Blood of Wonderland

  Something silver winked from the bird’s neck in the morning light. She squinted. A collar. Dinah felt her breath catch in her throat. That was a tracking hawk. It was not hunting rodents, it was hunting her.

  Dinah threw the filthy wool cloak over her shoulders and began to climb out of the rocky nest. Morte slumbered above, his spiked hooves pressed out in front of him. Dinah cleared her throat. He did not stir. She coughed again, loudly this time. One of his black marble eyes popped open, and he watched Dinah as she began to weave her way up the forest trail, following the Spade. She walked for several minutes before she spotted Sir Gorrann up ahead, his horse meandering through the wood as the Spade hummed a soft tune under his breath. He gave Dinah a smile as she came up the path behind him.

  “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 here, 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 because your father isn’t comfortable ’round these parts.”

  The Spade blinked in the sun before reaching down and yanking a tall piece of wheatgrass 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, he is massive! Can yeh control him?”

  Dinah gave a shrug and picked up a stick to fling angrily 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. “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 behind us!”

  They walked until the sun was high in the sky, breaking for a quick lunch beside a 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. Try not to tramp around the wood 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 fer 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 wood turned dark. Dinah felt as though she were wandering through a gathering of ghosts. 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.” 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 was gathering sticks into a pile. Dinah realized too late what he was doing. She dashed dirt toward the pile with her foot. “Stop! 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 sign 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 dived 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. “Tell me about Wardley.”

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

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

  Dinah thought long and hard before asking her question. “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 think it seems like a perfectly 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 his mouth twitched and the grinding of his filthy teeth. Sir Gorrann longed to tell her everything.

  The Spade stood up in the clear night, the black flames of the fire kissing the tips 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. A sob escaped her throat.

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

  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 the other I pierced through the chest. Wardley killed yet another one in the stables to protect me. 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. 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 confirmed it. The passion with which yeh had defended that silly wooden toy for yer brother had shown me that yeh could never do such a thing. 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. We waited. The Cards returned and began to sniff around the stables. Then I saw yeh, a terrifying vision if there ever was one.”

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

  “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, a sword in yer hand, 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 looked fierce as a dragon. 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 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 ‘Rebel Queen.’”

  “But I’m not the Rebel 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 important, 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 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 leaped even higher, their invisible smoke irritating Dinah’s eyes. He continued.

  “Trust me, it will be to yer advantage in the future.”

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

  “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 chasing you out of the castle, he was blinded with anger. He had lost the chase, and everyone in Wonderland knew it, especially the Cards. He maimed 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. 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 flowing 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 to stop yeh, making his way to the stables. The next thing he knew, there was a bloody gaping hole in his arm and a huge lump on his head.”

  Dinah said a silent prayer of thanks that Wardley was so smart, so clever. 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 execution of such a handsome young Card, one who was so well liked and potentially the next 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. 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.

  Dinah was embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It was my fault. . . . Wardley . . . he saved me. He put me on Morte and unlocked the stable gates. He gave me his sword and told me to stab him. I would have lain
down and waited for the king if it wasn’t for him.” She wiped her nose on the corner of her sleeve.

  The Spade’s lips turned up in a half smile. “You’d surely be dead if you’d have done that. I doubt your father has room for two girls on the throne.”

  Dinah jerked her head up. “Vittiore?”

  “You must have fathomed that she would take yer place.”

  Yes, Dinah had imagined it, but it was always a waking nightmare, her worst fear come true. Vittiore, walking up the aisle of the Great Hall as her court bowed before her. Vittiore, her long golden curls pressed down as the beautiful twisting crown that Charles had made was lowered onto her head. In her mind, she saw Vittiore, sitting in the Heart throne next to her father, ruling Wonderland when she was nothing better than a piece of rotten fruit from the mountain villages. Dinah let out a blunt, angry cry and kicked the rotting log below her into the fire. My father has taken everything.

  “That whore will never truly be the queen. She is a pawn in my father’s game, a tool that he used to push me out. She knew that my brother would be murdered and did nothing.”

  Dinah saw the flicker of a smile pass over the Spade’s dark features. “Indeed. But she is beloved by the people. They are grateful that she survived the Rebel Queen’s rampage. The talk among the common people is that you tried to murder sweet Vittiore but couldn’t get into her room.”

  “That is a lie,” whispered Dinah intensely. “I was never anywhere near her room that night. I only went to Charles’s room, where I saw my brother . . .” Her voice collapsed, a mix of anger and grief. “I saw his broken body lying on a slab of stone. His eyes looked at nothing.”

  The Spade was silent, and for a few minutes there was only the crackle of nightfire.

  Finally, the Spade spoke. “There’s nothing to be done now. ’Tis still the early days of these changes. Vittiore is queen and sits beside your father. There is unrest in Wonderland because the king used the increase in the number of Cards and weapons to justify raising taxes. Many people in the kingdom are starving as he reinforces the Cards. When we left, turrets were being built around the perimeter of the iron walls.”