Blood of Wonderland Page 11

  “Your Highness! Dinah! Stop!” She felt Sir Gorrann grab her waist and tug her back.

  Bah-kan shoved her off with one hand. “Control her! Gods, there’s a fire in this one!” The crowd stared as Sir Gorrann carried her, squirming and screaming, back to her tent.

  That had been a dark day, but the training continued. Each and every morning her lesson was learned: when she let her fury get the best of her, she lost control of herself, her fight, and her focus. She learned to remain calm and in control and told herself that revenge was best taken with a blade—not a violent tantrum. Bah-kan’s strength and skill always bested her in the end, and would forever, but Dinah grew exponentially as a fighter each time his Heartsword met her blade. Between the training that Wardley had given her growing up, the time she had spent learning from Sir Gorrann in the woods, and the brutal, one-on-one fighting with Bah-kan, Dinah felt increasingly more comfortable with the blade in her hand. The next day, she faced off sword to sword with a dozen different Yurkei warriors, and more often than not, they fought as equals.

  After their seventh day of training, Bah-kan released Dinah early, saying that he had to visit his wife and brood of children, who lived at the other end of the valley. Dinah smiled at the thought—Bah-kan and his Yurkei wife, and their tent full of monstrous children, all taller than the rest of the Yurkei children, with white hair and shining blue eyes.

  Dinah yawned as she rested her sword up against a wooden paddock, noting that even the fence posts had been carved with tiny winged birds. Her muscles quivered with exhaustion as she made her way toward her tent, fancying the bed that waited for her. As she pushed back the tent flap, she bumped hard into Sir Gorran’s chest. “You can’t come here now, girl.” She stepped back, annoyance playing across her face.

  “I’m exhausted. Get out of my way.” She tried to push past him and ended up being flung backward.

  He tipped an invisible hat at her. “Doesn’t matter where you go, but you can’t come in here. Perhaps wander the valley, or find a ripe dinner in the orchard.”

  Dinah sighed, too tired to argue with him. “Fine. Enjoy your company.”

  Sir Gorrann clicked his tongue and winked. Dinah rolled her eyes, but sadly walked away from the tent, rubbing her aching neck and dreaming of a pillow. She suspected his pressing appointment was with one of the Yurkei women who was fond of watching him bathe every day, but it wasn’t worth mentioning. After the life he had endured, perhaps Sir Gorrann deserved some momentary happiness. Dinah let herself relax. It was late afternoon, and the falling sun was just beginning to cast a hazy golden glow on the valley.

  After a few minutes of consideration, she decided to walk the length of the valley to the orchard. She still had an hour or so before the sun set in the east. She longed to see what rested behind the highest mountain ridge, the northernmost hill with the winding staircase carved deep into its side. Dinah took her time getting there, and found herself wandering along the outer mountain face of the valley. Dim lights from white torches flickered within the fabric tents as the Yurkei settled in, giving the valley an enchanted, mythical glow, like ethereal clouds had floated into its midst.

  As she walked, Dinah saw the lowered eyes of the tribe as she passed them, a sign of disrespect. The Yurkei’s distrust and anger toward her remained, but she was no longer spit upon or had rocks thrown at her when she left her tent, and that was a vast improvement. Many of them crossed the valley to avoid walking next to her, and Dinah wondered if it was simple hatred, or if they were afraid of her. Her sessions with Bah-kan and Sir Gorrann were growing in popularity, and while she always lost, she was a strong fighter.

  Her head spinning with possibilities, Dinah watched a pale mare run feverish loops across the valley. In the distance, dozens of white cranes folded their wings in a massive twig nest that nestled against a rocky outcrop. I could stay here, thought Dinah with surprise, I could be happy here. She could become a Yurkei warrior, live in a flat tent that was suspended from the mountainside, and learn to love the heights of the ropes strewn between the two mountains.

  Yes, she could be happy here, perhaps in time. There was no Wardley, so a truly perfect life was ruled out, but what could she do? He would never find her here, and she would never return to the palace, lest her head grace the white marble slab that had held so many. This valley could hold a possible future for her, and yet her heart kept its distance from the idea. The truth, if she thought about it, was that there was no blissful ending to her story. Her punishment had not been decided, but Morte would be put to death. Her fate awaited his. If she were queen, she certainly would have put the daughter of her most-feared enemy to death. Perhaps Mundoo was having Bah-kan train her so that later it would be a fairer fight to death when her time for execution came. Perhaps to ensure a gloriously bloody death for those who desired justice. Perhaps, but it didn’t feel that way.

  Her wandering thoughts were interrupted by a delicious smell entering her nostrils. It was a distinct smell, warm and fruity, so unlike the earthy aromas of the Yurkei food. There was a hint of cherry and rose, fresh baked bread and cream. How was that possible? Was she dreaming? She sniffed the air again. No. The smell is real. She carefully followed the aroma into a small orchard that sat at the far west end of the valley.

  The trees were dense, the swath of fruit trees perhaps a quarter of a mile long. Petite lemon trees dripping with yellow fruit nuzzled up next to lush apple trees, their trunks pushed against floating mulberry trees. Even higher, some fruit trees hovered, connected to the ground by some sort of shiny blue vine that snaked along the path, its purple fruit the size of marbles.

  The orchard in itself was marvelous—truly, a wonder—but nothing could compare with what Dinah was smelling: Home. Tarts. Tea. In the back of her mind, she knew that she was being led, and yet the smell was everything she missed. Harris and Wardley and warm baths and the palace. Her palace. Lights flickered ahead of her in the orchard and she slowed her walk. A nagging voice inside ordered her to draw her dagger, and she obeyed, shielding her eyes from heart-shaped lanterns that seemed to float among the trees. Finally, she emerged from the trees into a small clearing. A long table, magnificently set with towering teacups in every shade and adorned with buckets of flowers, stood before her. The table was covered with all her favorite Wonderland tarts: raspberry and cream, whipped limes and butter roses, deep cocoa mixed with powdered jam. They rested alongside haphazardly piled plates and cups, candles and steaming glasses of hot tea.

  A bright pink checkered tablecloth brushed against the tall grass, and in the middle sat a cake. It was a plain white cake with a simple design frosted on the top: a single red heart, sliced from top to bottom. Dinah’s own heart clenched, and she clutched her dagger as she began to back away from the table. A light stirred in the trees, and she watched as a tall figure dressed in an elaborate purple robe stepped forward. His long fingers reached out and grasped a cup of tea before pulling it up to his thin lips. He blew on the steam and took a long sip.

  “Hello, Your Highness,” he said silkily before setting the cup back down. “Won’t you have a cup of tea with me? Nothing would make me happier.”

  Dinah felt the air whoosh out of her chest and saw the orchard spin around her. The man leaned back in his seat and gestured to the table. Cheshire’s wicked grin seemed to stretch to the end of the valley. “Cat got your tongue?”

  Nine

  Dinah was having trouble breathing. Her lungs pressed against her chest, her head pulled against her shoulder—everything, everything was tucking itself into a wild panic. She couldn’t quite understand what was happening. There was a table full of food, lights in the trees, and then there was the man responsible for turning her father against her, for helping her father murder her brother and crown Vittiore. Cheshire, the cleverest man in Wonderland. He was right there, his impossibly long body stretched out on a wooden chair, sipping tea like he hadn’t a single care in the world. A black goatee had crept across his rubber
y face since she had last seen him, and his black hair and eyes glistened with malice in the flickering candlelight. He smiled at her as he took a lavish bite of one of the cocoa tarts, sugar dusting the tip of his brooch, which was adorned with jeweled emblems of the four cards. The symbol that he controlled all the Cards.

  Dinah noticed the dagger that sat innocently in front of him—his weapon of choice, at the ready if she should attack him. Unmoved by her presence, he licked the tips of his fingers.

  “Mmm . . . this one is delicious.” His voice jarred Dinah back from the dark paralyzed place in her mind, and her hand brushed the tip of her dagger. His eyes followed her fingers. “I wouldn’t throw that, Princess. I believe you seek answers more than you seek revenge, at least at this moment. Trust me when I say I can give you both.”

  Dinah narrowed her eyes and pulled her dagger out of its sheath. Her voice finally clawed its way up her throat. “Tell me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you where you sit,” she hissed. “Tell me why I shouldn’t slit you open right here, and then dine on these tarts as your blood pools over the table. I’d do it happily.”

  Cheshire’s eyes sparkled as he looked through her. “Tarts and blood are not complementary on the palate. Also, it’s bad manners, or so your mother should have taught you.”

  My mother. How dare he? Dinah was on him in a second, grabbing his neck and holding the blade of the dagger against his main artery. She yanked his head back by his greasy black hair. Tarts spilled from their elaborately orchestrated places as his legs slammed against the corner of the table. He twisted suddenly, and Dinah loosened her grip on the dagger, wary of cutting into his thin neck skin. She did want answers—but she also wanted him to feel the fear that could overcome a person in seconds, like diving into icy water. He twisted quickly and furiously, and she pulled back her blade. Soon he was behind her, pressing his body against hers, his hand not on his dagger but wrapped around her mouth. She had made a fatal mistake.

  His mouth brushed her ear. “Does this feel familiar, Princess?” he whispered. Then he lowered his voice significantly, and Dinah felt chills rush up her spine. “Perhaps from the night I saved your life and sent you running with a bag strapped across your shoulders? The night when I told you to go now, and yet, like an idiot, you visited Charles’s chamber instead?” Dinah’s body went weak. Cheshire was the stranger who had saved her life? She stopped struggling and stood stunned in the clearing.

  Cheshire slowly removed his hand from her mouth and tucked a hair back behind her ear. “Now, Dinah, be a good girl and sit down. I have much to tell you, and you look famished. Have some tarts and tea.”

  Her body shaking, Dinah let him lead her to a chair at the other end of the table. She still clutched her dagger, and Cheshire made no attempt to take his own—an elaborate show to give the illusion that she was in control, no doubt. At the other end of the table, he settled into his chair and took a sip of tea as he straightened the tablecloth and teacups.

  “Now. What kind would you like? Youthberry with lavender? Honeyed Fig? How about a Scarlet Cloud?”

  Dinah stared at him, hatred simmering in her eyes.

  “That’s the one.”

  Dinah found her voice, more scared than she would have liked it.

  “Did you come here to kill me, Cheshire?”

  “Oh, no, no. Hmm. Where shall I begin? I have so much to tell you, but I guess we’ll start at the very beginning, since most of the things I dabble in start with me anyway.”

  He opened a small porcelain container and began delicately stirring the dry tea leaves inside.

  “I was born poor in Verrader, a small fishing village by the Western Slope. I grew up dreaming of the day when I would leave that sorry little town, with its brutal children who would rise up to be nothing more than fishmongers and innkeepers.

  “On the day I turned sixteen, I took my father’s horse and rode east for Wonderland Palace and the life that I had dreamed of. Upon my arrival, I immediately found work in a jewelry shop. I’m good with numbers, books and things that can be, how shall we say, manipulated? The accountant that had been there before me suddenly fell ill, and I took his place at the shop.” He paused. “These are rare tea leaves, brought straight from the palace. All the best for you, my dear.”

  Using tiny silver tongs, he removed the tea leaves and spread them out on a thin muslin cloth. Dinah kept her eyes on his dagger, her heart thudding against her chest.

  Cheshire shook his head. “Anyway, within a year, I became well-known in Wonderland proper for being a man who got what he wanted. I caught the eye of an established banker, who put me in charge of everything when his main account man disappeared. Two years later I was the third-highest-ranking Diamond in the Cards, and I lived a life of counting and calculating. Wonderland Palace had heard word of me and hired me on at the king’s bank.” Cheshire paused to take a sip of his tea and motioned at the cake in the middle of the table. “Please help yourself.” Dinah reached forward slowly, and then with a shove of her hand, pushed the cake off the table into the grass. Cheshire looked exasperated.

  “It’s not poison, Your Highness, but I won’t fault you for being cautious. You’re smart, like me. I mean, gods know people have tried to poison me over the years. Adorable.” He took a breath and gave a deceptive smile, his unnaturally white teeth glowing in the darkness.

  He folded up the muslin, the tea leaves, and the honeycomb, and crumpled them in his long hands, squeezing and kneading the leaves as they crunched inside. Once he was finished, he siphoned the dust into a tiny metallic cylinder before dropping it into a white porcelain mug, it’s handles dotted with cream and pink pearls.

  “My dear, I apologize if this next part is hard for you to hear, but it’s something you must know. One night, I was invited to attend the ball following the Royal Croquet Game. You know it well. I too share your distaste for such things, but I see them as necessary for social climbing. That night, a radiant young woman was visiting the court. She was from Ierladia, and rumor had it that she was the king’s bride to be, the future queen. Her name was Davianna.”

  Her heart stopped.

  “No.” Dinah cringed. “No, no.”

  Cheshire leaned forward, his face sincere. “When I saw your mother, my world changed. Understand this—all my life I had gathered things for other people—money, goods, revenge. It was my skill. And yet, for the first time, I saw something I wanted for myself. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her hair was thick and black, like yours, and one could rest a lemon on the curve of her hips. Roses envied the red of her lips. Davianna danced with many men that night—mostly the king—but I waited my turn and took her arm. When she danced with me, both of our worlds seemed to stop. There was an intense connection, a feeling that we had been waiting for each other our entire lives. We fell in love instantly, a thing of fairy tales, but a truth nonetheless. She did not love your father, who was already a brutish man, a drinker, but she married him because she longed to be queen and we both agreed that Wonderland needed a steady hand to rule. I loved your mother for eleven years, with both my soul and body.”

  He paused and put the cup down, his black eyes staring at her through the shimmering tree lights. “Together we conceived a child and named her Dinah. You, my beautiful and strong daughter.”

  Dinah gripped a teacup so hard it shattered in her hands. Her mind was having trouble keeping calm, and she heard a cacophony of voices inside her, all in open rebellion, all of them in a state of shock. A drop of blood dripped from her palm onto the table.

  Cheshire stared at her for a moment, and began pouring steaming water over the dust.

  “Lies,” she whispered.

  Cheshire gave her a sympathetic smile and continued. “Let’s not forget that the man you thought was your father tried to kill you, and murdered your brother. You should relish the realization that you do not share his blood. Eventually, the King of Hearts began to suspect your mother of having an affair. There were ma
ny times when the king came so close to catching us that I barely escaped in time. In your tenth year of life, Davianna fell ill, very suddenly. I suspected poison, and I still do, though I have never been able to prove who did it.” He took a labored breath, and Dinah noticed a slight tremble of his lip. “Imagine, seeing the love of your life dying in front of you and being able to exchange only formal, pleasant words of comfort, your heart feeling like it will burst inside your chest.”

  From a small jar he grabbed two long black pods and snapped them open. Glistening red cherries spilled out over his fingers.

  “I dared not say anything, because who would watch over you if I was executed? The king already suspected that you were not his because of your dark hair and dark eyes—so unlike mad Charles, with his blond hair, surely your father’s child. The king was left alone to grieve, but I arranged to have an urgent account matter to discuss with him the very evening of your mother’s death. In his drunkenness, he confessed to me that he thought Davianna was unfaithful. I volunteered to root out the culprit, and a month later, with the proof to show, I gave him the head of the Diamond Cards, a handsome young man named Kenrik Ruhalt. Poor Kenrik—he denied it all the way up until your father beheaded him in a secret execution in the dawn hours. I was given his job, and eventually worked my way up until I was the king’s chief adviser, the head of the Cards.”

  Dinah was going to be sick.

  “Was it cruel? Yes, but I had to get myself into the best position to control the king—to make sure that he acted as a steadfast ruler, as it was not his natural inclination. Most important, to keep an eye on you, my daughter.”

  He dropped the cherries one by one into the mug.

  Cheshire smiled and looked down at the table. “I had already interceded where I dared to make sure that you had a good childhood, even before Davianna’s death. I arranged for the Ghanes to move into the palace so that you might have a friend in Wardley, since before his arrival you were a lonely, moody child. I convinced the king to hire gentle Harris as your guardian instead of the cruel governess Forsythe, who was the customary teacher for the royal children. I made sure that you were kept safe, as safe as you could be, from the king’s rage. I encouraged him to go to war with the Yurkei when you were very young, so that you and your mother could have some peace.