“Do you take your own advice?” he wonders.
“How do you think I’ve ended up with four knights?”
“True. Perhaps you are the Idol of love and relationships.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Idols don’t rule aspects of our psyche. They are narrow-visioned on their narrative.”
“Perhaps you transcend Idol status.”
What is beyond the Idols? No one has ever dared to ask, and now I can’t shake the feeling that this is the key question, capable of unwinding everything we believe. What, or rather who, came first? Like the capon and the egg debate... it was the capon, clearly, but far too many people still find time to ponder such a simple question. But this question is far more complex and layered.
Who made the Idols?
Chapter
Five
THEO
My dragon drives me insane, pushing against my skin, desperate to take a swipe at the imposter. It’s taking everything inside me to hold him back from the creature that crawled inside of Daphne’s body. The closer I look at her, the less of the woman who captured our hearts I see.
“We need to lure the rabbit out of hiding,” she decides. “We failed miserably in the West Wing. Did none of you catch sight of him?”
We all shake our heads. She doesn’t need to know we never left the room. She’s single-mindedly focused on wherever this mysterious rabbit is going to lead us.
“How do you propose we do that?” Nash asks as he leans back on the sofa.
She hits him with a glare that the real Daphne would never wear. She slides onto the sofa between him and Hart, lining her body next to theirs. They both stiffen, but force themselves not to move away. “Carrots. They can’t resist them,” she declares. “We should leave a trail and then trap him so we can demand entry to Wonderland.”
Nash’s eyes catch mine. There are several problems to unpack with what she’s saying. One, Wonderland isn’t anywhere in this reality, and our real Daphne wouldn’t have a clue what its name is. If this thing is desperate to go to this other world, then we need to keep her from reaching it. Two, trapping fairy-tale creatures isn’t who Daphne is.
The creature grasps Hart’s thigh in her hand and squeezes. He grimaces before he lets the mask of indifference settle on his face. Out of all of us, he’s had the most experience at hiding his true feelings and reactions, a result of growing up with King Arthur at the helm of our childhood. The horrors we endured under the guise of strengthening us, making us better and faster, are the things mothers threaten their children with to frighten them into compliance. Hart still bears the scars designed to drive a wedge of hatred between us. My dragon’s warped view of the world was molded in the dark nights spent resisting the weapons Arthur inflicted on me to get us to comply.
What he didn’t count on was our bond growing stronger. That the pain didn’t break us, but bound us together tighter than he ever thought possible. It all makes sense now; Arthur had corrupted his own brotherhood, besting our real father to steal his birthright. He then used him to breed the next generation before murdering him. I wish I could bring him back to life so I could kill him a thousand ways, in a manner he deserves.
Daphne slaying him was the last thing I expected, but that’s on me for underestimating the brilliantly chaotic female.
“Good plan,” Gwyneth declares as she looks up from the book perched in her lap. “You should make a trip to the kitchens and ask the chef for some carrots.”
The imposter nods. “Excellent. Then we can set the trap and follow the little asshole.”
So she knows the rabbit, and he runs from her? Interesting.
I glance at the cracked mirror, willing Daphne to appear and explain what the Blazes is going on. The broom dusts the edges of the mirror for the hundredth time. He’s figured out Daphne is still trapped somewhere inside it.
“I’ll accompany you,” Nash decides. We’ve agreed one of us will be with her at all times. She might not be our Daphne, but she is walking around wearing her flesh.
“No need. I can find the kitchen,” the imposter says.
Yet another clue this is not Daphne. She couldn’t find her way out of a paper bag.
“It’s for your protection, Daphne,” Nash says, standing and striding to the door.
She huffs and jumps to her feet, swinging the sharp sword over her shoulder. Hart grumbles as he dodges the pointy end of Excalibur, while the capons cluck unhappily at his feet. They appear to have adopted him in Daphne’s absence.
She glances over her shoulder at him and winks. “Sorry, I’m a menace with this weapon.”
“Don’t accidentally stab anyone,” Malachi says as he strolls out of his chambers, looking relaxed. However, he’s anything but.
