Blood of Wonderland (Queen of Hearts Saga #2)(43)
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 remarkable 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.