"I—" Mary stuttered. Fable never thought she'd see her stutter, ever. "I'm sure they're here. We need to…" She began whispering to the Queen of Sorrow again.
The Queen listened to Mary then turned back to the Lost Seven. She ordered them to a halt until she finished her conversation. Then she began discussing something with her again.
Jack used this slight gap to explain to everyone what was happening. "It's an old trick," he whispered. "Huntsmen are only males. Females, especially your age, walk more lightly than men. You wouldn't crush the peas and make a popping sound. You're not used to that kind of heavy treading. If she'd discovered the girls among us, she'd know they were intruders. Girls."
"That's…" Fable didn't know what to say. "Thank you, Jack."
"I find this kind of thinking unfair to women," Marmalade hissed. "Who said women walk as lightly as feathers?"
"We're not here to discuss this," Ladle said. "Let's figure out if the Queen has another trick for us."
Suddenly, Cerené gasped. It hadn't been a loud gasp. Somehow, she'd sucked it in.
But what had made her gasp?
Fable turned her head and was about to gasp like her.
An open wardrobe of the finest and most beautiful dresses and most glinting shoes had been brought into the chamber. There was no reason for it, none whatsoever.
"Stay put, girls." Jack sounded fed up. It was like, Why the hell am I walking among so many girls in a world that only allows men to become huntsmen? "It's another trick. Just don't gasp or look."
Immediately, Fable lowered her head, away from the sight of the most beautiful dresses she had ever seen. She thought most of the Lost Seven, especially the girls, had been raised in poor families. At least, that was what fairy tale books she had read in the real world had hinted. They were supposed to never have seen such clothes and fine fabrics.
And, of course, none of them had seen such shoes. Especially Cerené, Cinderella, whose life had all kinds of shoes in it, starting with the glass shoe she wore to balance her feet, and a story about a prince who loved her back in Italy. A story Fable had heard only parts of from Shew after her return from the last Dreamory.
All of them, except Jack and the Beast, lowered their heads. Fable wasn't sure about the Beast. He was at the far end, and Fable feared she'd be exposed if she tilted her head to look at him.
Jack began telling them what was going on. And Fable's intuition was right. The Queen had sought to tempt the girls with the glittering dresses and shoes. No huntsman would lift his head toward them or gasp when seeing such beautiful fabrics.
Fable almost squeaked with excitement. With all the danger surrounding her, this part of the dream seemed to have been cut right from the pages of fairy tales. Lame, nonsensical, and girly in such silly ways. It was such a paradoxical feeling, being both afraid and happy.
Again, the Queen seemed angered.
The Queen of Sorrow stood in front of her glass throne with two obeying black panthers at her feet. She gazed at the huntsmen, as if trying to pierce through their cloaks. With her chin up, she closed her eyes and sighed. Fable was worried the Queen would spit dragon fire any moment. It wasn't just a sigh. It was unexplainable, as if the Queen controlled the weather in Sorrow and was about send a cyclone of frogs and crickets upon them all.
Fable tightened her hands on the friends on her sides, Jack and Cerené, waiting for the Queen to open her eyes.
The Queen did. There was no storm. But this time, the Queen stepped away from her throne, nearing them. Fable had a bad feeling about it. She couldn't say why. But maybe she had lived this memory before, and deep in her mind she knew of the terrible thing coming her way.
The Queen asked Sirenia to hand her a bowl. Sirenia did, and the Queen held it by the tips of her hands. She stared at the huntsmen. A daring stare. Then she threw a fistful of something on the floor.
It took everyone some time to realize what it was. All but Fable, whose memories began to return, with all the fears of the past.
The Queen had thrown a fistful of breadcrumbs on the floor.
Fable gasped. Loudly.
"What's wrong with you?" Jack whispered, squeezing her hand. "Hold yourself together. They're just breadcrumbs."
Fable just couldn't. She was almost suffocating, the memory passing like a looming blur before her eyes. It had to do with where she had been before she entered this dream. It had to do with what had happened to her in the forest.
Cerené tightened her hand on Fable. She seemed to be the only one who knew, but Fable couldn't see her facial expressions behind the darkness of the cloaks.
"Hold on, Fable." Cerené's voice was more than sympathetic. It was as if she understood Fable's pain. The pain Fable herself couldn't grasp.
"What's going on with me?" Fable asked Cerené, about to puke, and unable to look away from the breadcrumbs scattered on the floor. It was as if she were an addict to some forbidden bread.