War of the Cards

by Colleen Oakes

  The king was advancing on her now, rapidly, in spite of his injured leg. Her long blade matched his Heartsword in the air, in front of her, behind her. They spun and danced, moving faster and faster as they both became more desperate to end the fight. The blows were coming closer to her chest now, and her clothing was marked with the long gouges that spoke of the Heartsword’s fondness for slashing.

  She’d survived the wilds of Wonderland, raised an army, and returned to her home, but she would be defeated here, her life snuffed out by the very man who had taken everything else from her. It was so desperately unfair. In her mind she cried out to the silent Wonderland gods—could there be a worse fate? Dinah leaned on the edge of her sword, just for a moment, to catch the breath that she so desperately needed. The King of Hearts grinned and wiped a smear of blood from his cheek.

  “Are you ready to die, Princess? I daresay, it’s long overdue. I should have killed you the moment you emerged from your mother’s womb. Maybe it’s time you went to meet her.”

  Dinah’s arms trembled as she raised her sword for what she knew would be the last round. She was so tired, more exhausted than she had ever been in her life. Even death would be a relief from this effort, and if so, she would meet it boldly, hurtling toward the darkness. She would not let him take her gently. Her legs shook beneath her, her entire body screamed with the effort. The king clutched his Heartsword and stepped back, preparing to launch his final wave of attack.

  Sir Gorrann stepped forward from the crowd and looked at the king, shaking his head. “Amabel. Ioney,” he said softly. “Amabel and Ioney.” He began repeating their names, louder and louder. “Amabel. Ioney.”

  “What are you raving about, you treacherous Spade?” screamed the king. “Shut your mouth or I’ll cut out your tongue when I’m done with her!”

  Sir Gorrann stayed still, but the names grew louder. “Amabel, Ioney.”

  Wardley understood instantly and joined in. “Amabel, Ioney, Faina Baker, Bah-kan.”

  Cheshire raised his voice. “Davianna.”

  Together they repeated the names. “Amabel, Ioney, Faina Baker, Bah-kan, Davianna . . .”

  The Spades around the room began to chime in with their own names, names that Dinah had never heard. And the Yurkei followed behind them, the names of their fallen like music, rising through the room. The voices grew louder, a cacophony of sound that filled the space. The remaining Cards in the room eyed each other with caution, until one brave Heart Card stepped toward Dinah, his head bowed.

  “Eliza Grotton. Forsham Smith.”

  He dropped his sword on the ground and bent his knee. After a moment, other Cards followed him. The room was filled now with a chorus of names, growing louder with each brave soul who voiced them, the names of loved ones murdered, imprisoned, missing . . . all under the rule of the King of Hearts.

  Sir Gorrann stepped closer to the king. “Amabel, Ioney.” He raised his eyebrow at Dinah. Dinah looked up at the king. Everything now seemed to move slowly, as if each movement was underwater.

  “I am the king!” he screamed back at them, and with a roar, he swung his Heartsword at Dinah’s bare neck. She threw herself forward and fell toward the floor, his blade catching the edge of her ear before digging sharply into the side of her head. White-hot pain ricocheted past her eyeballs, and without thinking, she clutched her open hand to the wound.

  Blood poured from the gash, spilling over her forehead and nose. The king hesitated for a moment to look down with contempt at his weak daughter, frantically wiping the blood from her eyes so that she might see.

  “You foolish child.”

  He raised his arm. It was the moment Dinah needed, the one she had planned for. She saw the opening in his armor, a tiny notch just above his heart where the metal curled up and away from his chest. With every last ounce of strength in her body, Dinah leaped up, ducking past the blade that swung for her throat. Leaving herself wide open, she plunged her sword through the space in his armor and then pushed as deeply as she could. She felt his muscle separate, felt the throbbing rhythm vibrate up her sword as it tore through his beating heart.

  The king’s blue eyes went wide with shock. He stumbled once, and again, with Dinah’s sword held aloft by his body, like a gruesome marionette. A line of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth, and he looked with surprise at the people gathered around him.

  “Not,” he muttered, “not by her.”

  Dinah pushed him down, the crown falling roughly from his head as he was forced to kneel in front of her. She looked into his pale and sweaty face, his mouth open and closing like a dying fish. A guttural rattle escaped his lips as her black eyes bore into his slack face. Her hand twisted around the sword handle, and she pulled the blade from his heart. The king slumped forward against her, his mouth opened in silent pain. One last time, Dinah looked upon his face. This sad man, her father, her king—was no longer either.

  “Charles,” she whispered in his ear. “For Charles.”

  His face turned to her, his features nearly motionless as he fought to keep death at bay. His blue eyes found hers, and the last emotion to pass through them was not hatred, but confusion. “Charles?” His last breath washed over her face, warm and sour.

  Dinah gently laid him down on the floor, his head near his makeshift throne. The king was dead.

  “I am the queen,” she breathed quietly, before wrapping her fingers tightly around his crown.

  Ten

  There was silence in the keep as Dinah stared out at the Cards. Dizzy from blood loss, she felt the room spin.

  “Drop your weapons!” she ordered her men. The Yurkei lowered their bows and the Spades gingerly placed their swords on the ground. She turned to the men who had sworn to protect their king, holding the flesh wound on her head with one trembling hand.

  “I do not long for your lives, and you are not my prisoners. You are the Cards of Wonderland Palace, and I hope to have you in my service. I would ask that you stay here in the keep until I can return. Then we may discuss the terms of your service, not with chains and swords, but with pen and paper. Do you find this agreeable?”

  The bold Card who had spoken the names of the deceased to the king stepped forward. “I speak for these Cards and lords, Your Majesty. We will do as you ask, if you spare the lives of our families.”

  “Of course.”

  Sir Gorrann and Wardley were practically on top of her now, wiping and tending to the cuts on her head, her chin, and the various other wounds the king had given her. Mundoo emerged from the crowd of Yurkei behind her.

  “The king is dead?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Dinah, exhausted beyond measure.

  Mundoo pulled a dagger from his belt and walked swiftly toward her. Dinah felt Sir Gorrann go rigid, his hand on his blade. Wardley stepped in front of her. Mundoo looked Dinah coldly in the eye, and when she didn’t blink, he slapped her happily on the back before he knelt over the body. The king’s head came off easily, and Mundoo raised it up in front of his troops, who exploded with cheers and hollers. Dinah turned away, nauseated.

  “We must go,” Cheshire whispered to Dinah. “Now. Wonderland Palace is falling.”

  Dinah walked out of the keep, leaving the king’s headless body behind. Mundoo and his men followed with the king’s head. The late king’s men stayed behind in the keep.

  “Where is Vittiore?” she asked Cheshire as they walked, Sir Gorrann fussing over the wound on her head. “Why wasn’t she in the keep with the others?”

  Cheshire smiled meanly. “She was hiding inside her bedroom, the coward. Some of the Spades have brought her down to the courtyard. We must act quickly. The Yurkei are within the walls and the people are restless. If we don’t take control, this day will end with a ruined kingdom.”

  Dinah nodded, taking it all in, trying to wipe as much blood from herself as possible as they walked. Wardley trailed silently behind, looking grave and pale, as troubled as Dinah had ever seen him. Perhaps the battle
had changed him. Dinah shook her head—of course, the battle would have changed them all.

  She passed an open window near the palace library and heard the sounds of kingdom-wide panic raging outside—a morbid mix of weeping, whooping, and mad pleas. Though she had never been more exhausted, she began sprinting now, her legs pumping underneath her, the men running beside her. Together, they plunged through a maze of hallways and kitchens and porticos before exploding through the doorway to the main courtyard. The bright outside light temporarily blinded her, and she uttered a low cry when the world came into focus.

  Thick black smoke filled the sky, the entire expanse of the palace simmering with its onyx hue. The world had turned into a hell. The stables—once her favorite place—had been burned to the ground. Hungry flames still licked at one large piece of the structure. Two slain Heart Cards lay in front of the stable, their uniforms beginning to glow with sparks. Yurkei were everywhere. Spades and Cards were fighting in the streets, the ring of their swords echoing up the buildings, their faces twisted with rage. The cries of her people were all around. The ground was littered with bodies and weapons, and terrified children sat huddled in corners, crying softly for their fathers. One lone Diamond Card stared blankly at the tallest turret of Wonderland Palace, paralyzed by shock.

  War came at such a high cost. She thought she had understood it, but she hadn’t. Not then. She did now. When the Spades saw her, they began shouting her name, happy to see her alive and well. The people of Wonderland stayed silent and watched her with eyes both fearful and full of rage.

  In the center of the courtyard, hundreds of weary people waited in front of the execution platform. When they saw Dinah walking toward the platform, bloodied and holding the king’s crown, they stepped back, creating a long, narrow aisle—just as they would for a queen. Dinah took a deep breath, instructing herself not to feel the thousands of eyes upon her and the weight of their safety on her shoulders.

  “Wait!” Cheshire reached around her and placed the king’s crown on her head. “You might need this. Now, listen to me. Stand proud. Look at them, like little sheep, waiting so desperately for a leader—any leader. The loyalty of these people is yours for the taking, so take it.”

  She began to walk up the aisle. Wardley reached out from the crowd, looking frantic and terrified. His face was covered with sweat, and Dinah feared he was more wounded than he appeared. He roughly grabbed her waist, his eyes pleading.

  “Dinah, whatever Cheshire said, be merciful. Stick to the plan. Vittiore is loved by the people. The king beheaded her mother in front of her. Grant her mercy. I beg of you, be the ruler that he was not. If you kill her, we will have a riot on our hands.”

  Dinah kissed him softly on the cheek. He gave a slight bow of his head, and she continued up the aisle, with Mundoo following a few steps behind. The Yurkei warrior held the king’s head high above his own. As she made her way toward the front, Dinah could hear the painful gasps of her people as they saw the head of their former leader. It was cruel to show them, but necessary. She looked around the courtyard as she walked, her dark eyes wide with wonder.

  The white roses were painted red. That was the first thing Dinah noticed as she strolled proudly toward the execution platform. The white garden roses, the ones she had lovingly planted with her mother so long ago, were spotted and slashed with drops of deep ruby. Blood was splattered across the white and black cobblestones, a deep crimson spreading across the sidewalks and gardens. The roses had gotten the worst of it, as evidenced by the many bodies that lay curled against the vine, as if these men were merely taking a nap in their fragrant blooms.

  The soles of her boots were slick with blood and mud. Her sword bounced against her bruised hip as she walked. Thousands of nervous eyes followed her as she proceeded up the narrow aisle, their heads bowing to the ground as she approached. Dinah could smell their fear as she brushed past them. She was their queen now, and she would have their allegiance whether they gave it willingly or not.

  The king’s crown lay heavily on her head, its golden points digging into her skull and pulling on her thick black hair. She tried to hide that her steps trembled with exhaustion, and she was aware that she was probably covered in even more blood than the roses. When Dinah reached the stairway to the platform, she looked up at its giant obsidian steps. These steps led to a long block of white marble, a place where hundreds had lost their heads. As she lifted her foot to the first step, a drop of blood fell to the ground. She paused. The last thing she needed was to slip down the stairs in front of her new subjects. She was no longer that weak girl that they remembered. She turned to the nearest Card.

  “Take off your cloak and wipe my boots,” she barked. The young Heart Card fumbled with his clasp, his hands shaking as he yanked the cloak from around his shoulders.

  “My queen.” He knelt before her, taking her boots in his calloused hands and frantically wiping at the blood on the soles. She waited patiently for him to finish before climbing the staircase, her knees giving a slight tremble on each step. At long last, she stood on the platform, looking down at her new subjects as the rumbling cheers of her army shook the castle grounds. She savored the taste of victory on her tongue. It was a bittersweet flavor—hard-won and lovely at the same time. A hesitant smile crept over her lips. The last time she had seen this courtyard, she was running for her life. As she enjoyed the view of the smoldering castle, Vittiore’s pathetic whimpering assaulted her eardrums.

  “Please . . . ,” she cried, her voice breaking over the now-hushed crowds. “Please, Dinah, you don’t understand.” Huge blue eyes, the color of cornflowers, peered up at her as the girl painfully lifted her head from the chopping block. She was so much more beautiful than Dinah had remembered. Her golden hair flowed over the white marble. It glowed now, radiant in the light. She was pale and small, adorned in a flowered gown. Only one shoe was left on her feet.

  The queen raised her arms and the crowd fell silent. Cheshire was right—these people wanted someone to take charge of their lives, even if she had just attacked their city. Behind the girl, the trembling executioner stepped forward, stripped of his hood. His voice was shaking, but a poke from a Yurkei blade made his deep voice echo around the courtyard.

  “Say it,” the warrior hissed.

  The executioner unrolled a sheet of paper covered in Cheshire’s elaborate scroll.

  “Vittiore, the once false queen, stands accused of the following offenses: high treason, sedition, and being an accessory to murder. You shall be judged and punished according to the Queen of Hearts, the only true queen.”

  The crowd cheered, egged on by Dinah’s soldiers, who raised their swords menacingly at her name. The girl dissolved into loud sobs, her tears dripping down the block.

  “I’ll tell you everything. Please, Dinah, you don’t know what you are doing!” Her frail body began to shake as she melted into hysterics. “This must be a terrible dream, it must be.” She repeated the phrase over and over again.

  The executioner turned to Dinah, beads of sweat dripping into his eyes. “What is the queen’s verdict, Your Majesty?” He gave Dinah a pained look.

  Dinah raised her head and stared out past the crowd, past the devastated iron gates and the Black Towers, past the ashen ruins of the stables. The Queen of Hearts took a deep breath and looked out over the Wonderland Plains. The wide afternoon sky was breathtaking—dewy lavender and orange stretched out over heavy clouds as a blue storm gathered over the Twisted Wood. This was the day she’d dreamed of for so long, the power hers for the taking. The blood on her boots was almost dry, and she finally had all she wanted. Vengeance was hers, at long last.

  The blond-haired, blue-eyed girl raised her head again, a look of desperation marring her radiant face.

  “Please!” she screamed.

  Dinah should be merciful. She would be merciful. She had made a promise. She wasn’t like him. She paused, eyeing the crowd. She knew how to earn their love, but how to best seal their fear
without becoming a tyrant?

  “OFF WITH HER HEAD!” she screamed.

  “No!” yelled Wardley, who was now standing nervously behind the platform. “Dinah, no!”

  Sir Gorrann gestured for Dinah to stop, and even Cheshire, who was watching the crowd with his narrow cat eyes, frowned with concern. The executioner took a tentative step toward his ax, and then another. With shaking hands, he stepped beside the dethroned queen. The crowd grew wild and restless, shouting and begging for mercy as they pushed against each other, and against the Spades who surrounded them.

  Dinah watched them, her dark eyes calculating and careful. The executioner clasped the ax low over Vittiore’s neck and she grew oddly silent, her eyes trained on something Dinah couldn’t see. Her perfect pink lips were forming silent sentences. The executioner raised the ax above Vittiore’s head, preparing to strike, something he had done thousands of times. He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and shifted the ax for the fatal blow.

  Dinah suddenly raised her hand.

  “Stop!” she barked at the executioner. The crowd was still, their hands folded in prayer, every eye upon her. Dinah cleared her throat. “I will grant her mercy, only because you have asked it of me, and because mercy is the mark of a great leader, something you have never known with the King of Hearts. Vittiore does not deserve mercy, for she sat upon a throne that was not hers. This woman is no relation to the king, Queen Davianna, nor me or my deceased brother, Charles. She is a traitor, a conspirator, a stranger who ruled over you. By all of Wonderland laws, she deserves death, for that is the punishment for her crimes. And yet, I hope you will see that I am not like your murderous King of Hearts, a man who killed his own son and blamed it on his daughter in order not to share his throne.”

  Her people gave a loud gasp, followed by whispered conversation. Could this be true?