Queen of Hearts: The Crown (Queen of Hearts Saga #1)(40)
Dinah looked down at her tiny brother, his limbs quivering under her hands. Her arm was heavy under his shuddering spine. Two broken children, she thought, waiting for a mother who would never return. She looked into Charles’s eyes and stroked his hair. His body went slack in Dinah’s arms, he was finally still and quiet. “The crown should have gone on his head,” she replied. “If he weren’t mad, Charles would have been the heir, the King of Hearts.”
Quintrell dropped his huge hand against her black hair. “It was never meant to be, Your Grace. Shall I take him from you?”
Dinah shook her head. “No, I’ll stay. Would you mind bringing me some pillows?”
Charles’s small mouth opened and shut as his eyes flickered beneath pale eyelids. Dreaming of hats, she prayed. Hats and trees and tarts. She snuggled in beside him, his greasy head resting against her shoulder. They rested together, brother and sister—Charles finally sleeping soundly after his seizure ended, and Dinah staring in wonder at the crown, watching how the changing light played over its features. She stayed with him for a few hours until Lucy stepped into the room, tucking in her lacy apron.
“Dinah, Charles should be put into his bed now. Quintrell can carry him there. After his seizures, he sleeps for about two days. It’s the most sleep he ever gets, so we take advantage of it and attempt to categorize and clean his materials and living space.” She looked at the small, empty room. “At least we don’t have to clean this room anymore.”
Dinah carefully shifted Charles off her hip and let Quintrell take him. Charles was so thin Quintrell could cradle him like a child.
“I’ll come back later this week,” said Dinah, sliding her feet back into her jeweled slippers. She bent over Charles and kissed his forehead lightly, lingering on his smell of unwashed skin, sun, and fabric. “I’ll see you soon,” she whispered. On her way out, she stole another glance at the crown. The afternoon sun was heavy, and the rays of Wonderland’s beaming light rippled across the jeweled surface. I’ll be back for you, she thought.
Dinah walked swiftly down the stone hallway that wound around the Royal Apartments. A poof of a white bird was following her. These petite, perfectly beaked creatures ran rampant around the castle. Dinah turned and scooped it up in her hands. The bird gave a surprised squawk and then nuzzled against her ribs. Dinah let her fingers lightly play over its downy-soft feathers as she walked. Her mind wandered and jumped, replaying all that Faina Baker had said and done. It wasn’t hard. Dinah wouldn’t forget what she had seen and heard in the Black Towers, not ever—Faina’s sunken beauty, Cray’s scheming boyishness, Yoous’s lazy brutality. Wardley hadn’t spoken to Dinah since then, and Dinah was afraid of what he might say when he did. Surely, he resented her for dragging him there, to a place of nightmares.
Her mind kept wrapping and unwrapping itself around Faina’s words. “She’ll wear the crown to keep her head.” She had obviously been talking about Dinah. But why would she lose her head? No one would dare kill a Royal, unless it was a Yurkei assassin, or a family next in line to the throne, but her father had all but eradicated those.
“He came on a devil steed, looking for something he would never have again.” That didn’t make sense either. Faina had talked of the sea, but her father had battled the Yurkei tribes in the East, up against the mountains. That was where he conceived Vittiore. And Cheshire, the whisperer of secrets—he was tied up in this as well, not that that was a surprise. Dinah had always loathed him, but now she had even more reason to make sure that her first days as the Queen of Hearts were his last as the King’s advisor.
The bird gave another loud squawk and turned over in Dinah’s hands. She looked around in surprise. She had been wandering for a while, lost in her thoughts. She was now on the King’s end of the castle—the west-side Royal Apartments. Dinah rarely ventured here, for fear of running into her father. She glanced back. Her Heart Cards were behind her, looking bored and annoyed that she had wandered so long. She began walking again. Let them follow, she thought, that’s their job. The late-afternoon light bathed the castle in a lovely golden glow. Her eyes lifted to a red stained-glass window, wall-sized and made of hundreds of tiny hearts. When the sun rippled through fat clouds outside, the heart appeared to be alive, a beating organ with a thousand moving parts. She sighed. Wonderland Palace was so beautiful, so ancient. Sometimes she forgot how lovely it was, how much she loved it.
“Dinah?”
The sound was so soft it made her jump; she dropped the bird. It gave Dinah an angry peck on her shin before scuttling down the hall. Vittiore stood behind her, a layered peach gown on her thin frame. Her blond curls were pulled to one side and clipped with a pale-pink rose. Her two lady’s maids flanked her sides, as they always did. They wore matching dresses—red-and-white stripes with blue piping, like frosting on a cake. They were identical twins, born of a Ms. Dee, a striking lady of the court who stood in high favor—too high, Dinah suspected—with the King.
Dinah’s eyes narrowed. “That rose was my mother’s clip.”
Vittiore raised a flustered hand to her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t. . . .”
Palma, the quieter of the twins, stepped forward. “What the Duchess wears is no business of yours.” She gave a silly giggle that made Dinah grind her teeth together. “It’s not like you care about the fashion of Wonderland. Your mother had much better sense than you ever will.”