Blood of Wonderland Read online

  After the negotiations were signed and sealed, four swift horses bearing Yurkei riders were sent to store the documents in the four corners of Wonderland, so that there might always be one treaty that remained safe, even if the rest were destroyed. After the documents were carried away, Dinah nervously prepared for the ancient Yurkei sealing ritual. Wearing little more than a few feathers, Dinah stood perfectly still for hours as the words of the treaty were painted on her body with white paint by silent Yurkei women. The words trailed down from her eyes in straight lines to the edge of her toes, and by the end, there wasn’t an inch of her skin unmarked with white paint. The words of their treaty trailed from her cheeks, her belly, her fingertips. Mundoo had the same treaty inscribed down his body, and when they were done, both Dinah and Mundoo were led into a ringed circle of fire, a subdued crane tied to each of their wrists. The Yurkei rose in song, an unnerving wail that resonated through the narrow valley.

  For hours they sang, Dinah and Mundoo standing perfectly still until their legs trembled beneath them. Finally, at the excited shout of the crowd, the two of them neared each other as the stars swirled above. When they were close enough to touch, the cranes leaped from their wrists and flapped toward each other. Mundoo and Dinah were yanked together, the strings holding their cranes twisting and tangling while the birds fluttered and fought. The words written on their bodies smeared together, the melting paint mixing with their sweat as they struggled to back away from each other. Finally, a Yurkei priestess gave a shout and they both released their birds into the sky. The words were now one, blended forever, absorbed into their skin. Dinah’s black eyes met Mundoo’s shimmering blue irises as they stood silently, surrounded by the roaring fire. What she had seen in them both reassured and frightened Dinah. Mundoo was resilient, and she saw a passion to rule blazing in his eyes that was not unlike her own. She was a queen and he was a chief. They were the same. A pact had been made, a promise sealed. Dinah had never felt more alive and gave a shout to the sky, her head thrown back in glory.

  After she had cleaned up, she joined the Yurkei for a celebratory feast alongside Bah-kan, Sir Gorrann, and her two Yurkei guards. It was a meal to put all others to shame, even the endless food she had known at Wonderland Palace. Birds of every type were paraded in on the backs of Yurkei warriors. Each bite tingled with rich spices, woodsy and full of flavor, each taste manipulated by Iu-Hora, their witch doctor. Dinah was given piles of edible mushrooms, each one producing a unique effect—some made her melancholy, while others made her silly. Some produced a feeling of intense passion that climaxed in seconds and left her breathless, clutching the table. One gave her a hallucination of the palace, filled with thumping red hearts and fluttering peacocks. Another showed her a river of blood, soaking her feet. The effects weren’t lasting—most were no more than a minute—so Dinah eagerly awaited what each new mushroom would bring.

  Cheshire sat beside her on one side and Sir Gorrann on the other; and while Cheshire was constantly trying to engage her with compliments or observations, she couldn’t bring herself to be kind to him, not yet. She did find herself staring at him when he wasn’t looking, taking in his jet-black hair and eyes, so like her own. She imagined him with her mother, laughing and touching, finding every spare moment to be together, caught up in the danger of their forbidden passion. At times the idea made her sick. Since he had arrived, Cheshire had given her a number of gifts—a lovely diamond brooch in the shape of a cat, a heavy purple riding cloak, a new set of dark red leather boots imprinted with a heart on each heel. She pulled on the boots immediately and shoved the other presents into her bag. He could not buy her loyalty or love, not yet, but she needed new boots and so allowed herself to slip into their rich soles, her sore feet rejoicing.

  Her training with Bah-kan and Sir Gorrann continued—brutal mornings, every day—until she was able to spar competently with Sir Gorrann, even beating him on occasion. All the mornings she had played swords with Wardley were returning to her, and her strokes became quick and hard as her body intuitively spun and leaped. Somehow, without her noticing, the blade and her body had become one. One morning, as Dinah was eating, Cheshire approached and invited her to train with him on throwing daggers. Dinah reluctantly agreed, but to her dismay found that she thoroughly enjoyed herself. There was something about winging a dagger at a tree that released her growing anxiety about leading an army. Cheshire was extremely skilled with a dagger, and Dinah realized that he had generously allowed her to hold her dagger to his throat in the orchard that evening. He could have disarmed or killed her at any time.

  As they threw the knives, Cheshire recounted for her parts of her childhood that she had almost forgotten—her fifth birthday, a certain croquet game, when she broke her leg climbing a statue. He had indeed been watching her, but she told herself that it meant nothing. It was hard enough to consider that she was of his blood, let alone to develop the daughter–father bond that she had been lacking her entire life. And so she didn’t speak. She just flung the daggers, loving the thwunk! against the tree bark when the knife made contact.

  It was decided that Dinah would take a thousand Yurkei warriors with her as she marched south. If there was to be even the slightest hope of victory against the king’s army of ten thousand Cards and growing, then they needed the support of the rogue Cards who dwelled inside the Darklands. These were men, dangerous men, who had deserted the Cards and fled south, where they could live in relative freedom outside Wonderland law. Then again, they had to live in the Darklands, which to Dinah seemed to be punishment enough.

  Mundoo and his army of four thousand Yurkei would march north, gathering men from the smaller tribes that lay scattered below the Todren, and make their way down from there to Wonderland Palace. Not only would this ensure that the palace would be attacked from both the north and the south—essential when the palace was surrounded by a circular wall—but the King of Hearts would surely focus on Mundoo’s large and noisy army, allowing Dinah and her small army to creep up from behind. Cheshire’s hope was that Dinah’s army would surprise him, or at least alarm the Cards. They would attack the palace together, independent armies working as one. He was unnervingly clever in battle strategy, and Dinah saw instantly why the king had chosen him over his peers to be his adviser. Cheshire’s mind was not unlike his dagger. Razor sharp and lethal, it could be wielded adeptly in whatever way he chose. He explained that her small army of Yurkei would be there for her protection in the Darklands, but they also served as a symbol to the rogue Cards of her commitment to a new kind of existence, one in which Wonderlanders, Cards, and Yurkei all existed and fought together to end tyranny. In his words, seeing the Queen of Hearts leading an army of Yurkei warriors would be enough to sway even the hardest mind. “Wars,” he reminded her, “are won in the mind, not on the field.”

  On the day before their departure, a few months’ time since Dinah had descended from the mountain with her crown, the women of the Yurkei tribe silently gathered to present Dinah with a gift: a suit for battle, adorned with elements representing both Hu-Yuhar and Wonderland. As the women unfolded it before her, Dinah bit her lip to keep from bursting into tears of appreciation. Here she was taking these women’s husbands and sons to fight for her—some surely to the death—and they were giving her a work of art, something that could never be repaid or replicated. The breastplate was a pure, flawless white that reflected the bright rays of the sun. Across the front was a red painted heart, slashed through with a single broken edge. It was very similar to her father’s armor, only it had been bent and shaped to a woman’s body. It came down and hit her at the hip, where tiny red hearts lined the sharp edging. They also gave her black leg and arm guards, marked with the same red heart.

  The armor, while meticulously crafted, was just a foretaste of their artistry and talent, shown fully in Dinah’s cloak. To call it a cloak was a mistake, for it was so much more than that. It fastened around her neck and was buoyed out from her shoulders by the same remark
able light wood that held the Hu-Yuhar tents aloft. A thick collar of black-and-white checkerboard fabric fanned out from the sides of her neck and curled into two hearts just below her cheeks. The collar was lined with soft white gossamer feathers plucked from young birds and the cape was made of white crane feathers. The tip of each feather had been dipped in red paint, giving the appearance of a blood-tipped wing. The cape stretched out behind her like wings, long enough to brush the ground. Dinah let them dress her and braid her hair with ribbons. When they all stepped back, wide-eyed, she knew she was ready.

  Dinah settled her ruby crown on her head and turned to face the women. Some were weeping, others looked simply afraid. As she emerged from her tent, Cheshire put his hand over his heart and gasped. Sir Gorrann, steps behind him, raised his eyebrows.

  “How do I look?” asked Dinah with a smile.

  Bah-kan was sharpening a knife on a small rock nearby and looked up in her direction. “Terrifying. A thing of nightmares.”

  “If you think that,” she replied, “then they have done a fine job.”

  She gave a thankful nod to the Yurkei women, who gathered around and laid their hands over the heart on her breastplate, giving her healing tinctures and murmuring quiet prayers for her success.

  That night, Dinah had barely returned to her tent before tears of gratitude fell heavily. There was little time for tears while the gears of war were turning, and she was grateful for their release.

  The sun rose and set in the sky, and before Dinah felt she could wrap her head around all the details, it was the night before their departure. All of Hu-Yuhar fell silent, and Dinah could feel the heavy desperation and fear in the air—so much was at stake in this gamble that rested on her. The throne of Wonderland, the fate of a native people—it all weighed on her shoulders, heavy as the cape they had draped over her. As a dark night fell over Hu-Yuhar, so removed from those who clutched each other desperately in their tents, Dinah walked through the silent valley, making her way toward the stone cranes that guarded their whispered secrets. There was one more thing that she wanted.

  Without the aid of her guards, Dinah climbed the ladder and entered Mundoo’s tent. He was feasting with his family, and Dinah felt rude about interrupting this sacred last night at home. Still, she pushed open the flap and heaved to her feet as Mundoo’s wife and seven children looked up in alarm.

  “I need to speak with you before tomorrow.”

  Mundoo gestured with his hand, and his wife and children scampered out onto the bridges, which rocked loudly in the cool mountain air. Dinah lifted her fingers to the crown. Lately, whenever she felt the creeping doubts or the listless fear that had come with preparing for war and death, she touched her crown. It centered and reassured her. She gave a slight bow to Mundoo before she began speaking in a quiet yet forceful voice.

  “You have something I want. I feel that we have given you a great deal in our negotiations. I have not asked for anything.”

  Mundoo laughed as he lustily licked the grease from his fingers. “You have asked for nothing. Nothing except a crown on your head and to become the most powerful person in Wonderland.”

  Dinah swallowed and continued. “I want him back. He is no good to you dead. We need him.”

  “No. You need him. A normal steed will fit you just fine.”

  “Any man who rides a Hornhoov knows that to be a lie.”

  Mundoo rose and sat stiffly on his throne of golden cranes. He looked at Dinah, amused. “I cannot give you the mad beast that has killed so many of my warriors. It goes against every principle of Yurkei justice that we have, even if I believe he would aid you in battle. The only reason we have kept him alive was to study him.”

  Dinah smiled. “I realize that, and I would never ask you to compromise your rule or reputation with your people. But what if I could offer you, and the Yurkei, something greater than death?”

  Mundoo raised an eyebrow at her, his radiant blue eyes boosting what little confidence she had at that moment. “And what could that possibly be? What could possibly equal the cost of lives? Some of your Wonderland gold perhaps? A raid of your treasury once you are crowned?” he scoffed. “It is so like Wonderland to think they can buy Yurkei justice. You do not understand our way if you think gold can pay for blood.”

  Dinah opened her hands in a show of mercy. “Not money. I would give you life for death. It is the only thing that is greater.”

  Mundoo tapped his fingers above his lip. “My curiosity bids me to hear you out. Continue. But be careful that you don’t insult me in my own tent, in my own kingdom. You are not my queen, Dinah—do not forget it.” His eyes lingered on the hatch door that flapped open at the bottom of the tent. “It’s a long flight down from the crane’s wings.”

  Dinah bowed her head. “Once I am queen, I will breed Morte with your Hornhoov, Keres. You will get the first six of his foals, both male and female, which eventually you could breed as well.”

  Mundoo darted from his throne and grabbed Dinah’s chin. “Do you take me for a fool, girl? Or are you the fool? With an army of Hornhooves, my tribe would quickly grow to be a threat to Wonderland Palace itself. How am I to believe that you will give me his offspring?”

  “You have my word as queen.”

  “You aren’t queen yet,” he snapped. “How will I know that you will hold to your promise?”

  Dinah felt the crown heavy upon her head. “I swear it on my brother’s life, on Charles’s name.”

  Mundoo released her. “Six Hornhoov foals for the Yurkei, brought to us when they are a year old to begin training.”

  Dinah nodded. “The first six. And not one more. The next six will be mine.”

  “And what if you do not become queen? That is quite likely you know.”

  Dinah was already climbing down the ladder. “Then we will all be dead anyway. Good night.”

  She found Morte in a pen as high as three men, lined with the strong white wood. This wood, however, was ringed with thorns, and she saw hundreds of tiny cuts along his legs and head. Morte had been so happy to see her that he only stomped around her three times as he threatened to crush her to death. Finally, once a puff of steam hissed from his nostrils, he let Dinah run a single finger down his massive nose. He lifted his knee so she could mount and jumped from the opened cage. They ran through the valley for hours, the thundering of his hooves scaring the other wild ponies into submission. Upon her return, the Yurkei presented her with a saddle built specially to ride a Hornhoov, originally built for the chief. It straddled Morte’s neck, rather than his back, but it also had a groove where Dinah could sit on her knees if she so desired. With her beast, her saddle, and her crown, she led the army of a thousand Yurkei south, navigating a secret narrow path that wound down from the Yurkei Mountains, through the middle plain and into the Darklands. The path had led her here, to this pit of wet sorrow, astride Morte, proud and exhausted. Dinah looked now, out at the tents, silent in the morning air.

  The black devil gave an impatient stamp of his hooves as she pondered what she came here for. What had Sir Gorrann said? A conflict between two of the warriors, oh yes. She climbed down from Morte, who gave an angry snort when she attempted to tie him to a pole. His saucer-sized eyes shimmered with anger. Would she never learn? Instead she dropped the reins and Morte galloped off. He would return when she needed him, dragging along a bloody carcass of some poor animal to place at her feet.

  Dinah ducked into Sir Gorrann’s tent. Cheshire, Sir Gorrann, and Bah-kan all stood silently as she peered curiously at each of them. Their faces were alarmingly happy.

  “What are you staring at? Where are the warriors? Have they already killed each other?”

  Cheshire let a devious smile creep over his face. “There are no warriors. Follow me.” Without another word, he stepped out of the tent, with the two other men following.

  “What?” Dinah ran to catch up with him, her sword bouncing across her hip. “Stop! I’m in no mood for a game right now! I think y
ou have played enough with me for a lifetime.”

  Cheshire’s grin stretched even wider, a naughty cat, caught in his deception. “I think you will much enjoy this game, Your Highness.”

  They were climbing a low grassy ridge, slick and wet from the evening mist. Dinah slipped a few times as she made her way up the rise, her boots squelching in dark water that ran uphill. “Have you found more rogue Cards? Send the ambassadors to speak with them at once.”

  “No,” replied Cheshire. “Not rogue Cards.” He stopped Dinah and held her by the shoulders. “Climb to the top of the crest and see what we have brought you, a gift to our queen from your loyal servants.” He bent his head to her ear and whispered, “But mostly from me.”

  Sir Gorrann and Bah-kan hung back just before the crest of the hill. Dinah gave Sir Gorrann a strange look as she walked away from them. He gave a small nod, and so she continued climbing. The top of the hill looked out onto a low meadow, dotted with white mossy trees and small pools of still water. She squinted, unsure of what she was seeing. Her heart began hammering. Men. It was a line of hundreds of men, each armed, bearing the familiar uniform, black on black. A man on a large white horse led them forward. Dinah’s breath caught in her throat. Had she been tricked? Was this her father’s doing? Had Cheshire played her? The white horse was galloping toward her now, but it didn’t move like a Hornhoov—he was too slow, and the rider was smaller, with a mane of curly brown hair blowing in the . . .

  Dinah didn’t feel her body start to move, but soon she was sprinting over the meadow, screaming his name, tears falling freely down her cheeks. She looked the opposite of a queen—a woman lost, a child coming home. There was no majesty, no decorum, only him, always him.

  “WARDLEY! WARDLEY!”

  He abandoned his horse, sprinting toward her as she screamed his name.

  “WARDLEY!”

  They collided in the middle of the field in a tangle of limbs and a crushing embrace. Both fell to the ground, sobbing, pressed into each other with a breathtaking fierceness. Wardley was kissing her forehead, his arms wrapped tightly around her.