Page 117 of The Toymaker's Son

“Love me,” the fae said, “and I will.”

He was insane. Love him? As though I could make my heart love at a whim, as though I could forget every terrible thing he’d done. The more I knew of Adair, the more I loathed him. He’d killed Jacapo’s wife and child out of spite. He didn’t deserve love. “I cannot and will not love you. Ever. In fact, with every second you keep me here, I despise you more. My hate is so potent it consumes me. You are truly delusional if you believe I’ll ever love you—”

He snatched my wrist and turned on his heel, dragging me with him from the room. “Then I will make you.”

I knew where he was taking me, where this would end. “Stop.” I tried to dig my heels in, but his strength overpowered mine. “You cannot make a heart love. That’s not how love works. If you had a heart of your own, you’d know this!”

“Your heart is of my making! Youwilllove me to save him. I’ll not be jilted again.” He tore open the closet door, flung me inside the dark hole, and slammed the door closed. “Love me,” he said through the door panels, “and you’re free.”

I spun, pressed my hands to the door, and squeezed my eyes closed. The sound of his boots thumping the carpet faded away, and in the quiet, darkness pushed down. But I wasn’t alone. Their gazes settled on my back, their clockwork hearts ticking out of time. They weren’t alive, not like I was, but they were… something. I turned, and slowly, my eyes adjusted to the dark and their shapes formed from the gloom.

A dozen mannequins slumped on the closet floor, all like me. All broken and twisted. They were what I could have been, and what I still could be if Adair wished it.

I had to get out.

I had to warn Val before Adair ruined his life a second time. But how, when dreams could not survive reality? A message, a sign… something.

ChapterForty-Five

Valentine

Present day

My reflection gave the impression of a fine gentleman, one about to be wed. I’d borrowed the suit from the baker, a kind man who’d known and disliked my parents.

It should have been the happiest day of my life. Iwashappy. The hollow ache would pass, eventually.

The downstairs clock chimed midday.

I was to meet Elisabeth at the church. The wedding was a small affair, with a celebration planned at the Lost Penny later. All would be well. I’d marry, as a man of my age should. Elisabeth and I would live a contented life in Minerva. What more could a man like me hope for?

I paused at the front door, adjusted my cuffs and collar for the hundredth time, and frowned at myself for procrastinating. It was certainly too late to bow out gracefully. Everything was going to be perfectly fine. Things could certainly be much worse.

I opened the door and froze. A little yellow mechanical bird stood on the step. I blinked at the thing.

Crouching, I reached out and poked it. It rocked on twiglike legs. It felt real. It shouldn’t be here—nothing ofhisshould exist in my world, because he did not exist.

I snatched the bird, stepped back inside the house, and slammed the door.

Yes. The bird was mine from long ago, given to me by the toymaker’s son.Devere. The wings were the same rusted patina; all of it was the same. This wasmybird. Left on my doorstep on my wedding day. By someone who knew too much. I opened the door again and scanned the street. People milled up and down the road, the sun shone, and the flowers in the neighbor’s garden rustled in the breeze. Nothing appeared to be amiss.

But the bird… The bird should not exist.

Perhaps it was nothing, just my mind playing tricks. Someone had found it and thought it a fine gift on this auspicious day?

I dropped it into my pocket and began the walk to the church. The bird thumped my hip with every step. My bird. If the bird was real, then Hush was real and Devere was real, and the dreams… I’d tried to forget, to move on.

I checked my pocket watch. There was enough time to visit the graveyard, to see the grave of the man who never was.

What if Devere was there?

No, he couldn’t be. He was a dream, a fantasy, perhaps a nightmare. Nothing more. But by God, I missed him. I’d dreamed of running through the forest to get to him, or the mansion with its moving corridors. But in those dreams, I never found him.

I shoved my hand into my pocket and grabbed the bird. Solid. Real. Yet it should not be here… a dream in my pocket.

“I’d give anything to see him again.”To say I’m sorry.

I pushed through the graveyard’s back gate and hurried up the overgrown path. Church bells tolled, warning me not to look, not to go back, but the bird meant something and I needed to be here, where I’d found it before. The weeping angel waited up ahead, nestled in long, unkept grass. A man stood beside the grave. My steps slowed. No, not a man.

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