by Lani Lenore
13
It had taken a few moments for Armand to decide how he wanted to reach the top of the mantle, but with the mice scattered and the cat chasing them off into the dark corners, he had plenty of time to think. He’d eventually wound up tying together a series of puppet strings from a fallen marionette and using one of the needles to hold into the wood so that he could climb up.
When he got there, all he saw was Brooke.
He looked around for Anne, feeling a small degree of panic until Brooke looked up and met his gaze impassively. Saying nothing, he used his head to motion down to the other side of him. Stepping forward just slightly, Armand saw her.
She was drawn up beside Brooke with her knees pulled to her chest, leaning against his shoulder restfully. She’d gotten comfortable with him, had she? How quickly she had gone from hating this world.
Armand didn’t look at her as he passed by, but Anne raised her head at his sight. In fact, she would have run straight into his arms if she’d actually thought he’d receive her. But she got nothing–not even an uninterested glance. She rested her head back against Brooke. Perhaps it was true then. Armand had come all this way for Olivia. He really did belong to her.
Nearby, the blood–covered nutcracker sat down.
“How long until the glue dries?” he asked, noticing the break in Brooke’s leg.
“Just a bit before it’s dry enough to walk on,” he said. “Quite a while before it’s at its strongest again.”
The three of them sat quietly in the room that had now become silent all around them. All the rodents had made themselves scarce, and the cat was having a fine time with the meals she’d made–and the ones that had been made for her.
Anne sighed, once again calm enough to feel the completely disgusting nature of her skin. Her hair was oily and uncomfortable by now. Her face was dirty, smeared with dirt and grease and blood. She smelled terrible, she was sure, but had been in far too many dreadful instances to be embarrassed by it. Besides that, her guardians either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She was feeling more miserable by the moment. If there had been bugs small enough to crawl around in her hair, she was sure they would have been.
“I need a bath,” she said quietly.
Both her companions heard her, but neither commented. They only sat.
14
“What happened to the original plan?”
Within the darkness of the rodent’s lair, Clara’s voice came at Edge’s ears like the constant buzzing of a fly. It was a mild annoyance that he somehow couldn’t seem to swat away no matter what he did. Could she not trust him? But what was he thinking? He didn’t blame her for her questions. He knew he was a liar.
“I thought we were going to attack the Lady’s kingdom. Not the wrapped toys in the hall.”
“The first plan is still in motion,” he purred and growled both at once. “But there is still more to be done.”
Clara stomped her little foot. So deliciously demanding.
“You promised all this would happen soon!”
Edge knelt down to the child, anxious to make her understand so that he could get on with his business. As much as her inquiries bothered him at times, ridding himself of her was out of the question. Of all the allies he could have chosen, he’d picked one that was damn near to being the Master’s daughter. But there were no worries. Edge would just do what he had to by her.
“There’s a magic word in this game, poppet,” he told her, smiling and looking into her big, pretty eyes. “Do you know what that word is?”
Clara’s look of displeasure faded to confusion. Slowly, she shook her head.
“It’s a very special word with a very cunning meaning. Sometimes the idea behind it has to be used along with the main plan in order to assure the results you want.”
The child still did not understand, and was likely even more confused by now. Edge couldn’t help but grin wider at this.
“That marvelously enchanting word,” he told her, “is ‘diversion’.”
Chapter Twenty–Two: Naked Truth
1
Once Brooke’s leg had been tested against breakage, the nutcracker, the soldier, and the woman made their way down from the mantle. They moved across the floor to collect the marble where Anne had left it inside the flowerpot. Then they moved on.
They traversed into the shafts this time, even though the mice had retreated into that same darkness. Armand walked along with his sword unsheathed in case they met with adversity. Anne and Brooke trailed behind at a safe distance.
They needed to head back to the Lady Sovereign’s kingdom to report the fate of her soldiers to her–the very same that they’d neglected to cut down from the tree. She could send someone else to handle that menial task.
Armand knew that if there had been any rodents in the passages, the mice would have smelled the blood on them from a good distance away. It didn’t bother him much to be covered in the fluid, but Anne had expressed her discomfort. All he was concerned about was that his own wounds–those inflicted by mice and the one to the head he’d received from Brooke’s kin, along with a few he’d sustained from the puppets–were no longer bleeding, and had, in fact, healed. Oh yes, he was very different from those other toys. His body repaired itself–and rather quickly. It was a blessing.
It’s a curse.
These thoughts caused Armand to falter along his course. He hadn’t been certain how to get back to Olivia’s room from the shafts, which was why they had taken the stairs down. They couldn’t have tackled that obstacle again at this time. He didn’t think any of them could handle it.
He stopped his pace, looking forward into a place where the tunnel split three ways. If the toys had been smarter, they might have made signs. Then again, they couldn’t have the rodents finding their way straight to them, could they?
As he stood and contemplated, trying to perceive the way, Brooke stepped past him and took the turn to the right.
“I know a shortcut,” he said without looking back.
Shortcut, hm? Armand wasn’t entirely trusting, but he didn’t suppose he had much choice. Anne was already following along behind Brooke, and Armand had no better ideas. He followed.
Brooke led them along for a while, every moment with Armand expecting to see a lift that would take them up. Steps passed behind them, and still they moved on. When the soldier finally did stop them, it was not before a lift.
It was in front of a vent.
Brooke leaned back against the wall of the shaft as if he would be waiting there, standing there and refusing to look at either of them. After several moments of his silence, Anne moved forward cautiously to inspect the vent. Armand inspected the soldier.
“Where are we, exactly?” he demanded with a firm tone.
Brooke was not afraid to look directly into the nothingness of the nutcracker’s eyes.
“She said she wanted a bath,” he replied simply.
Armand had remembered, but he’d thought it might be good for her to bear it for a while. Perhaps it would keep her focused and obedient.
“A washroom should be through that vent,” Brooke said, looking down the shaft the way they had come. “You should take her in. I’ll wait.”
Armand was briefly enraged by this. This soldier thought he was in charge now? But he also saw Brooke’s point. Anne would feel much better if she was clean. He didn’t actually want her to suffer.
Perhaps though, this soldier needed a lesson. Armand took a step closer, looking into Brooke’s face and making it impossible for him to avert his gaze.
“You’re going to force me to destroy you,” he warned, his voice dire and thick with consequence.
There was no hint of fear on Brooke’s face as he looked boldly back at the nutcracker.
“There are possibly others seeking that same thing, and if that’s true, they have first claim on my death.” The words surprised Armand, though he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t speak as Brooke continued.
“If th
ey fail, or do not come, you’re more than welcome to have my head.”
Of all the years Armand had seen–passed all the things he understood–he’d never seen anything like this soldier. Brooke was so full of torment, tragedy, and pain. Perhaps as much as Armand himself, but Brooke’s turmoil did not exist because he had been wronged. Yet, Brooke refused to acknowledge any of his own feelings as if they didn’t exist. So did he feel, or did he not feel because he wouldn’t admit there was anything to be felt?
Armand knew he should not have been considering such questions. He said nothing as he stepped past Brooke and toward the vent where Anne waited, peering out. When he laid his hands upon the grate and began to pry it open, she had to ask her question.
“Why did he lead us here? I thought we were going back to Olivia’s room.”
“We’re going to get you that bath first,” he said flatly, stripping the screws and getting the vent open enough for them to slip through.
Anne seemed pleased with this idea, surprised. The woman said nothing else as Armand led her forward into the dim washroom.
2
Another grand luxury that made the Ellington house so unique–aside from the ventilation shafts that warmed the whole house by a gas–powered heating system–was that the house had indoor plumbing. It was an impressive comfort, and while many high–end homes had running water, not many had all their facilities within the house as well.
Anne had been into rooms such as this many times, bathing in the smooth, white bathtub to relax, but on this visit, that basin was much too large. This time, the sink would do.
Armand got them up to the countertop without much trouble. He lit a candle that sat near the sink. He even plugged the drain for her and started the water, testing it to make sure it was warm. It took a few moments to cycle through, but finally it began to steam.
A small pool of water in the sink was plenty enough for her, and once Armand had finished, he moved away to sit, cleaning his weapons that had been neglected since the battle with the rodents. Neither he nor Anne spoke throughout that time.
Once Anne had draped a rather large washcloth over the metal spout, she slid down the rounded porcelain and into the water, dress and all.
The warmth was amazing, and for a moment she simply laid there, letting it comfort her. She was in her own private pool, and nothing else was real beyond that. She didn’t relax long, however, for she was very anxious to get clean. The dress came off, floating along in the water to soak out all the terrible elements. Anne went to work on herself.
She fought the tangles out of her hair, washing it with a small piece of soap that she’d chipped off the bar. She scrubbed her face, her arms; anything she could reach. It was a desperate scrubbing, and when she was finally done, she stood beneath the small shower of water that had been left to run into the sink.
By that flow from the spout, Anne was flushed clear of the soap and grime, and for just a moment, she was purged of everything. The dimness of the room and the flickering candlelight were comfortable. Together, they made everything else vanish.
She closed her eyes, letting the water fall against her face and trickle down her body. For the moment, none of the awful things that had happened on this night had truly come about. She was not lost in a world of insane toys and diseased rodents. She was standing naked in a perfect world of white and water and nothing else existed. Everything was safe.
But Armand was still there.
In her mind, he stood behind her. His touch found her, roving gently across the curves of her body and pulling her in. He moved her hair across one shoulder, brushing her skin and sending a tingling sensation throughout her. His hands caressed her stomach, and she knew those hands were wooden, but that was what enthralled her most. His fingers slid to the curve of her back. Slowly, he was pressing her forward, bending her down toward the water where she saw her own reflection coming up to meet her. She saw that her expression was of blissful anticipation…
She snapped to. None of that was happening, and of course it never would. There was certainly more than one reason why it couldn’t, but there was only one that she truly cared about.
Its name was Olivia.
Anne turned back slowly, wondering if perhaps Armand was watching her from over the rim of the sink. When her grey eyes rested on him, she saw that he was not. He was facing the other way entirely, engrossed in cleaning his weapons of mouse blood. If he had glanced at all, he had turned away long ago.
Though he was possibly just doing the decent thing, it disappointed her that he didn’t want to look. Was he not even curious? Or perhaps his thoughts were simply elsewhere.
He kept her confused. One moment, she thought he hated her, and the next she had started to wonder if there was something softer behind his cold demeanor. In another instance, she thought he loved Olivia, and yet in the next, she wondered if he desired her own flesh.
But perhaps none of it mattered at all. She should not have even been thinking thoughts like that. Anne wanted to laugh at herself. There were other things to be concerned with now. Real problems, such as getting Olivia and herself to safety. Once they were back to their proper size, she would have to decide how to deal with keeping the girl quiet about all this.
And then there was the issue of whatever else was going on in this house. The suspicious conversations in William’s office. Hopefully, she would come across some of that as well on her way out of this frightful world.
Anne ran fingers through her hair until it was decently tangle–free, then she pulled the washcloth from the spout. She patted herself dry and wrung out her hair fully. She then wrapped the towel around herself and secured it.
The woman retrieved her dress from the water, wringing it out before slinging it up over the spout. It wasn’t perfectly spotless, but soaking in the soapy water had done it some good. She pulled the drain free and felt the suction pulling at the cloth she wore, dragging the bottom of it down toward oblivion. It didn’t get far. She looked around for a way out, only realizing then that there was no way she could have gotten out on her own.
Anne looked once again toward Armand, seeing only the back of his head and his shoulders from where she stood. She would have to call for him. She didn’t want to.
“I need help getting out of here,” she said, self–consciously holding the cloth around herself, though she didn’t know why. She had never been ashamed of her body, but perhaps this world of depraved toys had humbled her.
He rose up at her request, moving toward the sink’s edge and twisting the water off before reaching down to her. Taking her beneath her arms, he lifted her straight into the air with hardly any effort. The fringe of the cloth dripped, and he placed her down beside him.
She gripped his arms, looking up to his great height. Her bruised throat hurt a bit with the effort, but she barely noticed. He was looking back down at her, and she suddenly remembered him looking at her like this before.
It had been a short moment in Pirlipat’s kingdom where they’d stood, looking at each other without words. The puppets had interrupted it. The moment on the stairs had been similar. He had moved away from that himself.
Unlike the first time she had looked into his eyes, this time she didn’t see an empty abyss. Instead, she saw the truth.
He was so strong, focused; completely fearless! He was more of a man than she’d even seen before. Every time she’d fallen down, he’d been there, ready to help her back up. It was impossible in any real world to meet someone like this–someone who wasn’t just cowering beneath their skin no matter how much boldness they fronted. Only in fantasy–only with dolls–could such an extraordinary character exist. He was the hero who braved all to protect his princess.
He was harsh to her, but again and again she saw that he didn’t truly mean it. He was simply too proud to admit his wrongs. She forgave him of those things.
Anne understood then that she’d gone completely mad. This was no dream, no matter how much she’d hoped, a
nd whether or not this was reality or simply in her broken mind, it was happening. Yet, somehow, she didn’t care. She was no different from Olivia, a girl who heard the voices of toys and craved life in a dream world above all else–a girl she had loathed.
At that moment, Anne realized she had fallen for a toy.
She looked up at Armand with more affection than she was aware of, and he looked back at her with an unknown emotion that she couldn’t see in his eyes. There were no eyes, after all.
The moment passed, however, and as she’d predicted, he turned and walked away.
Armand moved back to where he’d left his weapons, taking the screw rapier once again to clean out the gloves.
“I’ll be done soon,” he said as if he’d not just been observing her skin. “You should try to dry yourself while you can.”
Anne had followed him to the spot, watching as he’d so easily become engrossed in his work once again–as if she wasn’t even standing there. The woman felt sudden desperation. Heartache.
“Why do you want Olivia?” she blurted. He looked up at her words, but had no chance to speak before she was going on.
“What is it that this child has that I will never achieve? Why is she so much more desirable than I am? I’ve looked into the mirror and seen nothing wrong. Is it a dream? No one else sees it but myself? And despite what you might think, I do have feelings beneath this skin!”
She hardly looked at him when she spoke, talking mostly to the countertop. He only watched her, letting her speak as she wanted.
“You know, I’d wager that you treat her with amazing care…” Anne considered, chewing her lip. She shook her head. “And I’m nothing. I’m like a doll to you!”
She looked directly at him after that accusation. Then it was his turn to look away.
“You don’t understand.”
“Oh, I do understand,” she insisted adamantly. “I understand it very well. This world is just like the last one. I’m exactly the same in it! Olivia is a queen. I’m not a princess, despite what Brooke thinks about me. I’m a toad. I get the kiss, but not the ‘happily ever after’. That’s me. That’s not only what I’ve become, but what I’ve always been!”