A sob overtook him.
Dinah turned to leave, her heart breaking. Her jeweled slipper hesitated near the threshold. “Wardley, one thing: if you become king, you can’t tell anyone. You can’t tell anyone what happened to Alice. If Mundoo ever found out . . .”
“I won’t,” sniffed Wardley. “She disappeared into the night. Cheshire made sure of that.”
Dinah reached for the latch on the door.
“Wait.”
She paused and turned back, her heart hopeful. Wardley looked at her, his face alarmed. “I told someone.”
Dinah’s heart began to hammer. “What? Who did you tell?”
Wardley sighed and rubbed his face. “That night that I met with you, outside by the Julla Tree, I was distraught. Alice was gone, and I was filled with vile, murderous thoughts. I dreamed of killing you. I had to escape. After the Cards outside my door fell asleep, I climbed out of my window and made my way down through the kitchens. I ran until I collapsed with exhaustion. I began to lose consciousness. I had brought my dagger with me. I wanted to die, Dinah. You did that to me.”
Dinah closed her eyes, heavy guilt falling around her.
“I tried to cut my throat, but my arms kept shaking, and so instead I fell asleep with the dagger clutched against my chest. Sleep took me so quickly; I hadn’t slept in days. When I woke up there was a man—a traveler—standing over me.”
Wardley shook his head and sat down on the windowsill, his long legs dangling over the edge. “The man’s name was Lewis. I’ve never met a man like him before. He knew things. He had a way with words, a lyrical tongue, and a sharp mind. He invited me back to his tent, but by which way I cannot fathom; this man had somehow salvaged a pot of Iu-Hora’s blue smoke.
“He opened it, and the tent filled with smoke. Dinah, I told the man everything. Everything about you, Cheshire, Alice, the Cards, Iu-Hora, the battle. And when I awoke, he was gone.”
Dinah tilted her head. “Why did you come back at all?”
He turned to the window. “I can’t say. Maybe I have to believe that there are still wonders out there for me, even if she is gone.”
Dinah turned the handle on the door and brushed her hot tears away. “Thank you for telling me. Consider what I said, please.”
Wardley nodded, his eyes looking toward the Western Slope. “You weren’t painted very well in the story. A villain for the ages.”
Dinah stared back at his figure illuminated on the windowsill, the wind blowing his hair in tiny circles.
“I deserve it.” She shut the door behind her.
The traveler proved impossible to find, and though Dinah used every resource available, it was as if he had fallen down a rabbit hole.
Nineteen
The seasons of the court began in full swing as Dinah waited for Wardley to make his decision. It was an exhausting stretch of balls, banquets, meetings, and pointless introductions to people that Dinah knew she would never speak with again.
Just that evening Dinah had hosted a banquet welcoming the new ladies and lords of the court. The Queen of Hearts made her usual endless rounds of pleasantries and small talk, laughing too loudly at jokes that she didn’t find funny, nodding at gentlemen who worked too hard to catch her eye. Royal life was exhausting, but she reminded herself that a good queen understood the dictates of social politics. This was her duty, her privilege. It was tiresome, but as Harris kept reminding her, not optional.
Still, her mind was only on Wardley, and when she returned to her room with sore feet and ribs, Dinah hoped to find an envelope waiting for her with his answer. There was no envelope, but this time there was something: a small carving left outside her door. Dinah smiled as she picked it up, turning it in the light. It was a wooden sea horse. She remembered the day she had given an identical one to Charles.
It wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no either.
She stepped inside her chambers, and with a happy sigh, she made quick work of stripping off her gown with relish. Finally unburdened of the weight of the rose-scented fabric, she stepped out onto the balcony in the cool night air, wearing only a thin gray nightgown that swirled around her thighs. So much had changed, yet her view remained the same; all of Wonderland proper and the endless fields of wildflowers in the North were now turning a pinkish red. To the east, she could vaguely make out the dormant, topless Yurkei Mountains just past the Twisted Wood. Her kingdom, which had come at the greatest cost.
A bitter wind danced around her, and she heard the low moans of the trees in the Twisted Wood carry over the land, a sound she no longer found terrifying. To her, the sound was comforting, like the trees were calling her back to their mysteries. Her hair blew around her face as she caught the hint of a black shadow moving swiftly over the ground. Dinah squinted. It couldn’t be. She ran to the edge of the balcony. It was.
She flew toward the door, yelling to Ki-ershan as she ran from her chambers. Soon she was sprinting through the palace, Ki-ershan loping behind her, peppering her with questions she fully ignored. A black cat, so dark he was almost plum, gave a lazy yawn as she raced past, licking his paws with contentment. Faster her feet flew through the hallways, then the courtyards, past the stables and toward the devastated iron gates. Three Spades stood guard, rushing to open the gates for their beloved queen while confused looks passed silently between them.
“Hurry!” she shouted. “Please! Open the gates! Faster!”
With a clang, the gates slowly opened, only wide enough for Dinah to slip through. She felt the cool grass beneath her feet, and the faintest bite of autumn nipping at her ankles. When she reached the cusp of the hill that overlooked the palace, she stopped running. She bent over to catch her breath, getting dizzy. Ki-ershan stayed back, hesitant for the first time since he had become her guard. There was a danger here not even he could overcome. Dinah reached out her trembling hand.
Morte was badly hurt. Jagged scars ran the length of his body, and some traces of white Yurkei paint still lingered from battle. He was missing a large chunk of flesh beneath his left ear, where his blood had dried into a thick crust. Bone spikes on both of his back hooves were broken or dangling from their stumps, the raw marrow exposed. An arrow was buried deep in his flank, and each time he took a step, blood and greenish fluid seeped from the infected wound.
Morte stepped back with caution when Dinah approached him, letting out a nervous whinny as she reached toward his nose. As her fingertips brushed his nostril, he bucked backward. Dinah ducked as one of his bone spurs almost took her eye. His teeth snapped at her hand.
“Shhh . . . shhh . . .”
“Your Majesty?” Ki-ershan hissed. “He is probably wild with infection.”
“He’ll be fine.” Dinah repeated it again and again, until she too was convinced.
Letting out a deep breath, she bowed her head low before him. Then she reached out and gingerly placed her hand on Morte’s side, running it up and over his wounds. She walked around him with timid steps, taking in each injury.
Morte seemed unsure of who she was. When her hand returned to his nose, he jerked away, his hooves plowing long furrows in the earth. She walked in front of him and raised her head to stare into his huge black eyes. Again, Dinah lifted her hand to his muzzle, where he eventually bent to smell it. The smell of war still drifted from his mane as it blew around them. Together they stood silently as the sky around them lit up with moving stars, each one leaving a bright streak as it traveled toward the sea.
With reluctance, Morte finally let out a hiss of steam from his torn nostril, bent his head, and lifted his hoof. Dinah stepped carefully on it, her bare feet screaming in pain as the bone spikes pressed into her flesh. Using his mane, she pulled herself snugly across his neck, her legs falling so easily into the grooves of his shoulders. His back, that black ocean of hard muscle, welcomed her home, and she nuzzled down against him, feeling his gigantic ribs contract and expand.
From atop his back, she could see the dazzling spires of Wonderlan
d Palace and the red glow that the palace cast on the land around it. From here she could imagine the small lives taking place; Harris, asleep in the library, glasses sliding off the end of his nose; Sir Gorrann, tossing back some ale as he chuckled among fellow Spades; and Wardley, staring out across the land with a burdened heart, wondering how much he would give for his kingdom.
Her absent crown weighed heavy against her head as she clicked her tongue and gave the slightest of kicks against Morte’s sides.
“Let’s go home,” she whispered.
After a moment of hesitation, Morte began an unsteady walk toward the palace, step after tender step. Dinah clutched his black hair and leaned her head against his thick neck. Her heart sang that he had returned to her, and that this broken thing was not beyond saving. Together they made their way back to the palace that had once been a prison for them both. As he walked, Dinah felt the beat of his heart thundering up from his chest, its chaotic lullaby so angry and yet so strong. A heart that beat much like her own.
EPILOGUE
Fifteen Years Later
The place was different than Dinah remembered it. The overgrown weeds were shorter, the foliage was not as heavy. The heads were still there, as stunning as the first time she had seen them. Their unsmiling mouths sat frozen as tall white ferns brushed up against them, tickling the faces of giants. The bright grass that Dinah remembered so vividly remained there; it was still a glowing, unearthly green.
The heads were still massive, and Dinah was glad to see that fear had not twisted her memory to remember things as grander than they actually were. Their etched gazes still seemed to pierce right through her chest. Some of the heads lay on their sides, others were completely upside down. She pointed. “There he is.”
Dinah urged Morte closer from where they perched at the top of the hill. She turned her face sideways to look at one particular face and crown.
“It’s him.”
The bronze head of the deceased King of Hearts rested upside down on the ground, propped on his crown, with his mouth open in an angry scream. Some happy breed of mottled purple birds had made a nest in his mouth, and she watched with curiosity as they fluttered in and out between his teeth. At first glance, his wide eyes reminded her of Charles, but only for a second.
She smiled and reached down to unhook a clutch of wildflowers that rested on her saddle. She climbed off Morte and landed with a hard grunt. Getting on and off was just a little bit harder now. She had grown a bit less graceful with age, though many said the handsome queen had never been stronger. She knelt down next to the statue and arranged the lavender flowers so they draped gracefully across the tip of his crown.
Dinah glanced back at Wardley. “I think I’m going to look around a bit.”
He nodded at her. “Stay by the heads. There are wild animals in this wood.”
She knew it well.
The King of Hearts gave her the smallest of smiles, though sometimes it seemed to hurt his face to do so. Dinah would take it. Wardley was mostly quiet in her presence, but strong and firm when with others. His tender brown eyes had recently taken on a peaceful gaze underneath the crown her father once wore. As she walked away, she could feel the curious gaze of her husband piercing her chest. She turned back to look at him, but he was staring at the sky, something he did often.
Dinah turned and wandered through the Twisted Wood, taking in each head. Her empathy for them was much deeper than it had been last time. Ruling was not for the faint of spirit, and she could no more judge those who’d held the crown before her than she could her own heart.
The heads of the Yurkei chiefs were here as well, situated together in a tight cluster at the end of the valley. The strong heads of handsome warriors were crowned not with a piece of gold or silver, but with feathers or elaborate fabric swirls that trailed down over their faces. The eyes of the Yurkei made her feel as if they were watching her as she walked along, touching each face, marveling at its size and beauty. She found Mundoo’s head standing upright, a cascade of feathers down the side of his temple. His eyes were made out of blue sapphires that glimmered and danced in the canopied sunlight. Fitting for the hero of his people, and a dear friend.
She tucked a second bunch of flowers across his feathered head and smiled at the uncanny likeness. Mundoo had been in fierce form when she saw him a week ago, when they had met to exchange Morte’s newest offspring. The peace treaty held, and her yearly trips to Hu-Yuhar had become a beloved tradition of both Wonderlanders and the Yurkei. Now, the celebration of the newest Hornhoov colt eclipsed even the Royal Croquet Game. She smiled. Then again, what wouldn’t Wonderlanders use as an excuse for a lavish party?
She walked past the statues, her boots crunching in the wet twigs. Who made these, and why? She would never know.
Not a fearful child any longer, she found the valley strangely beautiful—a perfect place for kings and queens to find their royal rest both during their life and after death.
Beyond a thick gathering of white trees, a clearing caught her eye. She pushed through a curtain of white moss, feeling her breath catch in her throat. The grass here was green and short, not unlike the grass on the croquet grounds at home. The ground in this clearing was covered with pale blue flowers, the morning dew glistening on their flat petals. There she was.
Dinah’s gray stone head sat straight and tall, with Charles’s crown upon her head. Her sculpted short black hair fell like a waterfall on the sides of her face. No jewels sat around her neck. Her eyes were carved from black obsidian, narrowed in fury. Her mouth curved up in a half smile, and though her eyes were angry, her face was serene, carved forever with a look of wisdom. The crown was perfect in its replication. Dinah absently ran her fingers over the sharp tips upon her actual head. She stared at her likeness in wonder, thinking that this was a very strange feeling indeed.
From high above, the trees let out a deep groan. Dinah watched as the woods rippled like water. Several trunks twisted in her direction. Something rumbled in the foliage next to her, and Dinah’s hand went to her sword. She heard high shrieks and what sounded like a thousand tiny feet crashing over ancient roots, destroying the sacred peace of the Twisted Wood. A smile crept over her face as three now-filthy children exploded out from the bushes and circled around her.
“Mama, did you see it? Did you see? It’s you!”
Dinah scooped up Davi, her youngest daughter, as Amabel and Charles, her nine-year-old twins, tugged at each other and pointed. They ran around the head several times before they tumbled to the ground, shrieking with laughter. They wrestled like puppies around Morte, shoving each other as he looked at them with annoyance. Finally, they came to a stop at Dinah’s feet.
“That’s you!” Charles, the spitting image of his father, said. He put his hands on his hips and his ruddy cheeks flushed. “I want my own head when I’m king.”
Dinah rested her hand on his cheek. “You’ll have one, love. Someday you and Amabel will both rest here in the Valley of Heads.”
Charles turned to his twin sister. “I bet when your head is here, it’ll be covered with crane droppings!”
Amabel shoved him hard, and before Dinah could intervene they were running, a swirl of dirt and insults mixed with sibling familiarity like a cloud around them. Wardley descended on them, and soon he was hauling them apart.
“You two! Is this the way that princes and princesses should act?” he asked, trying to keep the smile off his face.
They both looked at the ground.
“Now, forgive each other so we can go look at the rest of the heads.”
Amabel reluctantly hugged her brother before Wardley lifted her up and kissed her hard on both cheeks, a fierce love for his children dancing over his face. The King of Hearts didn’t smile often, but it was always his children that made his face transform into the Wardley Dinah remembered, the carefree boy with flour dashed across his mouth. He lived for his children, and they adored him.
“We should go now,” Wardley
intoned to Ki-ershan, who sat nearby on a gray-speckled Hornhoov. Ki-ershan nodded silently. Charles hung on Wardley’s right hand and Amabel on his left as the King of Hearts dragged the giggling twins after him, disappearing behind the white moss curtain.
Dinah turned back to her youngest daughter, so still and silent, always watching. Of all the children, six-year-old Davi looked the most like her—hair black as a raven’s wing, eyes such a dark brown that they glittered like ink. Davi was lean and long, and much more clever than her two older siblings. She was sensitive and easily hurt, a quality Dinah loved. At times, she could be quietly thoughtful and kind to her family. Those days, when Dinah looked at her, she saw the best parts of herself. There were other times, though, when she was bullied by her older siblings and stared at them with such a consuming envy that it alarmed Wardley. After that, Davi would retreat into her own isolated world. Dinah stayed silent, because she could see that her daughter wasn’t removing herself for anyone else’s sake; Davi was plotting. On those days, when Dinah looked at her daughter, she saw someone else.
With a soft smile, Dinah curled her arms around her. “What’s the matter?” Dinah nodded to the statue of her head. “Does it scare you?”
Davi nodded and buried her head against Dinah’s shoulder. “I don’t like it.”
Dinah ran her hand over Davi’s dark hair. “It’s just a stone. It’s not me.”
“Does it mean you will die?”
“Someday. But not soon.”
Davi whimpered. “I don’t want you to leave. I wish you could stay forever.”
Dinah pressed her red lips against Davi’s cool cheeks. “Would that I could, my darling.”
Morte trotted up beside them, and with a smile, Dinah put her tiny daughter on his still back. Davi shrieked with laughter.
“Look how high I am!”
Davi’s face grew determined, her eyes glinting in a way that caused Dinah’s heart to twist uncomfortably.
War of the Cards Page 19
