After discussing a few other weird creatures with Dad, I release my wings and flutter to catch up to Morpheus.

He glances over as I light beside him. A satisfied smile greets me.

“What?” I ask.

“You may not be dressed like royalty, but it’s good to see you embrace your netherling side so openly.”

I study my red boots, suppressing a rush of pride. He doesn’t know the half of how easy it’s getting to let the madness have free reign. “So, are you going to tell me who this Manti is? Is he dangerous?”

“Bah. He’s an ambitious manticorn who’s been a lowly knave for far too long. He craves prestige and power. Nothing to concern you.”

The fact that there’s a real-life half man/half unicorn running around is enough to concern me, and Morpheus’s assurance feels forced at best.

“Don’t you think we’d get there faster if we flew?” I ask to suppress my jittery nerves. “Dad can use your griffon. You could let him ride him.”

Morpheus returns his attention to the landscape. His bejeweled profile sparkles from red to black. “I don’t much feel like sharing with your father. I’m sure you can understand.”

“Then wait for us, and I’ll go back and get one of the parasols the birds left.”

“Don’t much feel like waiting, either.”

I frown. “Stop being so petty.” I look back at Dad, who’s keeping us in his sight from a few steps behind. “Put yourself in his place. Can you imagine what he’s been through? The nightmares he’s had to relive and accept as reality over the past few hours?”

Several steps ahead of me now, Morpheus lifts his head, letting the humid breeze ripple the blue fringe at the edges of his hat. “Yes, poor fellow. Must’ve been unbearable, realizing how much the woman he adores loves him back.”

Flapping my wings, I match his swift pace. “You can’t possibly compare their romance to . . .”

He appraises my face, wearing a wry smirk. “To whose, Alyssa?”

I nibble the inside of my lip, annoyed with myself for almost showing my hand. “Wait.” I study him, from head to toe. Yes, he still appears to be the same Morpheus I’ve always known. But there is one discernible difference: His wings trail behind him like drizzles of ink, whereas mine flap, lifting me inches above the ground. “This isn’t you holding a grudge. This is you changing the subject. You’re stalling.”

Morpheus scoffs as he drags another mat of drifting land close enough for us to step on without getting wet. “Ludicrous. Why would I do that?”

I jump lightly across. “Because you need the griffon. You can’t fly any more than my dad can.”

While we wait for Dad to catch up, Morpheus holds the adjoining island in place with the walking stick. The only sound is the geysers burbling all around. His silence speaks volumes.

I grasp his hand where he clutches his cane. Through his thin glove, I feel his muscles tense. “I haven’t seen you use your wings. Not once since I’ve been here. That bird thing . . . he said you have to recharge. You’re out of magic. Which means you’re not immune to the dome. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

His other hand closes over mine—making me the captive instead of the captor—as he meets my gaze. “Of course. As soon as you tell me what’s in the teensy diary around your neck.”

My heartbeat hammers the tiny book where it rests atop my sternum. It’s still under my tunic, so there’s no way he’s seen it. “How did you—?”

“Chessie speaks through his eyes. All you have to do is look, and listen.”

Chessie’s tail slips over the edge of Morpheus’s pocket and squirms as if to taunt me.

“Actually,” I say, almost to myself, “we have been learning to communicate lately.”

“Good.” Morpheus nods. “A queen’s top priority should be an open rapport with her subjects. Now, back to my question.”

I press my lips together, not ready to share the diary’s secret. Bringing up my plan to vanquish Red will open the subject of the life-magic vow I made to Morpheus a month ago, that I’d spend twenty-four hours with him after I defeated her. This isn’t the time or place to discuss that.

Dad crosses to where we are, obviously distracted by our joined hands. “What are we stopping for?”

Morpheus scowls. “Simply waiting for the human to catch up, whilst knowing that he never truly will,” he quips, cool as always. Yet there’s a worried crease between his eyebrows—a subconscious tic he can’t hide from me. He never answered my question about his wings. The invincible Morpheus is crippled. And that saddens me.

We start walking again, Dad trailing behind. I want to press Morpheus more about his weaknesses here, but his pride won’t let him answer. So I change the subject. “I’m feeling curious again.”

He twirls his walking stick. “Ah, of course. It is your most endearing quality.”

I shake my head at his teasing. “The birds mentioned the Queen of Hearts earlier. Is that Red’s pseudonym here?”

Morpheus tilts his chin. “The Queen of Hearts is not in fact Queen Red. Your mum often confused them, though I tried to set her straight. Hart was a queen of the Red Court centuries ago. She is distantly related to you. She had barbaric tendencies, murdering her subjects for the most inane reasons. Taking a bite off a tart and leaving it on a plate, or spilling her finger paints. For this, she inherited the sobriquet of Hartless. In a twisted bid for respect, she began to collect the one thing her subjects said she was missing.”

“Hearts?” I ask, almost gagging at the thought. “That’s what the goon meant earlier, when he said those who don’t win the caucus race will lose their beating hearts?”

“Precisely. Netherling hearts are unique. They can be harvested so they continue to beat forever even after their bodily cage is gone. The queen has mastered this technique. She can also sense a heart’s quality. She uses the organs for everything from clothing embellishments to paperweights. She was banned from the kingdom for that practice, and sent here after she became too violent and murderous to contain. Unfortunately, now she is harboring Red’s spirit. Two queens for the price of one. It’s quite a bargain.”

My throat clenches. “But you said spirits can’t possess other bodies here . . .”