Another chuckle thickens the smoke around the mushroom cap. “I saw crimson dribbling from the end of the vine and the purple light under his shirtsleeve. Somehow, the iron dome caused a magnetic reaction, merging my and Red’s magic into him. Yes.”
“So, that’s when you came to the mountain?” I press.
“Jebediah did a sketch with some mud out in the open. His creation came alive. So we made a makeshift paintbrush and paints. With those, he hollowed out the mountain and tamed the ocean and its inhabitants by altering the existing world. It’s how his landscapes work: He reshapes the water into lakes and moats . . . molds the terrain to mountains, hills, or valleys. Each time I venture out, he changes my surroundings to keep the wildlife confused and clear of my path. But this ability has emotional limitations. Though he has no trouble conjuring landscapes and crafting creatures, when it comes to his more personal paintings, he’s plagued by an artist’s block. And the less satisfied he is with the results, the deeper he falls into despair, which gives Red’s magic a tighter hold on his muse.”
My eyes water, either from the smoke or my fear for Jeb’s sanity. His warning to Morpheus when I first saw them together in the studio makes sense now: Remember what happened when her face turned up in my paintings. “Something went wrong when he tried to paint me.”
“He could never get you right. You were missing legs and arms. Gaping holes in your face. Just like the self-portrait he made.”
My stomach knots. “But I thought the other paintings attacked CC.”
“Sometimes the paintings attack one another. But that one was Jebediah’s doing. He can’t see past the broken image that his father trained him to see. So he cannot paint himself whole. It’s why he finally painted it as an elfin knight, in a last-ditch attempt. Same was true of you. His confusion and anger kept getting in the way of perfection. He hid in that willow-tree room, trying to get you right . . . trying to make an image ‘worthy of your memory.’ The only way I could get him to come out, to live again, was to abduct each of your facsimiles. I led them to the water and watched them dissolve to nothing. They were so horribly disfigured it was inhumane to keep them alive, but our tortured artist didn’t have the strength to destroy them. So I did it for him. I convinced him the best way to be free was to stay out of the willow room. To avoid reminders of you, and embrace his anger.”
I lean against a tree and press the cool rock against the ring hanging under my shirt, to ease the pricking sensation in my chest behind it. No wonder rage and violence are ruling Jeb’s heart. He’s subsisting on powers siphoned from two of the most potent, brilliant, and manipulative Wonderland denizens. He’s at war with himself trying to contain it. Just like I used to be. Yet his struggle is greater, because he’s two parts netherling to one part human.
I close my eyes. “He must’ve felt so alone.”
There’s a grunt inside the cloud. “Truly, Alyssa. You wound me. I’m grand company.”
My eyes snap open. “You lied to him. You didn’t want him to know it was Red’s magic that was making him hate me. How did you pull that off? He had to see those memories in the rose-petal room.”
“In spite of the magic he wields, your mortal is out of his element here. He’s had no one to trust but me. No one to confide in but the source of his power. So when I told him the images in the rose-petal room were my memories, of times I’d spent with the royal family, he had no reason to question my sincerity.”
I tighten my fingers around the rock. “Sincerity. Like you know what that is. You let him get eaten up by her hatred just to drive a wedge between us.”
Morpheus clucks his tongue from inside his clouded veil. “Had he known about Red, he would’ve turned her magic against me. Killed me with a flick of his wrist. It was self-preservation. The fact that it put distance between the two of you, that was simply a fringe benefit.” A tendril of smoke lifts free and breaks into vaporous shapes: hearts, rings, music notes.
I growl. “Yeah. Anything that gives you an advantage.” I wave away a smoky heart, breaking it in half.
A large, dark wing cuts the smoke and disappears again, enveloped in the haze. “You’ve driven me to it. You have that boy on such a high pedestal. It’s far too slippery up there for one so unprincipled as a solitary fae. It’s not as if I haven’t tried to drag him down. I looked inside his soul. Hoped to find his weaknesses. Only to discover that even those could be considered strengths under the right circumstances.”
“Wait. What?” I glare at the cloud, wishing he would come out and face me. “What do you mean, you looked inside his soul?”
“I rode the memory train a few months after you left Wonderland. Before you and Jebediah visited on the day of your prom. How’s that for sincerity?”
Hot fury blossoms in my face. “You spied on his lost memories? You had no right!” The branches overhead start to shake, as if triggered by my outburst. The diary heats up against my shirt, becoming effulgent.
“Oh, please,” Morpheus taunts. “Save your righteous indignation for someone who has not stood eye to eye with your manipulative side. You did no less, viewing your mum’s memories. Your father’s. Red’s. By the by, using a toy diary enchanted by a child’s love-magic to hold repudiated memories at a safe distance . . . bloody brilliant. If I weren’t already head over heels for you, that stunt would’ve pulled the rug out from under me and left me flailing flat on my back.”
I clench the diary under my clothes. “How did you know it was her forgotten memories inside?”
“The same way you know Red has poisoned your mortal toy’s muse. Netherling intuition and superior reasoning. Proving once again that you and I are alike in more ways than you care to admit.”
“We’re nothing alike.” A lie, and I know it. Even worse, he does. “My motivations are honorable. I stole Red’s memories to stop her from ruining anyone else’s life.”
“A queenly enterprise indeed. But it all comes down to this one truth: You are a lady of action, and I am a man of same. We excel at risks and trickery, and won’t hesitate to use them if it’s the only way to preserve what we love. Which is why, in spite of my ethical shortcomings when compared to your cardboard-cutout prince, you will ultimately choose me.”
“So, that’s when you came to the mountain?” I press.
“Jebediah did a sketch with some mud out in the open. His creation came alive. So we made a makeshift paintbrush and paints. With those, he hollowed out the mountain and tamed the ocean and its inhabitants by altering the existing world. It’s how his landscapes work: He reshapes the water into lakes and moats . . . molds the terrain to mountains, hills, or valleys. Each time I venture out, he changes my surroundings to keep the wildlife confused and clear of my path. But this ability has emotional limitations. Though he has no trouble conjuring landscapes and crafting creatures, when it comes to his more personal paintings, he’s plagued by an artist’s block. And the less satisfied he is with the results, the deeper he falls into despair, which gives Red’s magic a tighter hold on his muse.”
My eyes water, either from the smoke or my fear for Jeb’s sanity. His warning to Morpheus when I first saw them together in the studio makes sense now: Remember what happened when her face turned up in my paintings. “Something went wrong when he tried to paint me.”
“He could never get you right. You were missing legs and arms. Gaping holes in your face. Just like the self-portrait he made.”
My stomach knots. “But I thought the other paintings attacked CC.”
“Sometimes the paintings attack one another. But that one was Jebediah’s doing. He can’t see past the broken image that his father trained him to see. So he cannot paint himself whole. It’s why he finally painted it as an elfin knight, in a last-ditch attempt. Same was true of you. His confusion and anger kept getting in the way of perfection. He hid in that willow-tree room, trying to get you right . . . trying to make an image ‘worthy of your memory.’ The only way I could get him to come out, to live again, was to abduct each of your facsimiles. I led them to the water and watched them dissolve to nothing. They were so horribly disfigured it was inhumane to keep them alive, but our tortured artist didn’t have the strength to destroy them. So I did it for him. I convinced him the best way to be free was to stay out of the willow room. To avoid reminders of you, and embrace his anger.”
I lean against a tree and press the cool rock against the ring hanging under my shirt, to ease the pricking sensation in my chest behind it. No wonder rage and violence are ruling Jeb’s heart. He’s subsisting on powers siphoned from two of the most potent, brilliant, and manipulative Wonderland denizens. He’s at war with himself trying to contain it. Just like I used to be. Yet his struggle is greater, because he’s two parts netherling to one part human.
I close my eyes. “He must’ve felt so alone.”
There’s a grunt inside the cloud. “Truly, Alyssa. You wound me. I’m grand company.”
My eyes snap open. “You lied to him. You didn’t want him to know it was Red’s magic that was making him hate me. How did you pull that off? He had to see those memories in the rose-petal room.”
“In spite of the magic he wields, your mortal is out of his element here. He’s had no one to trust but me. No one to confide in but the source of his power. So when I told him the images in the rose-petal room were my memories, of times I’d spent with the royal family, he had no reason to question my sincerity.”
I tighten my fingers around the rock. “Sincerity. Like you know what that is. You let him get eaten up by her hatred just to drive a wedge between us.”
Morpheus clucks his tongue from inside his clouded veil. “Had he known about Red, he would’ve turned her magic against me. Killed me with a flick of his wrist. It was self-preservation. The fact that it put distance between the two of you, that was simply a fringe benefit.” A tendril of smoke lifts free and breaks into vaporous shapes: hearts, rings, music notes.
I growl. “Yeah. Anything that gives you an advantage.” I wave away a smoky heart, breaking it in half.
A large, dark wing cuts the smoke and disappears again, enveloped in the haze. “You’ve driven me to it. You have that boy on such a high pedestal. It’s far too slippery up there for one so unprincipled as a solitary fae. It’s not as if I haven’t tried to drag him down. I looked inside his soul. Hoped to find his weaknesses. Only to discover that even those could be considered strengths under the right circumstances.”
“Wait. What?” I glare at the cloud, wishing he would come out and face me. “What do you mean, you looked inside his soul?”
“I rode the memory train a few months after you left Wonderland. Before you and Jebediah visited on the day of your prom. How’s that for sincerity?”
Hot fury blossoms in my face. “You spied on his lost memories? You had no right!” The branches overhead start to shake, as if triggered by my outburst. The diary heats up against my shirt, becoming effulgent.
“Oh, please,” Morpheus taunts. “Save your righteous indignation for someone who has not stood eye to eye with your manipulative side. You did no less, viewing your mum’s memories. Your father’s. Red’s. By the by, using a toy diary enchanted by a child’s love-magic to hold repudiated memories at a safe distance . . . bloody brilliant. If I weren’t already head over heels for you, that stunt would’ve pulled the rug out from under me and left me flailing flat on my back.”
I clench the diary under my clothes. “How did you know it was her forgotten memories inside?”
“The same way you know Red has poisoned your mortal toy’s muse. Netherling intuition and superior reasoning. Proving once again that you and I are alike in more ways than you care to admit.”
“We’re nothing alike.” A lie, and I know it. Even worse, he does. “My motivations are honorable. I stole Red’s memories to stop her from ruining anyone else’s life.”
“A queenly enterprise indeed. But it all comes down to this one truth: You are a lady of action, and I am a man of same. We excel at risks and trickery, and won’t hesitate to use them if it’s the only way to preserve what we love. Which is why, in spite of my ethical shortcomings when compared to your cardboard-cutout prince, you will ultimately choose me.”
