I could stay here, she thought, closing her eyes. I could just stay here and wait for them to kill me. I’ll join Charles and Mother, Lucy and Quintrell, and we will all be together. I should stay.
Her heart clutched with raw grief, but something else, something hungry, was clawing its way up her stomach, spreading its poison, its delicious red fury rushing through her limbs. It alarmed and seduced her, this fierce anger. Dinah forced herself to stand. She looked down once more upon her brother’s face, her eyes lingering on the way his dirty blond hair flopped over his forehead, the way his fingers curled, the color of his green eye. Making the sign of the heart over her breastbone, she whispered quick prayers over his broken body, praying that the gods would welcome him to their heavenly realm with love and kindness.
“It’s time for me to go,” Dinah whispered to his still body. A choking sob rose up in her throat as she realized this would be the last time she ever saw his face.
“I love you, I’m so sorry.”
Dinah felt as though she was ripping apart as she turned down the stairs, so reluctant to leave him alone in a dark, starless night. Sobbing, she made her way down the stairs and slipped silently toward the back of Charles’s chamber, pushing back the towering racks of millinery supplies. The door to the button room had been wrenched open as well, a lock dangling loosely from its hinge.
Another sob wrenched its way out of her. The crown was gone, the table empty. His gift to her, taken. Now there was not even a small piece of Charles left for her, only his shattered body on a stone slab. Anger rose up inside of her as she stood in the moonlight before the empty table. It was all gone. She stayed a few seconds longer in the darkness, willing her body to be strong, willing herself to be brave. Pulling the hood of her cloak over her head, she walked silently back to the door. She inched it open without making a sound. The two Heart Cards stood silhouetted in the moonlight, their backs to Dinah.
“Do you reckon she really did it?” one of them asked, turning the metal siphon over in his palm.
“I’m not sure,” the other one said and laughed. “She would have to be a monster to kill her own brother, eh? Perhaps the pressure of the coronation was too much. What do you reckon will happen when the King wakes her up, sword to her throat?”
The first Card shrugged. “She’ll be beheaded, either that or put into the Black Towers, no doubt. So long as I get food in my belly and a warm bed at the end of the day, I don’t give a horse’s ass if the Princess or the Duchess or the Mad Hatter sits on the throne.”
“The Mad Hatter won’t be doing that now, that’s for sure. Pity, I never could afford one of his hats.”
The other Heart Card gave a chuckle. “What’s stopping you now?”
Dinah’s hands shook as she pulled the sword from behind her back. It slid from her hilt without a sound. She replayed Wardley’s lessons during their swordplay: Hold the sword tightly. It is a part of your body, an extension of your strength, not a tool you use. Swing with force. Let your emotions radiate through the blade instead of through your mind.
The hungry fury she had felt on the staircase swam in front of her eyes as she stepped out of the darkness, close enough that for a second, the guards could feel her breath on their necks. The first one went down easily enough with a thrust through the back of his neck. Dinah felt her sword meet tissue and bone, felt it slide through his flesh. His blood flecked Dinah’s face. It was warm, and mingled with her tears.
Pulling her sword back out was harder than she anticipated and required both hands. She gave a hard yank and his body fell forward, dead before he hit the ground. The second Card stared at her in shock. Dinah brought the pommel of her sword across his temple as she had seen Wardley do. He dropped to his knees, and she ran the blade swiftly through his chest. A stain of red bloomed out, becoming one with the crimson heart of his tunic.
I’m sorry, she thought, as she stood behind the bodies. I’m sorry for this. Dinah retrieved her bag from underneath the statue and gave a lingering glance back to the empty doorway of Charles’s apartment. The glass doors rocked slightly back and forth in the wind, never giving a peek at the nightmare within. Goodbye, Charles, she thought. Goodbye, my dear one. She glanced down at the bodies in shock. Then, she ran. She ran faster than she ever had in her life, plunging through the palace hallways one after another, taking turns without thinking. Her legs burned and her lungs contracted, but she never wavered—she had to get outside the palace. Dawn was beginning to break, and a pale morning mist had begun to filter through the carved-iron windows. Flinging open a side door, she approached the servants’ quarters through the kitchen, where she dashed past several cooks making breakfast. They stared at her with wild confusion as she rushed past them, knocking over plates and trays.
“Your Highness?” several cooks called out to her, but she couldn’t stop. The kitchens eventually led out to the courtyard, and she flung open the doors with a sigh of relief and stepped outside. The change in the light was so extreme that Dinah stood still for a minute, willing her eyes to adjust. She was in the trellised gardens that bordered the courtyard. White roses she had planted a lifetime ago with her mother were beginning to show, their early spring buds poking forth from their ivy blankets. Dinah straightened her bag and ran through the yard, keeping close to the walls, thankful that the trellis offered shelter from curious eyes.
At the sound of raised voices, she stopped and ducked behind a bush, elaborately trimmed in the shape of a dodo. Her whole body shaking, she tentatively raised her head over the prickly leaves and clenched her teeth. There he was—her father, marching through the courtyard with Cheshire at his side, leading what looked like an entire army of Heart Cards into the castle. His face was blotchy and red, full of a righteously blazing wrath.
“HALT!” All the Cards stopped moving and Dinah felt her pulse quicken. Had he seen her? The King of Hearts’ booming voice echoed over the marble pavement as he turned to address them. His hands shook as he screamed at the Cards. “Heed my orders and find my daughter! Should she try to run or fight, however, use any force necessary to subdue her. If this means at the cost of her life, so be it! She is guilty of murdering my innocent son, of high treason, and of planning the eventual demise of Wonderland. She is no longer a princess; she is a murderous traitor to the realm! We will wake her from her slumber and bring her to justice this very day. I will have her head by nightfall!” Cheshire grinned nastily, his hand wrapped around one of the Diamond’s telltale dagger handles. The King turned and drew his Heartsword. “To the Royal Apartments!”
The Heart Cards marched two by two into the castle. Dinah began to shake uncontrollably. It was true, it was all true. Her father was a murderer. He killed her brother, killed Lucy and Quintrell. You killed two guards, a quiet voice reminded her. You are not so innocent yourself. Dinah wiped the sweat off her face. The truth of her situation dawned on her. There would be no talking through this, no plea from daughter to father. No compromise. It was over. She would not wear a crown and she would not wear her head if she stayed here. The stranger had been right—she needed to leave the palace now, and never return.
Run, she whispered to herself, though her lungs tightened at the idea. It was not long before her advantage would disappear into the bright morning buzz. She followed the courtyard walls, making her way to the stables. The trellis ended, and Dinah waited until she could see no one lurking through the glaring morning light before sprinting toward the outside stalls. Keeping her head low, Dinah entered the stable labyrinth and began to weave her way through, one rivet and stall at a time. Around and around and around she went, circling deeper into the dark wood. The horses snorted and bucked as she passed them, their gentle senses picking up her panic and disorientation. Almost there, she thought, as she passed one stall after another, her feet slipping in mud and manure. The paddock she was looking for appeared again, and for the first time that night, Dinah dared to hope she might make it out of this day alive.
Fumbling, she unhooked the lat
ch and stepped into Speckle’s stall. Someone was waiting for her. A man stood in front of her, the darkness of the stables concealing his features, his sword drawn. Dinah pulled back her hood and raised her hands up in surrender. “Who is there?”
“Dinah?” whispered a voice.
“Wardley?”
They rushed together, falling gratefully into each other’s arms. Dinah clutched him with desperation. Wardley kissed her forehead, her head, placed his hands on her cheeks.
“Are you hurt? What is happening? Dinah, what’s happened?”
Dinah let the sobs she had been holding in since she saw Charles’s broken body escape from her trembling lips. “Charles. Wardley, Charles is dead! Someone pushed him from his window. Oh gods.” She buried her face in Wardley’s Heart tunic. “I saw him, his little face, his neck, his head. And Lucy and Quintrell, their throats were slit—by a Heartsword, I’m sure of it. And I, I killed two Cards trying to escape.”
Wardley pushed her back and stared at her face in disbelief. “But who . . . what?!”
“My father. An assassin? I don’t know what’s happening.”
“But why, why would your father kill his own SON? What kind of a father would kill his own SON?” Wardley’s eyes echoed disbelief.
“I don’t know! The kind of father who does not want to share the throne. He killed Charles so he could blame it on me. Wonderland would never accept a queen who commits fratricide. My father wants my crown, Wardley. I don’t think he ever intended to give it to me.”
She shook her head as Wardley forced her to drink water out of a canvas horse bag. It splashed down her face.
Her voice rose to hysterics. “I don’t know, I don’t understand what’s happening. A stranger woke me and told me to leave, but I didn’t listen, I went to Charles’s apartment to see and. . . .” Dinah felt the tack room spin around her. “I heard him, my father. I SAW HIM. He ordered the Heart Cards to arrest me, and kill me if necessary.”
Wardley nodded. “I heard. I managed to slip out the back of the march. We were woken up by the King, ordered to be present for your arrest and trial this morning, ordered to either kill you or take you into custody.”
Dinah took a step backwards. “What are you saying?” She looked down at Wardley’s drawn sword. “You aren’t?”
Wardley gave Dinah an exasperated look. “You can’t be serious, Dinah. Dinah.” He wrapped her swiftly in his lean arms and murmured into her black hair. “You are my sister. My best friend. My Queen. You will not die today, not on my watch. But you must go. Once your father has discovered that you have gone, this will be the first place that he looks. He will kill us both. Dinah, you MUST go now!”
Dinah nodded and reluctantly pulled back from Wardley. She saw tears glistening in his brown eyes. She pulled Speckle’s saddle from the wall mount, her hands shaking.
“NO.” Wardley grabbed her arm roughly and suddenly she was being pulled through the labyrinth of stalls, deeper and deeper into the middle of the stable. His arm was firm; she could not squirm out of his grip.
“Wardley, what are you doing? STOP it! I have to LEAVE!”
Wardley continued to pull her through the stalls. “You cannot take Speckle. Where will you go?”
“Speckle is my horse!”
“You will not be able to outride the Heart Cards on Speckle, not even if you had a day’s lead. Speckle can barely handle an afternoon trot. He’s old, Dinah!”
“Then give me Corning. You’ve always said he is the fastest horse in Wonderland.”
“That he is,” mumbled Wardley as they ran past stall after stall of rudely awakened horses. Their whinnies filled the air. “Even then, even with Corning I’m not sure you could—”
He was interrupted by the blast of a hundred horns sounding out from the palace walls. The sound froze them both. Dinah’s blood ran cold, and she found herself unable to move.
“They’re coming for me,” she whispered. “It’s over.”
Wardley’s eyes narrowed. “Not today it isn’t. You will not die today, Dinah. You will die with a crown on your head, subjects bowing at your feet.” He pulled Dinah through the center of the labyrinth, running now. An iron stall door, twice the height of the other stall doors appeared before them. The chain that held it shut was thick as a man’s arm—but Wardley had keys, since he had been the stable boy for so long.
Dinah felt her entire body tremble. “NO, NO! I can’t. Absolutely not.”
“You must.” There was finality in Wardley’s voice—the decision was made. “You must. Hornhooves are much, much faster than regular horses. They can easily outrun a normal steed, and they can run for days without exhaustion.”
“Yes, and they will kill a person because he is not their master, or because they are in a foul mood that day!”
Dinah was terrified of the Hornhooves. Wardley swung open the pen, revealing the three Hornhooves—two white and one massive black beast. Morte, her father’s steed. He rode in on a devil steed. The creatures backed into the corner of their pen, snorting angrily, pawing the ground until it began to crack and break under their massive weight. Morte towered over the other two Hornhooves, a colossal figure of glistening black muscle, more like a dragon than a horse. His hooves were larger than Dinah’s head and covered with hundreds of bone spikes—perfect for impaling a head, knee, or torso.
Dinah’s knowledge of Hornhooves ran through her head; they were not just faithful steeds—they were bloodthirsty creatures, warriors of their own choosing. They loved killing and hunting and death. In their battle frenzy, a strong Hornhoov could kill forty men. There was a painting of Morte in her father’s study, rearing up before a Yurkei warrior, the heads of his fellow tribesmen decorating his hooves as her father raised the Heartsword from astride his back. This was the animal that Wardley wanted her to ride.
“No,” Dinah started looking around, bordering on hysteria. “There must be a place for me to hide, maybe in the hay, maybe in the rafters.”
Wardley grabbed her roughly and lifted her off the ground, his arms wrapped around her waist. Morte had backed into a corner and was snorting angrily, boiling-hot steam hissing out of his giant nostrils, his black eyes wide with confusion. The steam could scald skin.
“Shh . . . shhh there . . . ,” Wardley approached Morte slowly, still holding onto Dinah flailing in his arms. Morte tolerated Wardley, since he had fed him every morning for years as the stable squire. The animal’s eyes focused warily on Dinah. She could hear commotion outside the stable now, the clanking of boots and armor, the yelling of townspeople.
“Damn it, Dinah, GO NOW. Step up. Now, NOW!”
Her hands trembled as Wardley hoisted her up to his chest, her hands on his shoulders. With a rough shove, he vaulted Dinah onto Morte’s back with so much force that she almost ended up on the ground on the other side. Morte snorted and backed into the stall door. Dinah let out a cry. She was kneeling now on his back, an ocean of glistening black muscle and bone. He was so wide—twice the width of Speckle. Her legs couldn’t fit around him.
“How do I . . . ?”
“Straddle his neck, not his back.”
She edged forward and placed her legs on either side of Morte’s neck as he nipped down at her with his sharp white teeth. He bucked once, twice, and Dinah clung desperately to his mane to keep her balance.
“He’s restless. Your father kept him locked up inside for years. He’ll run for you.”
Wardley threw her bag at her. Dinah wrapped the straps over her shoulders. The noise outside grew louder. Cards were flooding into the stable; they would be on them in minutes.
“Come with me!” she cried.
“I can’t leave,” answered Wardley, avoiding her eyes. “Not yet. Someone has to protect your people when you are gone. What about Harris? And Emily?”
Dinah felt a whisper of doubt. “I don’t think I can do this without you.” Morte bucked again. Wardley reached up and put his hand on Dinah’s shin. He was barely able to reach her
because of Morte’s towering height.
“I will find you. Head for the Twisted Wood. You should be able to hide there. I promise Dinah, I’ll find you, you have my word.” Morte reared up and kicked his front legs, narrowly missing Wardley’s face with a razor-sharp spike. Dinah looked down at Wardley. He did not seem afraid. He believed in her. It made her feel stronger, even if just for a second.
“Wardley, I—”
“Stab me.”
“WHAT?”
Wardley handed her his sword, inlaid with a ruby pommel. “Take this, leave me your rusty one. Now, stab my shoulder.”
He patted the fleshy part of his upper arm. “Hurry up. Gods, Dinah, don’t think about it! STAB ME!”
With a cry, Dinah brought the point of her sword down into Wardley’s arm, feeling his muscle separate and tear. Crimson rushed out of him, his blood, the boy she loved, splashing onto the ground, splashing onto her hand. Wardley let out an agonizing scream of pain.
“Arrggghh . . . Dinah, you didn’t have to do it so well!” He staggered out of the pen and began throwing open one stall door after another with his other hand. Dinah heard voices from the outside ring of stalls. The Cards were making their way in. They were trapped. She would die here, Wardley as well. Here in this stinking pen, in the scents of manure and hay. Morte was almost dancing now, his hooves coming up and down, excited by Wardley’s blood. Dinah looked over at Wardley, unlocking every stall door he could. She told herself to remember the curve of his brow, the color of his hair, the tilt of his spine . . . but she didn’t have time.
A Heart Card burst through one of the stall doors. His eyes widened with fear when he saw Dinah on Morte.
“She’s in here! The Princess! She’s on the King’s—”
He didn’t have time to finish. Wardley had pushed the rusty blade through his back. The man fell face first into a drinking trough. Wardley glanced at Dinah, their eyes meeting.
“It’s time.”
Dinah opened her mouth to object. She heard men shouting orders outside the stalls. Morte began to pound the ground with his huge hooves.
Queen of Hearts (The Crown) Page 16
