Cora could close her eyes and imagine this whole place in plastic, mass-produced for the amusement of children. That made it a little better. If she just pretended none of this was happening, that she was safe back in her bed at the school—or better, that she was sleeping in her net of kelp in the Trenches, the currents rocking her gently through her slumber—then maybe she could survive it with her sanity intact.

The jagged sugar point of the spear at her back made it a little difficult to check out completely.

Rini was limping. From the way she wobbled, it looked like her toes were starting to follow her fingers into nothingness, leaving her off-balance and unstable. Kade and Christopher were walking normally, although Christopher looked pale and a little lost. His fingers kept flexing, trying to trace chords on a flute that wasn’t there anymore.

Only Sumi seemed unbothered by the change in their situation. She plodded placidly onward, her skeletal feet clacking softly against the polished candy floor, the thin screen of her shade continuing to look around her with polite disinterest, like this was by no means a remarkable situation.

“What are they going to do to us, Rini?” asked Kade in a low voice.

“Mom said the first time she faced the Queen of Cakes, the Queen forced her to eat a whole plate of broccoli,” said Rini.

Kade relaxed a little. “Oh, that’s not so bad—”

“And then she tried to cut Mom open so she could read the future in her entrails. You can’t read the future in candy entrails. They’re too sticky.” Rini said this in a matter-of-fact tone, like she was embarrassed to need to remind them of such a basic fact of life.

Kade paled. “See, that’s bad. That’s very bad.”

“Silence,” snapped one of the knights. They were approaching a pair of massive gingerbread doors, decorated with sheets of sugar glass in a dozen different colors. Cora frowned. They were colorful, yes, and they were beautiful, covered in tiny sugar crystals that glittered like stars in the light, but they didn’t go together. None of this did. That was why she kept thinking of children playing in the kitchen: there seemed to be no sense of unity or theme in the castle. It was big. It was dramatic. It wasn’t coherent.

This is a Nonsense world, she thought. Coherence probably wasn’t a priority.

A small hatch popped open next to the door, and a pretty dancing doll sculpted from peppermint spires and taffy popped out, holding a scroll in its sticky hands.

“Her Majesty, the Unquestioned Ruler of Confection, Heir to the First Baker, the Queen of Cakes, will see you now!” proclaimed the doll. Its voice was high, shrill, and sweet, like honeyed syrup. “Be amazed at her munificence! Be delighted at her kindness! Be sure not to bite the hands that feed you!”