“Charles . . . I cannot accept this. This is. . . .”
She looked over at her brother. He was still, for once, watching her with puzzling sadness. She gave him a kiss on the forehead. He made a face.
“Thank you. I shall wear it every day when I am Queen.” Her own crown, a tiny ring of rubies, now seemed sad and pathetic by comparison. She reached out to touch the diamond heart.
“No!” Charles screamed, throwing himself on the floor, where he began flailing. His body gave a jerk and a spasm rippled up his legs. Dinah knelt on the floor next to him, wrapping her arms around his painfully thin frame.
“Charles, breathe. Charles, calm down, I won’t touch it, not yet.”
She shouted for Lucy, and Quintrell flew around the corner. His face dissolved into fear for the little prince. “Hold him tight. Here, put this in his mouth.” He gave Dinah a stick of hard wood. “I don’t want him to bite off his tongue.”
Dinah gently placed the stick into Charles’s mouth and held him until the seizure passed.
“I’ve got him,” she told Quintrell.
He gave her a gentle smile. “What do you think of your crown?”
Dinah looked back at it. It was no less beautiful from below. “I can’t believe he made that. I knew he did metal and gemstone work sometimes, but this. . . .”
“He’s been working on it for years,” Quintrell whispered. “We never wanted to spoil the surprise. The day it graces your head will be a glorious day for us, for Charles, for Wonderland. I have faith that you will be a great Queen.”
Dinah looked down at her tiny brother, his limbs quivering under her hands. Her arm was heavy under his shuddering spine. Two broken children, she thought, waiting for a mother who would never return. She looked into Charles’s eyes and stroked his hair. His body went slack in Dinah’s arms, he was finally still and quiet. “The crown should have gone on his head,” she replied. “If he weren’t mad, Charles would have been the heir, the King of Hearts.”
Quintrell dropped his huge hand against her black hair. “It was never meant to be, Your Grace. Shall I take him from you?”
Dinah shook her head. “No, I’ll stay. Would you mind bringing me some pillows?”
Charles’s small mouth opened and shut as his eyes flickered beneath pale eyelids. Dreaming of hats, she prayed. Hats and trees and tarts. She snuggled in beside him, his greasy head resting against her shoulder. They rested together, brother and sister—Charles finally sleeping soundly after his seizure ended, and Dinah staring in wonder at the crown, watching how the changing light played over its features. She stayed with him for a few hours until Lucy stepped into the room, tucking in her lacy apron.
“Dinah, Charles should be put into his bed now. Quintrell can carry him there. After his seizures, he sleeps for about two days. It’s the most sleep he ever gets, so we take advantage of it and attempt to categorize and clean his materials and living space.” She looked at the small, empty room. “At least we don’t have to clean this room anymore.”
Dinah carefully shifted Charles off her hip and let Quintrell take him. Charles was so thin Quintrell could cradle him like a child.
“I’ll come back later this week,” said Dinah, sliding her feet back into her jeweled slippers. She bent over Charles and kissed his forehead lightly, lingering on his smell of unwashed skin, sun, and fabric. “I’ll see you soon,” she whispered. On her way out, she stole another glance at the crown. The afternoon sun was heavy, and the rays of Wonderland’s beaming light rippled across the jeweled surface. I’ll be back for you, she thought.
Dinah walked swiftly down the stone hallway that wound around the Royal Apartments. A poof of a white bird was following her. These petite, perfectly beaked creatures ran rampant around the castle. Dinah turned and scooped it up in her hands. The bird gave a surprised squawk and then nuzzled against her ribs. Dinah let her fingers lightly play over its downy-soft feathers as she walked. Her mind wandered and jumped, replaying all that Faina Baker had said and done. It wasn’t hard. Dinah wouldn’t forget what she had seen and heard in the Black Towers, not ever—Faina’s sunken beauty, Cray’s scheming boyishness, Yoous’s lazy brutality. Wardley hadn’t spoken to Dinah since then, and Dinah was afraid of what he might say when he did. Surely, he resented her for dragging him there, to a place of nightmares.
Her mind kept wrapping and unwrapping itself around Faina’s words. “She’ll wear the crown to keep her head.” She had obviously been talking about Dinah. But why would she lose her head? No one would dare kill a Royal, unless it was a Yurkei assassin, or a family next in line to the throne, but her father had all but eradicated those.
“He came on a devil steed, looking for something he would never have again.” That didn’t make sense either. Faina had talked of the sea, but her father had battled the Yurkei tribes in the East, up against the mountains. That was where he conceived Vittiore. And Cheshire, the whisperer of secrets—he was tied up in this as well, not that that was a surprise. Dinah had always loathed him, but now she had even more reason to make sure that her first days as the Queen of Hearts were his last as the King’s advisor.
The bird gave another loud squawk and turned over in Dinah’s hands. She looked around in surprise. She had been wandering for a while, lost in her thoughts. She was now on the King’s end of the castle—the west-side Royal Apartments. Dinah rarely ventured here, for fear of running into her father. She glanced back. Her Heart Cards were behind her, looking bored and annoyed that she had wandered so long. She began walking again. Let them follow, she thought, that’s their job. The late-afternoon light bathed the castle in a lovely golden glow. Her eyes lifted to a red stained-glass window, wall-sized and made of hundreds of tiny hearts. When the sun rippled through fat clouds outside, the heart appeared to be alive, a beating organ with a thousand moving parts. She sighed. Wonderland Palace was so beautiful, so ancient. Sometimes she forgot how lovely it was, how much she loved it.
“Dinah?”
The sound was so soft it made her jump; she dropped the bird. It gave Dinah an angry peck on her shin before scuttling down the hall. Vittiore stood behind her, a layered peach gown on her thin frame. Her blond curls were pulled to one side and clipped with a pale-pink rose. Her two lady’s maids flanked her sides, as they always did. They wore matching dresses—red-and-white stripes with blue piping, like frosting on a cake. They were identical twins, born of a Ms. Dee, a striking lady of the court who stood in high favor—too high, Dinah suspected—with the King.
Dinah’s eyes narrowed. “That rose was my mother’s clip.”
Vittiore raised a flustered hand to her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t. . . .”
Palma, the quieter of the twins, stepped forward. “What the Duchess wears is no business of yours.” She gave a silly giggle that made Dinah grind her teeth together. “It’s not like you care about the fashion of Wonderland. Your mother had much better sense than you ever will.”
Nanda, her second lady-in-waiting and the meaner twin, let out a derisive laugh. “Don’t blame the Princess—it’s not her fault. Emily has no sense how to dress people, or what a lady should wear. She’s of common birth, it’s well known.”
Dinah clenched her teeth. “Do not speak of Emily; she is a loyal servant and a more than suitable maidservant. I require more of my servants than simply dressing me like an overstuffed bird.”
Palma narrowed her eyes. “Emily is not as loyal as you think.”
“Quiet, Palma” snapped Nanda.
“Both of you, shush now. You forget your place,” Vittiore ordered quietly. “Go back to my chambers and prepare some thistle tea for the Princess and me. Now.”
Palma and Nanda gave an irritated bow and scampered off toward Vittiore’s chambers, their steps perfectly in sync. Dinah placed her hands on the hips of her striped gown, suddenly feeling very plain. “I have no desire for tea. I give you permission to enjoy it with your gossipy and useless maidservants. Goodbye.” She turned to go.
> “No, wait. Just one cup.”
Dinah tilted her head and stared at her half sister, the Duchess of Wonderland. They had never been together without the King, not once since Vittiore had arrived. Dinah avoided Vittiore at all costs, and she had assumed Vittiore had done the same. They were never scheduled for the same activities, the same meals or lessons. She saw her occasionally for royal balls, croquet games, and more tedious matters of Wonderland, such as council meetings, but that was just a few times a year. During those times, Vittiore looked equally as bored as Dinah, only with a hint of fear. She had always been slight and lovely, which made the much-more-solid Dinah feel like a clumsy giant around her, even here in this cavernous hallway.
Vittiore gestured again behind her. “Please, Your Highness. Just one cup with me. I apologize for Nanda and Palma. I promise the view from my balcony is quite picturesque.”
When a blunt rejection alighted on her tongue, Dinah reluctantly bit it back. Perhaps she could glean some understanding of what Faina Baker was mumbling about from speaking with Vittiore. She obviously had secrets to hide. Faina’s ramblings were still steeped in mystery and cryptic madness; they remained a dark puzzle. She would have to be creative to decipher their meaning. “I will have one cup of tea.”
Vittiore tripped over the edges of her gown as she turned around. “Oof! These are always too long. I can lead you there.”
“I am well aware of where your apartments are,” Dinah snapped. “They were my mother’s.” They walked in silence, the heavy steps of the Heart Cards clanking behind them.
“It’s a lovely day outside, is it not? I am glad to see that spring is finally here,” whispered Vittiore.
“I prefer winter,” Dinah replied curtly. “I relish the frozen air blowing in from the Todren.”
Vittiore’s curls gave a slight shudder as she pushed open the door to her apartments. The stone hallway opened up into a bright, beautiful room. Vittiore’s windows faced the Western Slope, which eventually reached the sea. Several small towns inside Wonderland proper could be seen from her window. Dinah quietly marveled at how different Vittiore’s room was from hers. Dinah’s apartment was filled from floor to ceiling with bookshelves. It was large and decorated with ancient treasures—globes and tiny ship models, but it would never be called lovely. It was designed for a man, for the heir her father once dreamed he would have.
Vittiore’s room was the very definition of lovely. It was airy and light, very different from when Dinah had seen it last, when everything was dark and draped with black fabric, a sign of mourning for her mother. Now, gossamer pastel fabrics draped the walls, moving slightly in the breeze. Every piece of furniture was painted a pale blue, and her upholstery was a swirl of bright, pretty colors. A white peacock strutted proudly across the room, pecking at Dinah’s feet. Vittiore scooped him up.
“This is Gryphon.” She petted the bird’s head. He gave a happy shiver. “My tea room is over here, by the window.”
Her rose tea table was tiny, Dinah noted. She barely had enough room to sit across from Vittiore without their elbows touching. She must always have tea alone, she thought, thankful that her own tea table was large enough to fit Harris and Emily alongside her. Palma and Nanda hovered over the table, watching Dinah’s every move with their meticulously shaped eyebrows and brightly painted faces.
Vittiore noticed Dinah’s frown as Palma set down a clear-glass teacup. “I think the Princess and I will have tea privately. Leave us.”
“But, Your Highness,” argued Palma, “we always stand watch for tea. What if you need something?”
“It’s alright Palma.”
“But, Your Highness, should the water run out, or the tarts need replenishing, how will we hear you? I really think it best we stay.”
Dinah could see from the interaction that Vittiore had little control over her maidservants—it was more the other way around. She seemed to fear them. Dinah wasn’t surprised. The Dee family was made up of relentless social climbers, their loyalty shifting with the wind.
Dinah snapped her fingers. “Leave us, NOW. If you will not listen to the Duchess, you will listen to ME, your future Queen. Make haste.”
Palma curtsied and left the room with a loud sigh.
“I’m sorry, they are very protective of me,” Vittiore apologized.
“It is not my concern,” shrugged Dinah.
There were a few moments of silence. Dinah looked at her cup. Since the steaming water had been poured over the prickly purple flower, one of its side petals had unfurled, filling half the cup with a strange glowing petal. A tiny stream of red liquid now poured forth from the center of the flower, which tinted the cup and the water crimson.
“What is this? I’ve never seen this tea flower.”
Vittiore brought the cup to her lips and blew. “It’s called a blood thistle. It’s a wild shrub that grows out there, on the Western Slope.” She nodded her head to the window. “It makes the most wonderful tea.”
Dinah raised the cup to her lips. Please don’t be poison, she thought, as she took a timid sip. The tea was delicious—a heavy citrus flavor danced across her tongue before it began to buzz with an earthy aftertaste.
“It is wonderful,” Dinah reluctantly agreed. She raised the cup to her lips again with casual ease. “Do you know a woman that goes by the name Faina Baker?”
Vittiore choked on her tea and dropped her cup, which exploded against the plate. Blood-red tea splashed over the collar of her peach dress, the red spreading from fold to fold. Vittiore sputtered. “Oh, I’m so clumsy. I’m sorry. My hands have always had a shake.” She began to wipe up the tea on the table. Dinah added her napkin to the effort. “No, no. I’ve never heard that name. Why do you ask?”
Dinah decided to be bold. “It’s just a name I overheard.”
Vittiore’s already-pale skin had turned a pasty shade of white, but she seemed to have regained her composure. “It is a sadness. I pray for all those imprisoned in the Black Towers, especially women.”
Dinah arched her eyebrow. She had never mentioned the Black Towers, or the fact that Faina was a prisoner there. Vittiore was obviously unhinged. Behind Dinah, a door shut as Nanda left the room. She had obviously been listening.
Dinah stirred some sugar into her tea. “Tell me again where you grew up? I don’t think we’ve ever actually spoken since your—” she paused, “arrival on our doorstep.”
Vittiore took a deep breath. Her eyes looked to the left. “I was born just inside of the Twisted Wood, at the base of the Yurkei Mountains. I was born in the early autumn. Your father had camped at our village during his great battle with the Yurkei, and met my mother. They fell into lust.”
“While he was still married. To my mother, the Queen.”
Vittiore blinked. “Yes. I’m sorry, I forget that sometimes. It was not right of him to be unfaithful to your mother. I believe he was simply seeking emotional comfort in my mother’s arms, nothing more.”
“And your mother?” asked Dinah.
Vittiore’s eyes filled with tears. “She was a wonderful woman. Her body matched her nature—soft and tender. By the time I was brought here when I was thirteen, my mother was long dead.” Her voice caught in her throat. Dinah waited patiently for her to finish. “I am so blessed to have such a loving and gracious father, and so happy to be included in the Royal Line of Hearts. For even though my mother was common born, our father is a great king.”
“Indeed,” echoed Dinah, her mind churning. “Do you miss the Yurkei Mountains?”
“Sometimes. They were so large, a permanent shadow over our village. However, I am glad to be here now, in this lovely palace.” Her hand shook. “Although, to be honest, it can be lonely. I visit your brother often.”
Dinah couldn’t hide her shock. Quintrell and Lucy had never mentioned anything about Vittiore visiting. She brought her cup down with a clink—the saucer underneath it cracked. “I was not aware of that. What reason could you possibly have to visit my brother
?”
“There is an innocence about Charles that puts me at ease. He’s mad, but he’s also genuine.” She gazed out the window. “He’s so unlike anyone else in this palace. Charles has no motives or politics. His world is one of wonder, something that being a part of the court doesn’t usually grant.”
You aren’t part of the royal family, thought Dinah. Not really.
“Do you miss your mother?” Vittiore inquired.
It seemed to Dinah that all the air was sucked out of the room at once. She was never asked about her mother. After she died, it was as if Davianna had never existed. Only Harris mentioned her from time to time. Dinah found herself unable to produce a hateful reply, not about this. “I think about her smile. I think about the way she would smile to herself as she made her jeweled slippers. I remember how she would read stories to us, with different voices and accents. And how she would hold Charles—so fiercely unlike everyone else—as if he was made of glass.”
Tears gathered at the corner of Vittiore’s eyes. Her unflinching blue gaze unnerved Dinah, who found a fury rising inside. “Why would you ask about my mother? She was nothing to you, and she never even knew you existed. You should be thankful that she is dead, otherwise you would never have been allowed to come here, to be given everything from my father, simply out of pity for his bastard child.”
Vittiore refused to rise to Dinah’s taunt and changed the subject. “I can see how that would be upsetting for you. It’s truly unfair.” She sighed and rose from her seat, her features vacant. Her mind was obviously somewhere else as she stared at the view from her balcony. “Have you ever been outside the palace? There is a beauty you cannot dream of.”
“I have no desire to leave,” replied Dinah. “This is my home, my kingdom, my palace. I need to stay here.”
Vittiore looked around the room anxiously. Dinah turned her head. There was no one here; what was she looking at? Dinah turned her head back and was startled to find Vittiore inches from her face. She pulled Dinah close. Their lips were almost touching, and she could feel Vittiore’s flowery breath against her mouth.
Queen of Hearts (The Crown) Page 13
