Queen of Hearts: Volume Two: The Wonder Page 6

  “Aye, yeh decided to come. That’s the first good decision yeh made since leaving the palace.”

  “Shut up,” replied Dinah. “I have no choice. You have my bag and my sword.”

  “That I do, Princess.”

  “I think I saw a tracking hawk.”

  “Indeed you did. His name is Bew and he belongs to one of the King’s trackers, Sir Fourwells.”

  “Will he find us?”

  “Not now that yer with me.” The Spade raised his eyes, taking in the trees and the increasingly rocky landscape. “We won’t have to flee long. I doubt the King will lead them out of the Twisted Wood. If they don’t find yeh there, they’ll probably head up to Ierladia, to pay a very unpleasant visit to yer mother’s family.”

  “Why wouldn’t they follow us?”

  The Spade leveled her with an exasperated gaze.

  “Because we’re getting close to Yurkei territory, and the King does not want to be caught outnumbered.”

  The Spade blinked in the sun before reaching down and yanking a tall piece of wheat grass out of the ground to put into his mouth. “Yer just as smart as they say.” The ground gave a slight tremor as Morte appeared at the end of the trail, his colossal body reflecting the bright sun as he climbed toward them with alarming speed. Sir Gorrann’s mare took a step backward, almost tripping over an overturned branch. Even she knew better than to trifle with a Hornhoov. Sir Gorrann’s face paled.

  “Gah, massive, he is! Can yeh control him?”

  Dinah gave a shrug and picked up a stick to fling into the trees. “Not really. I wouldn’t touch him if I were you.”

  Before she could release the stick, the Spade’s hand, nails black as soot, clamped onto her wrist. “What are yeh doing? No throwing sticks. No touching anything that yeh don’t have to. Don’t throw, don’t kick, don’t shuffle yer feet or run yer hands along the trees. It’s going to be hard enough covering his tracks—” he motioned at Morte, who was munching on some tiny yellow flowers that popped open like bubbles when he crunched them, “without yeh leaving yer scent and marks everywhere. Yeh might as well have left a royal red carpet following us!”

  They walked until the sun was high in the sky, breaking for a quick lunch beside the stream. The Spade pulled some dried meat and a small wrapped cheese out of his pack. Dinah’s mouth watered at the sight of the cheese, but she forced herself to look away and appear happy with her stale bread. She didn’t want anything from this man.

  “Give me yer boots,” he ordered gruffly, and Dinah obeyed. He rinsed them out in the stream, taking care to scrub the soles with diligence. He handed them back to her. “Step lightly. Think of yerself as air. Everything yeh do leaves a trace. Try not to tramp around the woods making as much noise as possible like yeh’ve been doing.” Dinah watched in fascination as the Spade fastened two low-hanging pine branches to his belt so they dragged behind him. He pointed to the stream. “You and the horse need to walk in the stream for the next few miles. This is where I plan on losing them fer good.”

  It was easier said than done. Getting Morte to follow her into the ankle-deep stream was incredibly difficult. Eventually he was lured in by the large piece of meat Dinah had grabbed in the farmer’s house. Morte didn’t like the water on his spikes, although it was clear they needed it—swirls of dried blood colored the water when he finally stepped in. They followed the stream as it flowed uphill. Everything flowed uphill now—the land, the flowers, the plants. Dinah quickly sweated through the heavy black dress. Walking in the stream was difficult. Several times she stumbled; her ankle caught on seaweed, rocks, and much to her horror, a silver-and-rose-striped snake. After a few miles, the Spade ordered her to leave the stream and walk in only her socks. He shuffled behind her, erasing their footprints. Every once in a while the Spade would lick his finger and hold it in the air or stop and tilt his head, listening for something inaudible to her own ears. Then he would correct their tracks, step by step. At one point, he made Dinah climb a tree only to climb back down on the other side. She protested loudly, until the Spade drew his sword. She grumbled all the way up and all the way back down as Morte watched her with amusement.

  Several times Dinah would begin to talk only to be shushed by him, and once, without warning, the Spade pushed her down into a bush, laying his body on top of hers, followed by several branches and brush. Dinah let out a shriek and pushed against him with all her might, fearing he wanted to defile her in a way she had only read about, but his hands had only cupped her mouth. Dinah struggled until she saw the red shimmer of the tracking hawk above, dancing in and out of the tree branches overhead. She fell silent, though she was certain that the hawk could hear the loud poundings of her heart. After a while they hiked again through the bleached trees, until dusk fell and the woods turned dark. Dinah felt as though she were wandering through a gathering of ghosts, each one covered with dripping white linen. The Spade stopped abruptly and pushed his ear against the ground. After listening for a few seconds, he hopped to his feet.

  “We’ll camp here for the night. This is a good spot.” He bound his mare, Cyndy, to a tree and looked at Dinah to see if she would do the same.

  She laughed at the idea. “Try to tie him there. You won’t live long, but, all the more reason to try.” Morte collapsed in a moss pile a few feet away and began eating all the wild grasses within his reach. The Spade began gathering sticks into a pile. Dinah realized too late what he was doing. She dashed dirt toward the pile with her foot. “Stop! What are you doing? Don’t build a fire, they’ll see it!”

  The Spade laughed as he produced a tiny muslin bag. “Ever see nightpowder?” Dinah shook her head. The Spade lit the fire with a flint, but as soon as he saw the first hint of a flicker, he dropped a pinch of the powder onto the growing flame. “Aye, the trick is to get it on when it’s just a tiny thing. It won’t work on a raging fire, or even a burning log.”

  Dinah watched in amazement as the flame grew, only instead of glowing with an orange heat, it was black, and emitted a clear smoke that disappeared into the sky. The flames still burned hot, and Dinah enjoyed the first feel of heat she’d felt on her face in a long time. The Spade roasted two rabbits he had speared that day and generously gave Dinah a whole one. She dove into it, relishing the drip of grease on her face. She threw the rest of her rabbit over to Morte, who cracked the bones between his teeth.

  The Spade watched with disgust. “Unnatural, that is.”

  Dinah shrugged. When the Spade finished eating, he dropped the smallest portion of nightpowder into his pipe and leaned back against a rock. His ease infuriated her, and Dinah could contain herself no longer. “Wardley. What has become of him? And Harris? Tell me now, or I’ll run with Morte, I swear.”

  The Spade inhaled a deep mouthful of his pipe and cleared his throat.

  “So yeh want to know of the kingdom yeh left behind?”

  “Yes.”

  He let a black puff of smoke drift out of his mouth and waft over Dinah’s face. “So be it. What is yer one question?”

  Chapter Five

  Dinah thought long and hard before asking. “I would like to know any and all information that pertains to Wardley Ghane and the reasons behind any harms or dangers he might have encountered.”

  The Spade’s drawn face scowled. “That seems like more than one question.”

  Dinah grinned wickedly. “I don’t think so, I think it seems like a valid question. After all, I’m just asking about Wardley.”

  “Yer asking a bit more, and I believe yeh know that.”

  “I believe that is what you believe.” Dinah continued smiling. She watched his features change through the flickering onyx flame. Dinah didn’t know much about the Spades—of all the Cards, they were the ones most shrouded in secrecy—but she did know that Spades loved to tell a good tale with their comrades, bloody tales of wars fought, of limbs lost, and of battle fever, tales that would make any other Wonderlander squirm. Dinah was baiting him—she could tell by the way h
is mouth twitched and the grinding of his filthy teeth. Sir Gorrann longed to tell her everything. Dinah began her push.

  “That’s my question. I didn’t try to flee today, though I think we both know that I could outrun your horse quite easily.”

  “Yeh wouldn’t have made it to yer horse,” replied Sir Gorrann with absolute certainty. “I can throw a knife into yer back faster than yeh can mount him. I’m not as skilled with a dagger as the Diamonds, but I can throw one. I can see easily that yer greatest weakness, Princess, is that yer impulsive, just like yer father. I can teach yeh to be better. Yer will training will begin tomorrow.”

  Dinah hated the way he so casually insulted her, and how he assumed that he knew her the way Wardley or Harris did. Once upon a time, she could have sent him to the Black Towers for such insolence. She instantly regretted her thought; thinking of the Black Towers made her stomach churn uneasily around the rabbit she had eaten. She would never send anyone there, not after seeing Faina Baker, not after feeling the black roots twist into her nostril. She trembled.

  “Something bothering yeh, Princess?”

  Dinah gave a haughty toss of her head, assuming a confidence she did not feel. “No. Answer my question, Spade.”

  The Spade stood up in the clear night, the black flames of the fire kissing the tip of his boots. A thin trail of smoke curled out of the side of his mouth and he began. “Well, if yeh must know, Wardley Ghane is alive.” Dinah felt a sweet wave of relief wash over her, sweeter than anything she had ever tasted. The tremendous weight of worry broke from her shoulders and poured down her body and she wished that this feeling of clarity and respite would remain forever unblemished. A sob escaped her throat.

  Sir Gorrann watched her closely. “I’ll tell yeh what I know, what I saw that day. On the day that you fled—Wonderlanders now call it ‘The Morning of Sorrows’—all of the Cards were woken by their commanders in the early morning with the surprising news that the Princess had murdered her own brother in cold blood, his servants, and two Heart Cards.”

  Two lies and a single truth, Dinah thought. I did kill two Heart Cards. I lanced one through the heart from behind, like a coward, and hit the other in the head. Wardley killed another in the stable. That was three Cards. The blood on her hands was growing thicker. The Spade continued, ignorant to her whirling guilt. “As the sun rose outside, we were instructed to put on our armor and march out to meet the Princess in front of the gates and to capture her, eh you, dead or alive.” He gave a cough. “Our Commander, the great Spade Starey Belft, made it clear to us that dead was completely acceptable, due to the nature of yer crimes.” The Spade cleared his throat. “I knew it to be a lie. The scar on my cheek said otherwise. The passion which yeh had defended that silly wooden toy for yer brother had shown me that yeh could never do such a thing. I asked myself in those seconds, as I pulled on my armor, what did yeh have to gain from the unspeakable crime of fratricide? Yer brother was never a threat to yer crown—it was yers for the taking, or so I thought. No, the only person who stood to gain from yer brother’s murder was yer father. This all raced through my head yeh see, as I strapped on my armor and headed out to secure the gates. None of the other men seemed to question it—they were hungry for conflict, for battle, for something. The Spades have been dormant too long.

  “We marched outside to take position by the gates, while most of our battalion followed the Heart Cards into the castle. We waited. The army of Cards returned and began to sniff around the stables. Then I saw yeh, a terrifying vision if there ever was one.”

  Dinah tilted her face, confused. The nightfire reflected off of the Spade’s face, making his eyes glimmer like coins in the darkness. “What?”

  “Aye! A terrifying vision. I saw yeh, Yer Highness, straddled across that massive black steed of yours, tearing out of the stable labyrinth like the devil himself was chasing yeh. I saw the wood exploding out from yer steed’s body, a sword in yer hand, yer other hand clutching his mane, the cloak trailing behind yeh. I watched in awe as yeh plowed over helpless men without blinking, bent on revenge. I couldn’t begin to fathom what yeh were doing, but yeh were terrifying. As yeh were sprinting to the gate, the other two Hornhooves came out behind you, killing and maiming any man they came across. Do you know they killed at least ten men?”

  More blood, thought Dinah, more death because of me. The Spade gave a light laugh. It bounced off the rocky land around them.

  “Wonderlanders are still talking about it—they are calling you the ‘Red Queen.’”

  “But I’m not the Red Queen. That’s not me,” blurted Dinah. “I was terrified. I was fleeing for my life. I didn’t even fully understand what was happening. Wardley put me on Morte and sent him running for the gates.”

  “Yes, but the townspeople don’t know that. They only know what the King tells them and that’s very little. Because of The Morning of Sorrows, they hate yeh, but more importantly, they fear yeh. To everyone in the kingdom, it seemed like an attack, a last vengeance on Wonderland after killing your brother—a wild act, filled with fury. They believe yeh wanted to kill as many Heart Cards as you could before deserting the castle and leaving yer father to mourn his only son.”

  “That isn’t true. I would never….” But you would, said a voice inside of her. You did kill innocent Cards. You can and you have. The Spade threw another bunch of branches onto the black flames of the fire, which leapt even higher, their invisible smoke choking Dinah’s eyes. He continued.

  “Yeh looked like a blood-thirsty warrior that day, Princess. I saw that wild fear in yer eyes when yeh passed through the iron gates, the look of a child, desperate to survive. I’ve seen it many times in battle. But that’s not what the kingdom saw. Trust me, it will be to yer advantage in the future.”

  The future? Dinah pushed herself off the rotted log she was perched on. “I don’t understand what this has to do with Wardley. Tell me about Wardley.” She was getting annoyed.

  “Ah sorry, I’m getting there, Yer Highness. Because everything that happened to your stable boy—”

  “WARDLEY,” snapped Dinah. “His name is Wardley.”

  “Everything was a result of your actions that day, you tearing out of the castle like a mad bear let loose. I stayed there long enough to see yer father and his small cavalry pass through the gates in pursuit of yeh, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a man so bent on the destruction of another. He longs for his vengeance and he will never stop thirsting for it.”

  In the past this statement would have sent Dinah into a flurry of tears, but now it just roused the boiling rage within her. She did not mourn the loss of her father anymore. He had taken everything from her. I should have killed him in the forest last night, she thought. I had my chance for revenge and walked away from it.

  “When the King of Hearts returned from his pursuit, he was blinded with anger. He had lost the chase, and everyone in Wonderland knew it, especially the Cards. He slew three fruit sellers just because they didn’t get out of his way fast enough, and there were a handful of townspeople that he beat so savagely yeh can hardly recognize them. He also finished off one of the white Hornhooves, only because she wasn’t able to catch up with yeh.” The Spade ran his fingers across his knife belt as he stood and Dinah suddenly felt a bit unsafe as the anger in his tone rose.

  “Wardley,” she whispered.

  “Er, right. I know a Heart Card who stands guard at the palace infirmary. He says that after the King killed the Hornhoov, he barged into the wing where they were treating yer stable boy and demanded his blood as well. He was crazed, knocking over carts and beds, hitting the midwives and sick-workers with his armored fists. The doctor on duty argued that Wardley’s blood had already been paid and that he had a very real stab wound to prove his innocence. The King pushed past him, his sword in hand….” Dinah felt like she might faint under the bright stars shining that night, spiraled above in a glowing, circular pattern. “By some miracle, the King refrained once he saw that the blood f
lowing over the table and onto the floor all belonged to Wardley. He was unconscious, his wound raw and deep.” Dinah winced, remembering the feeling of her sword separating his muscle, ringing against the bone, the pained face of the boy she loved.

  “He had been found slumped over in the stables. Wardley’s story was that he had slipped away from the Heart Cards when they were entering the castle to try and stop yeh—he figured yeh’d go for yer lame horse in the stable and he wanted to ferret yeh out, to take his own revenge on you for killing yer brother, a boy that he had grown so fond of. He heard a sound in the dark and when he woke up, there was a gaping bloody hole in his arm and a huge lump on his head.”

  Dinah said a silent prayer of thanks that Wardley was so smart, so crafty. Even in the Black Towers he had been astute and quick on his feet.

  “The King wanted his head nonetheless, but was convinced otherwise by his council, Cheshire most likely, crafty snake that he is. The murder of such a handsome young Card, one who was so well liked and full of potential to become the Knave of Hearts would surely be frowned upon by the court and the kingdom. In the end, it was a political move.” The Spade shook his head with a cavernous laugh. “Of course, his reputation for being one of the most skilled fighters in the Cards has since disappeared, and now he is known for being bested by the Princess in a stable. Yer father has blamed him for yer escape and he has become a laughing stock. He is called ‘Wardley the Weak,’ though always behind his back, as a wise man would not say it when he holds a sword in his hand. He still bears the Card clasp, but he mostly works on rebuilding the stables yeh so recklessly tore down.”

  Dinah tried to manage her breathing but the sob she had been holding in broke forth from her lips and she buried her face in her hands. Wardley, once the brightest star in Wonderland, the future Knave of Hearts, would be mocked for the rest of his life, all because he had saved hers. Her body shook with sobs before the Spade, who looked alarmed at her sudden rush of emotion.