“No.” His gaze hardens, and all that stoic politeness disappears for a moment. “To Davina.”
At this point, I have no idea what Hans is on about. Maybe the Sandman really is an illusion, a figment of my imagination when I’m desperate for companionship. Perhaps this dreamscape is the end, and the phantom pain in my back is a sign that I’m close to death. Even though it should scare me, the idea of dying isn’t as traumatizing as I thought it would be when I was young. If anything, the dreamscape is so familiar, I almost want to believe that Hans—the Sandman—is telling the truth.
I know, realistically, that Ban isn’t here, because the setting is wrong. Maybe I’m remembering the Sandman because he was semi-tolerable whenever we had to speak with the Courtof Cards. Still, my instinct is to look around for my ice mage. He might be blunt, but he’ll tell me the truth. I think even an illusion of him would be honest with me about whether I’m losing my mind or not.
Hans’s grip settles on my arm suddenly, and we’re ripped from where we stand. My eyes widen as we spiral through the darkness, twisting upside down as shadows roll over us.
Shadows… This is like Ban’s magic.
When we step free, the white light above is gone. I gasp and drop to my knees, fighting the urge to hurl. I didn’t expect to happen across Hans again, or to have him drag me through the dark like that. I’m a little better when it’s Ban, because at least when he drags us, it’s less like freefalling.
The pain in my back is a rolling ache down my spine, making it hard to catch my breath. Planting my palms in the snow, I take several shuddering gulps of air, fighting to get control of myself.
I can’t seem to fight the burn, and no position I shift into alleviates the pain.
“I apologize,” Hans says, sitting beside me in the snow. Perhaps he is part of my imagination, because this kind of mocking torture isexactlywhat I would do to myself. “Watch the docks, my queen. They won’t see you here, but letting you rot in the dreamscape as you lie dying isn’t an option.”
What is he going on about?
When I don’t look up, he grabs the back of my head, forcing my gaze to where he wants it. I whimper at the feeling, aware that something is very,verywrong, but my pain is almost dimmed by his touch. I’m fairly certain it’s some type of magic, but the relief from the fiery burn is enough that I don’t immediately question it. It’s debilitating, but I can still think. Stillmove. Whatever this is, I think it’s meant to immobilize me.
Did he say I’m dying?
My thoughts stall as two figures appear. I wasn’t aware of where we were before, but as I blink, I acknowledge we’re sitting in the field on the way to the docks. There’s a large ship in port, something I can’t remember happening since long before my frozen sleep. The two walking leisurely across the field, no attendants in sight, makes my stomach roll.
Davina and Lancelot.
I thought this was the dreamscape… but I couldn’t see things in real time while in the frozen sleep. Now I don’t understand where Hans has brought me.
“This was part of the plan?” Lancelot growls, keeping pace with the Queen. TheMadQueen. Her hands are stained red, and there’s a deadly look in her eye as they march toward the ship. A man appears on the deck, wearing a red helmet, and I hadn’t realized there was someone else waiting for them. I dimly recall Davina summoning some guards, but I didn’t really look for anyone else. I barely considered how Mother’s guests appeared when I realized they were already here. “Is this real?”
I’m surprised when Hans answers, “Yes. I can only stave off the pain from your spirit for so long.”
There isn’t time to figure out what he means. The Mad Queen turns and strokes her red fingers down Lancelot’s arm, over the tunic and thick coat he’s wearing.
She has heavy furs on, the details I glossed over before sticking out now. It’s an all-black coat, so I don’t know what they hunted to get one like that, but it’s lush and rich with thick, fluffy sleeves. I barely noticed it when I was fighting Mother, but unless the Mad Queen changed, it doesn’t look like that coat’s seen battle at all.
“Sned was an expected casualty.” She sighs, her words striking me like a blow. I was fighting with my mother, sure, but she wasalivewhen I saw her last. “It’s the only way to unleash the curse.”
“You still haven’t broken that part down for me, darling.”
Lancelot has a deep timbre to his voice, one that would obviously command respect and attention if he weren’t standing next to Davina. At her side, however, he’s more or less become a background figure.
Davina gives him a wicked grin, leaning in to drag her tongue over his lips. I’m sitting close enough to make out the details, and I wish I couldn’t.
I guess that’s proof they can’t see me after all.
Lancelot reaches up, gripping her hair in his hands for a moment, deepening the kiss. Wrinkling my nose, the pain falling to the wayside as I watch them make out, I almost wish we arrived later. This is the last thing I want to see.
When I drag my gaze further down the path, I can see more frozen figures. More crimson splotches across icy surfaces. The red on Davina’s hands has to be blood, and she seems to have no qualms sliding those bloody hands across as much of Lancelot’s skin as she can.
Davina gasps, and I’m worried it’s a sound of passion until she spins with a roar, throwing out her hand. Weak spears of magic shoot from her hand, sailing harmlessly through the two of us in the grass. There’s a manic expression in her eyes when she shoves Lancelot away.
Beside me, Hans clicks his tongue. There’s dark, shadow-like magic drifting near Davina’s shoulder before she shakes it away. He sighs in the shadows. “Not yet.”
“Not yet?” I echo.
Davina’s speaking before he responds, and Iwishhe would say something a little less mysterious. “We should go. Sned is dead, as we planned. It would have been easier if her nuisance of a daughter remained sleeping, but it’s no issue now. At least she’s dead too.”
