Untamed - A. G. Howard Page 0,90
still not quite there. But one day, you will be complete at last. You will shed your mortality to be the queen Wonderland needs. And then you will have nowhere left to belong but here.”
I swallow hard, because the thought is both inspiring and wondrous. “What was it like for you? Being trapped inside a cocoon for seventy-five years? Was it lonely?”
His profile smiles. “Surely you jest. I had Wonderland’s most fascinating and charming netherling to keep me company.”
I laugh. “Like I said, humble.”
The amused expression on his face grows grim. “It wasn’t company I missed. It was my magic and Wonderland’s landscapes. Being without them. It was torment . . .”
His voice trails. Of course. He’s a solitary fae. Their one true companion—their passion—is Wonderland itself. I think of how he acted after we escaped AnyElsewhere and finally found our way back here. How he stood in the middle of the frozen tulgey wood, wings arced high, and used his blue lightning to shake down tufts of snow from the branches. How he laughed and danced in the downpour. He was carefree and playful, drunk on magic after having been without it so long. And that was after only a month. I can’t imagine how it would be after decades.
“I wonder if it was different for Red,” I conjecture aloud. “She did the same thing, in a way. Gave up her magic for Alice’s imprint. Lived years and years in the human realm without her powers . . . grew old—” I cut my words short, seeing how intently he’s watching me in the moonlight. “Would you be happy?” I ask before he can admit what he’s thinking. It’s incredible how I can read him now. “Living out your life with Finley’s imprint. Aging under his visage in the human realm. Because you wouldn’t be able to use your magic if you wore an imprint.”
Morpheus’s jaw twitches. “Perhaps I could learn to tolerate it.”
“Tolerating a future with me. There is nothing romantic or fulfilling about that scenario.” I place a hand on his arm. “Remember what I told you earlier in the dodo’s cave . . . about the experiences mortality has to offer?”
His eyes meet mine, but hard as he tries, he can’t hide the sickly green flash to his jeweled markings. He looks away, nose crinkled. “Ugh. I remember how pathetically pedestrian they are.”
I nod. “To you, yes. You’re not made for that life. You’re meant to be eternally young . . . free to soar in the skies here in Wonderland. To watch over the world you love. I don’t want you faking it every day for me. It would be another prison, just like your cocoon. Another span of decades without the madness and magic that make you know you’re alive. But me? Ever since I was a child, I’ve aspired to have those pedestrian experiences. It’s hardwired to my genetic makeup. And Jeb’s—”
Morpheus’s snarl cuts me off. “Of course. Jebediah. He would certainly appreciate such a life, being a simpleton.”
“Being a human,” I correct, moving my hand from the bicep that’s now stiff with tension. “For mortals, those things are sacred. It’s innate in us, the desire to grow old with someone we love. To share the simple things along the journey, to cherish each one as the treasure it is. My mom missed out on so much of that with my dad. But they have a second chance now. They can still have some of it. Poor Alice didn’t have any chances. No one to love and grow old with. She aged alone in a cage with a dodo bird as her only companion. That was a tragedy. A wasted human life. All she had were sad fantasies of what might’ve been. Jeb deserves better than that. He deserves something real. So do you. And I do, too. No more pretending. Not between the three of us.”
There’s a moment of silence. Then Morpheus sighs. “When did you get so wise, little truffle?”
I fight the sting of tears in my eyes. “You already know. You had a hand in that journey.”
He shakes his head. “My offer still stands to hide you somewhere. I can protect you from the mortals. They are destined to break your heart in ways I never could.” The words are sincere, his voice deep and gruff, as if it’s already happened and he’s hurting for me.
“Jeb would never—”
“When he dies one day, he will. Your parents will, too. And anyone