong. Me, being here, is wrong.”

  “You?” he asks. “Do you mean Alice? Or do you mean the Queen of Diamonds?”

  “I do not know,” I whisper.

  “Do not whisper, Your Majesty.” He sets his hookah pipe down. “It is not befitting of your status. Say everything you mean as you mean it.”

  But I do not know what I mean, and that is the problem. Because something within me insists that this here, me speaking with my Grand Advisor, is a bittersweet impossibility, too.

  “I dreamed I am in love with another.”

  His eyes squint. “Does that sensation remain?”

  I take a breath. “Yes, although I cannot remember why or for whom I have them for. They are strong, though. I feel them within my bones.”

  “Even when you are with your beloved White King?”

  I do not lie. “Even then.”

  “Dreams are tricky,” he says. “Some tell of the past, some of the future, some of the present. Some tell us nothing more than imagination or horrors, some are representations of our dearest wishes. Is this the first time you have woken to such feelings?”

  “The White King insists that this has occurred several mornings in a row. I have no memory of them, though.”

  “How very curious.” He is contemplative for a number of long seconds. “What is it you ask of me?”

  “I cannot allow myself, as a ruler of Wonderland, to continue to wake disoriented each morning.” I cannot allow myself to feel guilt or wrongness when I am with the man that I love, either—for him, or for our kingdoms once they are unified. “Is it possible there is something to remedy this situation?”

  He strokes the few long hairs jutting from his chin with one of his many hands. “There are sleeping draughts, yes. But they are only masks for what ails you. Perhaps we can . . .” He grunts quietly. “It would be best to dig out the roots before we extract the problem. Give me a few hours with my poisons to see what I can concoct.”

  A small grin tugs at the corners of my mouth. “You brought them here, to my wedding?”

  “My dear queen, I do not travel anywhere without my poisons. On that note, I have a present for you and His Majesty. I have come into possession of a nice heir potion that will increase both your fertilities by tenfold. There is enough for two doses, if you wish, although why anyone would want multiple spawn is beyond me.”

  “How thoughtful of you to keep our fertility concerns in mind,” I say mildly.

  “Not that it isn’t going to be a nightmare when your children come.” He waves a pair of dismissive hands. “Will they be of the White Court? Diamond? Both? Titles may have to be created for the future prince or princess. The logistics are bothersome, Your Majesty.”

  “I am quite certain that you and the Cheshire-Cat will figure it out.” And still, the thought of having a child with Jace both saddens me and aches, as if it is more a dream put away rather than a certainty in the future.

  Why is it that I continue to harbor hopes for my present and future with someone else?

  I wish I could remember the man from my dreams. Why can’t I? Why can I feel him yet not recall his face? It’s as if magic is at work, refusing me my answers.

  The Caterpillar stretches. “Go and look over the documents with the others. Ensure you read them carefully, even though the only changes have been the ones that the White King and yourself have sanctioned. Be sure to sign each copy.”

  He says this as if I have never signed a decree in my entire reign. I do not allow myself to be insulted by this,
either.

  The Caterpillar’s advice, prickly or no, has always been spot on.

  AT SUPPER, MY GRAND Advisor asks, “Are you still wishing for a solution to your nocturnal problems, Your Majesty?”

  This piques Jace’s interest immediately, as well as the Cheshire-Cat’s for entirely different reasons. “What nocturnal problems? Is there something I am unaware of?”

  Jace hushes him. I offer the Caterpillar a nod of assent.

  “After meditating upon the problem, I realized the wisest course of action would be for you to return to those dreams which have plagued you.”

  “How exactly can Her Majesty return to a dream she cannot even remember?” Jace inquires.

  “We will have to force it with poisons, of course.” The Caterpillar turns his beady eyes toward me. “It will be as if you are stepping into the dream world as a separate person. It will be disorienting, Your Majesty. You most likely will discover another version of yourself.”

  I ask, “How will this solve what has been happening to me?”

  “To break it down into simplistic terms, you will take an object into the dream world with you. A symbolic item. When the time is right, you will destroy it and therefore destroy the dream world. When you awaken, whatever influence your nightmares have had will cease. That dream world will no longer exist for you. All you will have is this.”

  Jace’s eyes meet mine. There is hope in them, understanding, too.

  I temper my own hope, though, and try my best to fight through the alarm and guilt continuing to claw at my insides. Something—there’s something I’m supposed to remember, but cannot. As if I’m missing something. As if wishing to destroy the dream is the wrong choice, a dangerous one.

  But I cannot allow such misplaced feelings to affect what is happening now. Wonderland, at least a good chunk of it, is on the brink of unprecedented peace and prosperity. My people deserve every effort their queen can give toward ensuring this fate. The only choice that matters is this one. “Can it really be so simple?”

  “Of course not.” It’s the Cheshire-Cat who answers. “Dreams are terribly problematic. And if the old bug is thinking of what I’m thinking—”

  The Caterpillar glares at him.

  “Then the poison required is a difficult one to find.”

  “I have the ability to create it,” the Caterpillar sniffs. “There is no need to attempt to find a dose on the black market.”

  “Do you now?” The Cheshire-Cat leers. “Am I to take it the Jabberwocky simply offered up a spare scale to you?”

  “No,” the Caterpillar says calmly. “But it may to the Queen of Diamonds, if she asks. Particularly if she has her vorpal blade with her.”

  The Cheshire-Cat bursts out in surprised laughter. “It will do no such thing! It is a beast beyond reasoning. Countless soldiers, adventurers, and fools have died before its feet over the centuries.”

  The Caterpillar merely looks to me expectantly. I, in turn, look to the White King.

  He grins. I do, too.

  “Well then,” I say. “As the wedding is in two days’ time, I—”

  “We,” Jace corrects.

  My smile grows wider. The White King’s curiosity has always been as strong as my own. “We will head out at first light to find the Jabberwocky. How long does the poison take to create?”

  The Caterpillar shrugs. “An hour at the most. I have access to all other pertinent ingredients.”

  “I would like this done prior to the wedding.” My eyes meet Jace’s once more. “I suppose we’ll have to hurry, won’t we?”

  He laughs that delightful laugh of his. “I suppose we shall.”

  The Cheshire-Cat sighs. “These two and their love of adventures.” He motions to the Caterpillar. “When do you think we will ever convince them that staying home is a good idea?”

  My Grand Advisor also sighs. “That, my hairy colleague, would take a miracle, I’m afraid. Or a prophecy.”

  “Good thing there is no such thing,” Jace says meaningfully.

  And still, something scratches at my brain. Something that rings true at the word prophecy. But I shove it aside, because tomorrow, there is a Jabberwocky to hunt—and a wedding in two days to attend.

  Curious as to who was featured or mentioned within The Forgotten Mountain?

  Here’s a list of some of the people and the books they came from.

  Abraham Van Brunt (AKA Brom Bones); Katrina (Van Tassel) Van Brunt

  Featured in the short story The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, found within The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. by Washington Irving

  Alice (Reeve) Liddel; Grymsdyke; the White King; the Mad Hatter; the Caterpillar; the Cheshire-Cat; the Queen of Hearts; various other Wonderlandian animals & peoples

  Both from and loosely based upon Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

  Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There by Lewis Carroll

  The Hunting of the Snark by Lewis Carroll

  Briar-Rose, the Wise Women; the Golden Goose; Grethel; Mr. Pfriem; the Giant; the Dwarves; Mother Holle; various other villagers and peoples

  Both from and loosely based upon characters found within fairy-tales in Children’s and Household Tales by The Grimm Brothers, including:

  The Blue Light

  Clever Grethel

  The Golden Goose

  Little Briar-Rose (Sleeping Beauty)

  Master Pfriem

  Mother Holle

  The Young Giant

  Cat(s)

  I Am A Cat by Natsume Sōseki

  C. Auguste Dupin

  The Murders of the Rue Morgue by Edgar Allan Poe

  The Mystery of Marie Rogêt by Edgar Allan Poe

  The Purloined Letter by Edgar Allan Poe

  Franklin Blake

  The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins

  Gwendolyn Peterson (AKA Wendy Darling); Peter Pan

  Based loosely upon Peter and Wendy by J. M. Barrie

  Henry Fleming

  Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane

  Mr. Holgrave

  House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne

  Huckleberry Finn; Jim

  The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain

  Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

  Tom Sawyer Abroad by Mark Twain

  Tom Sawyer, Detective by Mark Twain

  Jack Dawkins (AKA The Artful Dodger); Fagin

  Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens

  Josephine (Jo) Bhaer

  Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

  Little Men by Lousia May Alcott

  Jo’s Boys by Lousia May Alcott

  Marianne (Dashwood) Brandon

  Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen

  Mary Lennox; Colin; Dickon

  The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

  The Pied Piper of Hamelin; various children

  Featured in the fairy-tale The Pied Piper of Hamelin, found within German Tales by The Grimm Brothers

  Professor Otto Lindenbrock

  Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne

  Sara (Crewe) Carrisford; Mr. Carrisford; Mr. Groverley

  Both from and loosely based upon A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett

  Sweeney Patrick Todd; Rosemary Nellie Lovett

  Based loosely upon A String of Pearls: A Romance, most likely written by James Malcolm Rymer and Thomas Peckett Prest

  Victor Frankenstein Jr.; Victor Frankenstein; the Monster

  Both from and based loosely upon Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley

  Much gratitude is sent out to the wonderful ladies who helped to make this book the best it could be: my editor Kristina Circelli, my publicist KP Simmon, my assistant Tricia Santos, Victoria Alday for designing yet another gorgeous, perfect cover, Stacey Blake for her formatting wizardry, and Bridget Donelson and Jessica Zelkovich for their eagle eyes during proofreading.

  Andrea Johnston, Jessica Man
gicaro, Ashley Bodette, Kathryn Grimes, and Tricia, please know how deeply grateful for all the time, feedback, and love you’ve given to the Society. Van Brunt wants me to let you know you’re all honorary members.

  To the fab members of my street team, the Lyons Pride, I adore you all and hope you know how much your support means to me. (in alphabetical order) Amy, Ana, Andrea, Ashley, Autumn, Brandi, Bridget, Candy, Cherisse, Christina Lynne, Christina Marie, Courtney, Cynthia, Daniela, Enrica, Ethan, Eunice, Gina, Ivey, Jenn, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer (love all the Jennifers!), Jessica, Jessica, Jessica, Jessica (love all the Jessicas, too!), JL, JoAnna, Kate, Kathryn, Kelli, Kelly, Keri, Kiersten, Lauren, LeAnn, Leigha, Lindsey, Maria, Martina, Megan, Melissa, Meredith, Nicole, Nikka, Rachel, Rebecca, Samantha, Sheena, Tracy, Tricia, Vilma, Whitney, Yvonne, and all the rest . . . you guys are the best.

  A pair of special shout-outs to two fab ladies for their special support of these books: Daisy Prescott and Shelly Crane, I’m sending out big hugs and virtual cupcakes to you. Actually, let’s have real cupcakes next time we see one another!

  Jon, no book of mine could ever be written without you as my sounding board. I am so lucky you are my north star and binary all at once. Thanks and love are also sent out to my family for supporting me through all my crazy writing jags and long hours before my computer.

  For everyone who has come along with the Society and their journeys, much gratitude is sent out to you, too.

  Also by Heather Lyons

  “Each of us here has a story, but it may not be the one you think you know . . .”

  “The most unique, fascinating, wondrous book I’ve read in a very long time! I was glued to every page.”

  -Shelly Crane, New York Times bestselling author of Significance and Wide Awake

  From the author of the Fate series and The Deep End of the Sea comes a fantastical romantic adventure that has Alice tumbling down the strangest rabbit hole yet.