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 took 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 whenever Mundoo got around to planning it, Morte would be put to death. Her fate awaited his, and if his was any indication, then she should understand that this brief reprieve from death was just that. Mundoo would be right to let her fly off the wings of the crane, for if she was 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 fair(er) fight to death when her time for execution came. A show for the crowds, a glorious bloody death for those who desired justice.
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 thick, 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 tea cups in every shade and adorned with buckets of flowers, stood before her. The table was covered with all of 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 heart, a single red heart. 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 and sat down at the table. 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.
“Mmm. 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. “Please sit. You wouldn’t want it to get cold.” Cheshire’s wicked grin seemed to stretch to the end of the valley. “Cat got your tongue?”
Chapter Eleven
Dinah was having trouble breathing. Her lungs pressed against her chest, her head against her shoulders—everything, everything was tucking itself into a wild panic and 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—THAT man—responsible for so much pain, 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 peppered goatee had stretched across his rubbery face since she had last seen him, and his black hair and eyes glistened with malice in the flickering candlelight. A purple rope tied over a plum tunic cinched his waist, and as he took a lavish bite of one of the cocoa tarts, sugar dusted the tip of his brooch, which was adorned with jeweled symbols of the four cards. It symbolized that he controlled ALL of the Cards.
Dinah noticed the dagger that sat innocently in front of him—its handle turned inward—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’m sure your skill has improved since arriving here, but if you do that you will get none of the answers you seek, and 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 I kill you where you sit,” she hissed. “Tell me why I shouldn’t slit your throat 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. “Because then you’ll hardly enjoy them. 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, holding his neck and pressing 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, and then suddenly 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 hissed. 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—he 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 tea and tarts. I would be bereft if you broke my favorite teapot by flailing all over the place. It was not easy to get all of this out here.”
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 make her feel more in control, no doubt. At the other end of the table, he settled into his chair and took another sip of tea as he straightened the tablecloth and tea cups.
“Now. Where to begin? I have so much to tell you, but I guess we’ll start at the beginning, since most of the things I dabble in start with ME anyway.”
Dinah stared at him, hatred simmering in her eyes.
“I was born in Verrader, a small fishing village by the Western Slope. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.” Dinah hadn’t. “My parents were poor but well educated, due to the diligence of the priests in that town, who felt that every child deserved a decent education, misguided as they were. They raised me to
be a fisherman, like them, though they also raised me to memorize the literature and languages of Wonderland. I hated fishing, and 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 fish mongers and innkeepers.
“As a child I was teased mercilessly, only because they could see I was fiercely intelligent. Even more damagingly to their pride, I had no interest in the life for which they were destined. My father found this disappointing as well, and when I turned twelve he began beating me to within an inch of my life with disturbing frequency.
“On the day I turned sixteen, I left home, but not before I plundered my father’s hidden wealth. There was a large rock on the shore, one that he walked past each day. There was a nest of seaweed at the base, and as I understood it, most seaweed decays and disintegrates. Even as a young child, I had noticed this seaweed didn’t. It stayed fresh, because he refreshed it every few days. My suspicions were correct—that was where my father had stored his money, buried deep in the Earth, under the seaweed. The money was plentiful. He had been hiding money there for years, storing it away for booze and women, though my mother and I went hungry most days. I took all of his money, and spilled to the local builder that my father had been bedding his wife.
“The next day, I took my father’s horse and rode east for Wonderland Palace and the life that I had dreamed of. Upon arriving there, I immediately found work in the jewelry shop, counting numbers and keeping accounts. 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 took ill, and I took his place at the shop. I updated all of the accounts and made sure that everyone’s debts were paid to the jeweler—something that the previous accountant had been too lenient about.”
Cheshire shook his head. “The people of Wonderland dream of being appointed to the court, and so they spend their money on jewels to dazzle the royals who, as you know, never notice such things. The people wanted these jewels and yet didn’t want to pay for them. Within a year, I quickly settled all of our debts, and by doing this I became well-known in Wonderland proper for being a man who got what he wanted. I caught the eye of a local banker, who hired me, and then the eye of another well-known banker, who put me in charge of everything when his main account man disappeared. Upon my arrival, I was presented with a problem from the man who owned the bank: there was a very large amount of credit lent out to a wealthy merchant who had avoided or beaten every collector sent to collect.”
Cheshire sighed and tipped back his chair, his feet up on the table as he munched on molded mint. “I learned early in my life that each man has something they value above all others—and my job was to find out what that thing was. After watching him for a few weeks, I learned that this man had a bastard son that he held dear, a young one, barely three years of age. He was his pride and joy, though he hid him from the world. One day, while he was out with his whore mother, I took the babe from her and held him prisoner at the bank. A squirmy young thing he was, but to my credit, I did not have him bound and gagged; no, he was a child, and so we simply locked him in a room, and left him alone with food and water. The man came right away with all the money to pay his debts. We gave the child back, but burned the seal of the bank onto his heel, lest his father forget to pay the debts he owed. He left Wonderland shortly thereafter.
“Somehow, Wonderland Palace had heard word of this transaction and hired me on at the King’s bank. Two years after I started as the accountant, I was one of three Diamond Cards managing the King’s treasury. I had a way with numbers, a way of getting what I wanted from those who owed the King, be it peasants or visiting lords. I was the third highest-ranking Diamond in the Cards, and I lived a life of counting and calculating.” Cheshire paused to take a sip of his tea and motioned Dinah to do the same. She shook her head and dumped her tea onto 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.” He took a breath and gave a deceptive smile, his unnaturally white teeth glowing in the darkness.
“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 Royal Croquet Ball, something I believe you are familiar with. 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.”
“NO.” cringed Dinah. “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, the most beautiful woman most men have 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, and figs the dark purple of her iris. She took my breath away. Davianna danced with many men that night—mostly the King—in the way of a traditional ball.
“I waited my turn and took her arm. I couldn’t breathe or think. 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 his 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.”
Everything seemed to stop for Dinah and she gripped the teacup so hard it shattered in her hands. Her mind was having trouble keeping calm, and she heard a cacophony of voices raise up inside of her, all revolting, all of them in a state of shock. A drop of blood dripped from her palm onto the table.
“Lies,” she whispered.
Cheshire gave her a sympathetic smile and continued. “I’m sure that’s difficult to hear, but 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. Davianna and I loved each other for a little over a decade. Eventually, the King of Hearts began to suspect your mother of having an affair. Every waking hour I could, I spent with her, and there were many 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 or why.” He took a labored breath and Dinah noticed a slight tremble of his lip. “I never got to say a proper goodbye to her, except when they gathered the highest ranking Cards to pay their last respects as the life slowly drained out of her. Imagine, seeing the love of your life dying in front of you and being only able to exchange formal, pleasant words of comfort in front of the King, your heart feeling like it will burst inside of your chest.
“I dared not say anything, because who would watch over you if I was executed? And what would happen to you? 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. Your mother, the breath of my life, died that evening. The King was left alone to grieve, but I arranged to have an urgent account matter to discuss with him that very evening. In his drunken grief, he confessed to me that he thought his late wife 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 Advisor, the Head of the Cards.
“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—and most importantly, to keep an eye on you, my daughter.”