As they turned around after hitting another dead end, Lia leaned into Celia for support, a moan escaping her lips. The dark energy from the Bander­snatch’s final attack still burned in Celia’s veins. How much worse must it have been for Ty and Lia, who had taken the brunt of the damage?

  “You saved my life,” Celia said.

  Lia’s head wobbled. “You saved ours,” she said, her words slurred. “Could never have recited that poem the way you did up on the wall. We’d make a good team.”

  Celia stared at her mirror image. Was Lia suggesting what Celia thought she was? Only, what did it matter now? They’d failed. The White Kingdom was gone, and the vorpal sword was eating the rest of the world. She couldn’t imagine how they’d ever get home.

  “Over here,” Tyrus yelled, kicking aside a shattered beam blocking the door to the cozy room.

  The four of them tumbled through the doorway. The bookshelf was in flames, and there was a gaping hole where the chair used to be, but the mirror was still there.

  A thundering crash came from outside the door, and they turned to see the entire library crumbling behind them.

  “Go!” Tyrus screamed, shoving Ty through the mirror.

  Celia pushed Lia in after him, then she and Tyrus clasped hands and dove through the mirror just as the floor gave way beneath them.

  • • •

  Tumbling into the Isle of Illusion, it took Celia a moment to adjust to the sudden quiet. Crouched on her hands and knees beside Ty and Lia, who were lying on the ground, she clutched the thick grass, waiting for something to fall or break.

  Then she saw the Jabberwock sprawled a few feet away, blood pooled at her side, her red-scaled face far too pale.

  “No!” she sobbed. She scrambled to the princess’s side, pressing her tear-covered cheek to the creature’s feverish skin.

  The dragon’s eyes opened a slit, and she gave a soft sigh.

  “You’re still alive,” Tyrus said, crawling next to Celia. He pulled off his leather vest and pressed it to the Jabberwock’s wound.

  Gasping in pain, the princess’s eyes fluttered. Her head lolled to her right.

  Celia turned to see the Bander­snatch looming, vorpal sword in hand. Her long blonde hair was charred and her face was a mass of burns, but her eyes gleamed with pleasure.

  “She’s tougher than I gave her credit for.” The evil fairy laughed. “But that means I’ll get the pleasure of finishing her off myself.”

  “I won’t let you,” Tyrus snarled, spreading his arms protectively over the Jabberwock’s bloody body.

  The Jabberwock met the Bander­snatch’s eyes. “Go ahead,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and filled with pain. The effort seemed to take all of her strength, and her eyes slipped shut.

  Celia felt a wave of guilt and despair. “I’m so sorry,” she said, tears running down her cheeks. “I promised to defeat the Bander­snatch for you, but . . . I couldn’t.”

  The princess licked her cracked lips. “Shouldn’t have . . . asked you.”

  The Bander­snatch cackled. “That’s the one way we’re alike. We both want to see the other dead.”

  “Wasn’t about . . . killing.” The Jabberwock’s voice was barely a whisper. “About . . . saving.”

  Keeping the vest pressed to her side, Tyrus glanced toward the mirror, which had gone black.

  “Don’t expect your friend to save you,” the Bander­snatch said. “The last I saw him he was cowering in the library. He’s been eaten with everything else by now.”

  “He’s not my friend,” Celia said, aching from Hatta’s betrayal. Still, it hurt to think that she would never see him again.

  Lia got up from the grass and limped toward her former leader. “Is this what you recruited us for?” she asked with disgust. “It was never about stopping the White Kingdom, or winning the war, or defeating the enemy. It was always about killing your mirror image.”

  “She is the enemy,” the Bander­snatch snapped, gripping the vorpal sword tightly. “And I defeated the White Kingdom despite the fact that you turned against me.”

  Sitting with his head in his hands, Ty glanced up at her. “How does it feel?”

  “What?” The Bander­snatch’s burned lips curled into a sneer.

  “It’s just—” He raised his glasses to wipe his eyes. “Ever since you brought us here to fight for you, I’ve imagined what it would feel like to defeat the White Kingdom. Now that it’s happened, I’m wondering if it’s everything you hoped it would be.”

  “It’s better,” the Bander­snatch said. “I’ve waited more than a century for this victory, and it’s even sweeter than I expected.”

  “That’s good, I guess,” Tyrus muttered. “I thought I’d feel that way too. But now that the war’s over, it’s nothing like I thought it would be. I feel . . . tired.”

  Tyrus ran a hand gently over the Jabberwock’s furrowed forehead. “It’s like the oyster and the platypus.”

  Lia gave him a questioning look.

  “After you left for the pirate ship, Hatta told us a story about an elephant who wanted a chicken, or maybe it was a walrus who wanted oysters. Only once the walrus got the frog, it realized it really wanted the platypus because . . .”

  He shook his head at Ty and Lia’s confused expressions. “Without my imagination, I’m not great at telling stories. But the point is, sometimes, when you want what you don’t have, you think that once you’ve got what you want, you’ll be happy with what you’ve got. Only, once you’ve fought for what you want until that’s what you’ve got, you realize that what you’ve got is not what you want, and you wonder why you fought.”

  “That’s logic,” Celia added with a ghost of a smile as she remembered Tweedle Dum’s epic conversations. Ty and Lia only shook their heads, but Celia was pretty sure she understood. “When I was standing on the rampart swinging the vorpal sword and fighting the Jubjubs, it felt like everything I’d fought for, everything I’d endured, had led to that moment. I knew I could win the battle, save the kingdom, and make all of you proud. I was ready to do it, until I realized—”

  “—you were a coward,” the Bander­snatch cut in. “Just like Hatta. Neither of you could land the final blow, and now he’s dead and you’re here.”

  “That wasn’t it,” Celia said, still feeling the moment when she’d discovered she no longer wanted to kill the Bander­snatch.

  “It was like the end of a chess match. There were two paths I could take, and I could see where they both led. One way gave me everything I thought I wanted, but I would have hated the person I’d become. The other way meant giving up everything I was trying to protect, but I’d keep the only thing that mattered—being myself.”

  Ty nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s why Hatta gave Bandy the sword. Maybe we were never supposed to use it in the first place.”

  “But Mr. Dodgson told us to,” Lia said. “‘Wield the weapon and vanquish the foe.’”

  “There was no and,” Tyrus said.

  Everyone turned to look at him.

  “What are you talking about?” Lia said.

  “There was no and in the poem,” Tyrus repeated. He took out his notebook and flipped through the pages. “I wrote it down. The message didn’t say, ‘Wield the weapon and vanquish the foe.’ It only said, ‘Wield the weapon. Vanquish the foe.’ We all just assumed we were supposed to wield the weapon to vanquish the foe.”

  Ty took off his glasses and rubbed them on his shirt. “You’re saying they’re two separate phrases. Two different choices—‘Wield the weapon’ or ‘Vanquish the foe.’ I never thought of that.”

  “But then who is the foe we’re supposed to vanquish?” Lia asked.

  The Jabberwock coughed, a trickle of blood leaking from one corner of her mouth, and raised her head before croaking out a single word . . .

  Chapter 42

  Fear

  The word echoed in Celia’s brain. She had lived her whole life with fear—fear of not keeping up, fear of people finding out she was dyslexic, fear of being an outcast, and worst of all, fear of not being good enough for herself or her mother. Celia knew what a devastating foe it could be.

  She turned to the Bander­snatch, only now realizing she’d been asking the wrong question. “Why did Hatta give you the sword?”

  The Bander­snatch snorted. “Because he was a coward.”

  “No,” Lia said at once. “You’ve called him that before because he refused to join the war. But I’ve seen plenty of cowards in battle, and he’s not one. He was never afraid to fight. He just did it in his own way.”

  “But he was a traitor,” Ty said, reluctantly. “The White Queen was right about that. I’m pretty sure he sabotaged the catapults and put syrup on the road. He could have given the sword to anyone, but he gave it to the one person who would use it to destroy the White Kingdom.”

  Ty was right. Hatta could have given the sword to anyone, sent it back through the mirror, or even kept it himself. None of those things would have required him to kill the Bander­snatch, but he gave it to the only person who would use the sword for the worst possible purpose.

  Why?

  She turned to Tyrus. “Do you have Hatta’s shadeglasses?”

  Tyrus shook his head. “He must have taken them.”

  The Bander­snatch shifted the vorpal sword from one hand to the other, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

  For the first time, Celia really studied the girl before her, trying to see her, not as an enemy or a soldier or a villain, but as a real person with hopes and plans and . . .

  “Fears,” Celia whispered.

  The Bander­snatch moved back a step, raising the sword as her neck stretched and her fangs emerged from between her lips.

  Celia looked from the Bander­snatch to the Jabberwock, who was barely breathing, then back. “Why haven’t you killed your mirror image already?”

  Tyrus gasped, leaning protectively over the princess, but the Jabberwock opened her eyes.

  “I was going to,” the Bander­snatch snarled, “when the four of you interrupted me.”

  “You had plenty of time before we got here,” Celia pressed. “And it’s not like we could have stopped you.”

  “Um, this might not be the best time to point that out,” Tyrus muttered to Celia.

  “I don’t need Hatta’s glasses to see inside you,” Celia said, ignoring the Bander­snatch’s growing rage. “I don’t need them, because I know what you’re feeling. It’s the same thing I’ve felt most of my life. You’re afraid. Hatta gave you the sword because he knew that underneath your anger and your threats and your bullying, you’re really just afraid.”

  The Bandersnatch snarled, raising the sword above her head, and lunged toward the Jabberwock. “I’m not afraid of anything!”

  Lia stepped in front of her, directly into the vorpal sword’s path, without flinching. “I am. I’m afraid almost all the time.”

  “That’s why you ran away from the final battle,” the Bander­snatch said, trying to shove her aside.

  But Lia refused to back down, eyes cold and decisive. “No. It’s why I fought for you in the first place. Why I never asked the questions I should have.”

  She turned to Celia and Tyrus. “You were right in the boat and on the beach when you said I was afraid. I pretended I knew what I was doing, and people followed me. I was afraid that if I spoke up, they’d discover the real person behind my logic. I’m not a leader. I just pretend to be one.”

  Celia didn’t know what to say. She’d felt the exact same things. She’d been so upset about losing the chess match because she was afraid her teammates would discover she was a fraud.

  For once, even Tyrus was speechless.

  “I’m afraid too,” Ty said, joining Lia to stand between the Bander­snatch and the Jabberwock. “As long as I was your general, everyone wanted to be my friend. They respected me. I’ve been terrified that if I didn’t go along with your plans, they’d discover I’m just a weird kid who reads too many books.”

  “We are weird kids who read books,” Tyrus said. “But that’s not a bad thing.”

  In the distance, the sound of an avalanche rumbled, and the still water of the Nix rippled.

  The Bander­snatch spun around. “What is that?”

  The sound came again—this time longer and deeper—and the island began to quiver.

  “It’s what happened in the Looking-Glass World,” Ty said.

  The ground shook again; the chewing roar of reality being eaten by the vorpal sword became clearer and grew louder.

  “It’s the sword,” Lia said. “It couldn’t eat the Jabberwock because you pulled it through the mirror first, so it started eating the Looking-Glass World, but . . .”

  Ty rubbed a hand across his mouth as he looked at the Bander­snatch. “But now the sword’s hunger is following it.”

  The Tumtums chimed, and the creatures on the hill began to hoot and howl as something crashed in the woods.

  The Jabberwock’s talons opened and closed. “The toves,” she murmured. “Must save . . .” She tried to get up before collapsing back to the ground.

  Celia turned to the Bandersnatch, panic rising in her throat. “You have to give up the sword and combine with your mirror image. It’s the only way to stop this.”

  “Never,” the Bander­snatch said, her blue eyes ice-cold.

  “You’ll die if you don’t,” Lia told her as calmly as if she was explaining a chess strategy. “You can’t go back through the mirror, you can’t cross the Nix, and in a few minutes, the vorpal sword will eat this island—and us.”

  The Bander­snatch clutched the sword tightly, but Celia saw her hands had started to tremble. “Then I will die holding the most powerful weapon.”

  Ty reached out, his fingers gently brushing the sword’s hilt. He moved to take the Bandersnatch’s hand. “Words have always been more powerful than swords. You taught us.”

  Tyrus nodded, holding the princess’s taloned claw the same way Ty was holding the Bandersnatch’s hand. “The Jabberwock told us about how, after you started to look in the mirror, you got scared that people would think you were a fraud, despite all the great things you did. Sometimes the words you tell yourself do the most damage. Maybe that’s why the War of the Queens became a war of words.”

  “I feel like an imposter all the time,” Celia said. “And I’m not even royalty.”

  “I . . . no.” The Bander­snatch tried to back away, but Lia stepped forward to take her arm.

  “I know what your biggest fear is,” Lia said, “because it’s mine too. I’m afraid that if I rejoin with Celia, I’ll get lost in her and never find my way out. I’ll disappear.”

  “You are?” Celia asked, her mouth hanging open. “I thought you didn’t want the parts of me in you.”

  “I was afraid to tell you the truth,” Lia said. “I’m only a tiny piece of what you were. You have all these talents and dreams and experiences, and all I have is logic.”

  “You won’t get lost,” Celia said. “I swear it. You’re way too strong to disappear. And you’re more than logic. You’re also everything you’ve learned and done and dreamed about since you got here. Combining our talents won’t make them go away—it will make them better.”

  “Lia’s right,” Ty said. “So is Celia. It’s why I want to rejoin with Tyrus, too.” He glanced at Tyrus, who smiled encouragingly and nodded. “We’re better together.”

  The Bander­snatch looked from Ty to Lia, her face uncertain. “You’re lying. Both of you.”

  “Look in our eyes,” Ty said. “You’ve always been able to tell if Lia and I were telling the truth. What do you see now?”

  The Bander­snatch leaned forward, taking a step closer to the Jabberwock, before she jerked to a halt. “I . . .” Her jaw clenched, and the hand holding the sword trembled. “I . . . tried to kill her.”

  “Only after she tried to kill you,” Celia said. “That doesn’t make it right. But don’t you see—you share the same fears. The Jabberwock thought she was too plain. Too much muscle and not enough brains. She didn’t think people could see her as royalty. You thought you were too ruthless, too bloodthirsty.”

  Sitting in the grass by the princess’s side, Tyrus looked up into the Bander­snatch’s bloodshot eyes. “Earlier, I told the Jabberwock that just because she’d made mistakes, that didn’t make her evil. The same is true for you. You both have flaws, but you also have so many strengths. If you both used your strengths to control your flaws, you’d make a totally kick-butt princess.”

  The Bander­snatch pulled free of their hands, looking from the Jabberwock to the Nix, where crashing waves were breaking off huge chunks of the island. “You can’t make me do this.”

  “No one’s ever been able to force you to do anything you didn’t believe in,” Lia said. “It’s one of the things I admire about you. But ask yourself if this is really how you want it to end.”

  The Jabberwock opened her eyes, and her foreleg twitched, as though trying to bridge the gap between them.

  “Words can be weapons,” Ty added. “But they can also be wishes. You used your words to attack others—now use them to save yourself.”

  A rising wind began to howl. It snapped off tree branches and sent them whirling through the air like spears.

  The Bander­snatch knelt slowly at the Jabberwock’s side, staring at her mirror image’s scarred and bleeding body. “No matter how many Jubjubs I sent, they could never defeat her,” she said softly.

  Tyrus lifted the Jabberwock’s claw and placed it beside the Bandersnatch’s hand. “She never stopped protecting the creatures here. The same way the two of you protected the people of your kingdom.”

 

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