Blood of Wonderland Page 16

  “It’s fine,” murmured Dinah, patting her hair with her sleeve. “I’ve had much worse.”

  Starey Belft’s anger turned quickly to shame. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. It’s just that, if you think the Spades live a life of honor, you are mistaken. I should have expected that the daughter of the King of Hearts would never know the truth of our lives.” Starey collapsed back into his chair. “In between birth and death, the life of a Spade is one of misery and sacrifice. We are considered the lowest ranking of the Cards, and are treated with disdain by the rest.” He gave Wardley an accusatory glance. Spades had no love for Heart Cards. “As you know, Spades are not allowed to marry or have children. When we take our oaths, we are sworn to live for Wonderland Palace, so why would we have a need for women, love, or comfort? Spades live in the freezing barracks that lie just behind the Black Towers, stacked one on top of the other, so that you never know whose piss you’ll be standing in when you wake up. We have a place to sleep and food to eat, but nothing more. When Hearts, Clubs, or Diamonds go home, what do they return to? A room in the palace? A wife, a son? We return to nothing but the cold and the darkness.” Starey gave a shiver.

  “I don’t care what the official stance of the palace is, but there is something that permeates the ground near the Black Towers. The black roots run through our sleeping quarters. It makes men angry. And just when we seem to have unity, the prisoners come. Straight from the Black Towers, released to the Spades to serve the realm. Murderers, thieves, liars, rapists—that’s who the king sends to make up his army. How are we ever to rise above our rank when our barracks are constantly being filled with the dregs of society? We cannot, which is just how the king likes it.”

  He exhaled and sat back on his wooden stool, taking a long sip of the swirling golden ale. “The life of the Spade, my lady, is not ‘honorable’ as you say. No, it’s filled with fighting and bickering among ourselves, for we have nothing to do but the King of Heart’s dirty work. It is a miserable existence. We are asked to live in this constantly changing darkness, and yet, if the king needs someone assassinated, who does he come to?” Starey beat his breast with a gloved fist. “He comes to me to murder his enemies, to seek out Yurkei spies, to dispose of his mistresses when he grows tired of them. I have thrown men in prison who simply looked at the man in a way he did not like. I do these things, and for what? To see my men treated like sewage, discarded like day-old tarts?”

  He brought his fist down onto the wooden palace and the stables crumpled beneath his hand. “Tell me, Your Majesty, what will my legacy be? A legacy of death and sorrow, praying that war will come, just so we may take leave of our sorry quarters? I tell you, no! If it is the last thing I do in this pathetic world, I will leave the Spades in a better position than they are in now. My men deserve better than this excuse for an existence, for we are the ones who fight and die for this kingdom.”

  Bah-kan spoke up from the corner of the tent where he softly ran a dagger across his giant cheek. “You fight and die for unjust wars. The Yurkei have done nothing to deserve your raids. Your men are brutish and cruel—they are monsters.”

  “I will not listen to a coward speak,” replied Starey Belft, his face stoic.

  Bah-kan leaped up with a roar, and Dinah barely had enough time to fling herself between the two men.

  “STOP! As your queen, I order you to step back!”

  The men, their chests heaving, took a single step back, more out of self-preservation than respect, Dinah suspected.

  Bah-kan eyed Dinah as he spoke. “You are not my queen; the Yurkei have never submitted to Wonderland domination. But I am sworn to protect you, as Mundoo commanded. Do not forget, little girl, that is why I obey you now.”

  Dinah nodded and waited until Starey and Bah-kan sat back down, her patience gone. “Sir Starey, what demands have you brought on behalf of the Spades? What price will I pay to have them fight for me?”

  Starey handed Wardley a rolled piece of paper, which Wardley then gave to Dinah. “It’s all written there for you, made up of the voices of a thousand Spade warriors that have been oppressed and enslaved for centuries. We have five demands. First, a Spade shall be allowed to marry and raise children. Second, a Spade can choose to live with his family in a private household within the kingdom, as do all the other Cards.” He paused. Dinah nodded. These seemed reasonable. “Third, we would ask that you move our barracks away from the Black Towers, to the south side of the kingdom, as the first major project once you are crowned queen. Fourth, we ask that the queen would meet with a small group of established Spades before declaring war or ordering raids on any group of people. We would like to have a say in the matter before we are asked to sharpen our axes for battle. Our final demand is that the Spades will take new rank just under the Heart Cards, and be paid accordingly. This will allow us to afford more for training and feeding, so that we may build a strong army, inside and out.”

  Dinah faced him across the wooden structure. “If this war works, Sir Starey, there will be no need for raids or battles. We seek peace with the Yurkei.”

  “A strong queen needs a strong army.”

  “He is right, Your Majesty,” spoke Cheshire. “Though you will not war any longer with the Yurkei, you will still need an army to police the city and to protect you. Especially once you have established your rule, there will be parties who seek to harm you.” Like the Diamonds and the Clubs, thought Dinah, who will have just been usurped by the Spades. I will elevate one group to make two others angry.

  Perhaps this was the game that Wardley had spoken of. War was, at its most basic level, the great reassigning of positions—a king who could become a prisoner, a princess who could become a casualty of war. It occurred to Dinah that her war might not be over once the king was dead. There would be many sacrifices made in order to win, and many of them would make the pillars of Wonderland society very unhappy. Dinah tucked the scroll into her tunic.

  “I will think on your demands, Sir Starey. For now I would encourage you to take a needed rest and sober up. We have much planning to do. We will meet back here this evening, just after dinner is served.”

  The war council rose to its feet and bowed before Dinah exited the tent. Cheshire trailed behind her. Dinah handed the scroll to him. “Please look over these and make sure there are no tricky loopholes. Return it to me so that I may look over it again by tonight.”

  Cheshire rested his hand on her shoulder. “You did well in there, my queen. I am so proud of you, as both your humble servant and your father.”

  Dinah felt unsure of how to respond and so she strode away from him, toward Morte, who stood waiting for her beside her long white tent, which someone had haphazardly painted with a red slashed heart. “I’m going for a short ride to clear my head. Please have it read when I return.”

  Cheshire bowed, a feline smile stretching across his thin face. “Nothing would please me more, Your Majesty.”

  “Sir Gorrann!”

  “Yes?”

  “Please join me for a short ride.”

  Cheshire’s smile disappeared. Sir Gorrann gave her a half salute with his hand. “With pleasure. I need to fetch Cyndy.”

  Morte began to nip at the tent as he pawed the ground impatiently. His hooves brought ripples up from the grassy surface, where the water underneath sloshed and bubbled. “I’ll meet you at the blighted ponds. He cannot wait.”

  Dinah bowed her head with reverence once she reached Morte, and he lifted his leg for her to vault onto his back. Morte ran with abandon for the blighted ponds. Dinah relished the damp wind on her face as they flew across the wet valley. The ponds were not far, which was convenient, for it was where the army drew their water. Alongside the clear, delicious pools of perfectly cool water, there were other ponds, the blighted ponds. She had seen them almost every day in the Darklands and even now stared at them with amazement. The murky pinkish waters were topped with a foamy froth that looked delicious, but smelled atrocious. Every now and then a cre
amy, shimmering bubble would rise up from the fathoms below. Bordering on the edge of the moss, the bubble would creep a few feet over the ground and then float slowly toward the nearest living creature. They were easy to avoid if one watched out for them, for they drifted at a snail’s pace; but if they touched the skin, as one unfortunate Yurkei warrior had found out, they burst open, bathing the unfortunate victim in a warm splash of effervescent pink. Seconds later, skin, blood, and veins would begin to turn white and harden. The warrior was left petrified within minutes, a creamy pink bubble formed over his lips. The Yurkei had been afraid to touch him to give him a proper burial, and so they had left his body behind in the ponds. The next day when they had returned to gather water, the warrior’s body was gone, and in its place was a new rosy pocket of water. It had consumed him, and he had become whatever had eaten him from the inside.

  Dinah watched with caution as Morte drank mightily from one of the clear pools. There were no roaming bubbles so far, but she could see the blighted ponds rippling in the distance, a sea of foamy pink bubbles against the green moss.

  “I hate this place.” Sir Gorrann rode up beside her, his mare panting with exhaustion. He looked over at Morte as Dinah dismounted him. “Gods, he’s fast. Cyndy here was galloping her fastest, and we were still at least a half mile behind you.”

  Dinah smiled and rested her hand on Morte’s chest. He shot her an annoyed look and stepped away. “He wasn’t even truly running. When the king chased us, he was running so fast I could barely make out the landscape.”

  “Mmm. He’s an incredible monster, isn’t he?” They both glanced over at Morte as he happily stomped a toad to death.

  Dinah trained her eyes on the ever-shifting ponds. “Tell me, Sir Gorrann, what do you think of the Spades’ demands? This is why you agreed to find me, right? Why you said you would work with Cheshire? This was your agenda. You wanted to make sure that I survived and made it to the right people so that I could advance the cause of the Spades. Is that correct?”

  He looked out into the distance. “Yeh would be correct. I never hid that I had an agenda, not from yeh. If I can’t bring back Ioney and my Amabel, at least I can better the lives of those men who I would call brothers. But I will fight for yeh, Dinah. I believe that yeh will be a great queen, and I will fight even if yeh don’t agree to the Spades’ demands. They are fair demands. There was nothing that seemed . . . in excess.” He paused and took a sip of water from one of the clear ponds. “Of course,” he continued as he wiped his mouth, “if yeh don’t accept the Spades’ demands, yeh will not have an army. On our side of the battle, we will have a thousand Yurkei warriors, three hundred Rogue Cards——who are useless if yeh ask me—and the king will wipe all of yeh from Wonderland like the dirt under his feet.”

  “Can we win with the Spades?” Dinah asked.

  Sir Gorrann watched with a wary eye as two champagne bubbles began drifting toward them, so light and friendly on the wind. “Perhaps. Mundoo was counting on them joining us when he marched north.”

  Dinah narrowed her eyes. “I wish I would have known.”

  “’Twas a gamble in the first place, even for Cheshire. Yeh should just be thankful that they are here now. Without them, we haven’t a prayer. The Cards don’t fear the Yurkei near as much as they should, but they will fear a line of Spades.”

  “Then it is done.” Dinah watched a pretty pink bubble burst across a low rock. Within seconds, the moss covering its surface shriveled and turned white. “And when you are allowed to marry, will you marry again, Sir Gorrann?”

  He looked out at the low valley, now filled with several dozen floating pink bubbles, all very slowly making their way toward them. “For many of us, there is only one person who can fill the space of our heart.”

  Dinah thought of Wardley, the way his breath had washed across her face, the way the scar on his shoulder had stretched when he raised his arms to wash his body. She loved every part of him. For her, there was no other. “Yes.”

  His gold eyes rested on her face, the crinkles around them showing the first signs of a smile. She snapped her fingers for Morte, who didn’t come, so she began walking quickly toward him.

  “Thank you for your input, Sir Gorrann. I think we should head back to camp.”

  He watched a shimmering bubble that rolled slowly toward his feet. “Couldn’t agree more.”

  Dinah looked out over the landscape, so enchanting, a world of soft pink bubbles and warm light. She shrugged. “It feels like love.”

  “And that’s why it’ll kill yeh,” replied Sir Gorrann, nudging her toward Morte.

  Fourteen

  Dinah’s army continued to march toward Wonderland Palace and preparations for war continued at a frantic pace. When they weren’t traveling, Dinah was meeting with the council, poring over Wonderland’s laws or training with Bah-kan and Sir Gorrann. Wardley now brought his own special expertise into the bouts, and when they had fought tonight, Dinah was left spent and flushed.

  Most nights the future queen fell into bed exhausted to the core. Her body ached, her mind was spent, and she wished she had insisted on bringing the heavenly grass mattress from Hu-Yuhar instead of this makeshift cot. Usually, a deep sleep took her immediately, but not this night. Her thoughts were lingering on Wardley, the way he had turned when she had lunged at him, the way his white sleeves fluttered when he spun, the droplet of sweat on his brow. The more aggravated she became the less likely sleep was, and she found herself tossing needlessly on her cot. Something was keeping her awake. There was a voice trailing on the edge of the warm wind. Come to me. Dinah tossed and turned. Sleep was a white rabbit on quick feet, and no matter how much she tried, she could not follow it into the blissful dark.

  Exasperated, Dinah sat up and pulled on her tunic and boots. The damp air of the Darklands was growing warmer each day as summer neared and she had no need for heavy wool or feathered pants. She grabbed a handful of apple rinds from an open bag and ducked out of her white tent. Her two guards were, of course, wide-awake when she passed them outside.

  “Your Majesty?” Ki-ershan was the only Yurkei warrior who addressed her as his queen. Dinah had grown quite fond of him.

  “I’m just going for a short walk through the tents.”

  “You may not go alone.”

  “I won’t. I’ll have Morte with me.”

  The guard glanced up at the massive beast that had trotted over to greedily consume the sugar cubes. The bone spikes that protruded from his hooves were as white as the moon in the flickering torchlight.

  “Are you sure, my lady?”

  Dinah touched his shoulder. “It’s just a walk, I promise. I’ll be back in half an hour. I’ll just be inside the Yurkei camp.”

  Normally the guards would not let her out of their sight unless she had a protector—Sir Gorrann or Wardley or Cheshire would serve well enough—but what could these men do that Morte could not? Dinah began strolling up and down the rows, first through the black Spade tents, which reeked strongly of men, ripe sweat, and ale. Loud snores filled the narrow grassy corridors, and Dinah smiled at each resonating snort. She lightly touched the tent flaps as she walked by, lingering on how close she felt to these soldiers. These men would fight and die for her, even if they weren’t sure about her ability as queen. They believed in her, in her claim for the throne, but most important they believed she would acknowledge their rights. Whatever the reason, she would appreciate every sleepy sound that came from their filthy mouths. After the battle, there would be far fewer voices to hear.

  A large field separated the Yurkei tents from the Spades. Morte galloped across it with abandon and waited impatiently for her on the other side. The Yurkei tents were vastly different from the Spade tents. The Yurkei tents were circular and white, utterly without color or flags. They hovered above the ground, buoyed up by thin wooden reeds.

  The night was still and damp, the stars clustered in one small corner of the sky. Just out of the corner of her vision, Dinah cau
ght the slightest flickering of purple light. She blinked. It was still there, a flash in the dark, a glow where there shouldn’t be, pulsating from between two tents. Taking a few steps back, Dinah walked close to the line of white structures and peered between two that were situated abnormally close together. Between the two tents sat another, only this tent was almost a perfect circle—a sphere with a wide bottom, balancing precariously on two long wooden poles. Hazy lapis light pushed out from the tent. A trail of bluish lavender smoke exited through a hole in the top of the tent, winding and curling in on itself. Morte gave a loud snort and began bucking unhappily. The ground shook when his massive hooves met it, and she feared he would wake the entire army. Dinah reached for him.

  “Shhh . . . shhhh . . . it’s okay.” Morte yanked back from her touch and galloped a few feet before he knelt to the ground. He stared at her accusingly. Dinah turned back to the tent, her curiosity piqued. This was the tent of Iu-Hora, the Caterpillar, the alchemist who created the incredible medicines that healed the Yurkei so quickly. He had potions and herbs for every ailment, several of which Dinah had used in her time at Hu-Yuhar. He was said to be many things—mad, a genius, an evil incarnation of the Yurkei’s power and myth. Some said he hatched from a cocoon, others that he was brought down to the tribe by cranes. Each Yurkei either loved or feared him, dependent upon whether or not his medicines had been used to save their lives. Either way, he was guarded fiercely from the rest of Wonderland by the Yurkei. It was said that he held the secrets to the world within the confines of his pipe.

  Recently, Dinah had heard whispers that Mundoo had sent Iu-Hora south with Dinah so that his potions might be used to sway the opinions of the Spades if needed. It hadn’t been, but the idea that one could drug an army into doing one’s bidding was disturbing. Dinah blinked in the hypnotic light, unsure of how long she had been staring at the tent. It reminded her of a glistening, opulent blueberry, and she found herself drifting toward it, not unlike her reaction in the mushroom field. Stop it! she told herself. Be wise! She spun on her heels to leave when a soft voice beckoned from the darkness, sweet like honey and heavy like wool.