Queen of Hearts: The Crown (Queen of Hearts Saga #1)(42)

“It is not my concern,” shrugged Dinah.

There were a few moments of silence. Dinah looked at her cup. Since the steaming water had been poured over the prickly purple flower, one of its side petals had unfurled, filling half the cup with a strange glowing petal. A tiny stream of red liquid now poured forth from the center of the flower, which tinted the cup and the water crimson.

“What is this? I’ve never seen this tea flower.”

Vittiore brought the cup to her lips and blew. “It’s called a blood thistle. It’s a wild shrub that grows out there, on the Western Slope.” She nodded her head to the window. “It makes the most wonderful tea.”

Dinah raised the cup to her lips. Please don’t be poison, she thought, as she took a timid sip. The tea was delicious—a heavy citrus flavor danced across her tongue before it began to buzz with an earthy aftertaste.

“It is wonderful,” Dinah reluctantly agreed. She raised the cup to her lips again with casual ease. “Do you know a woman that goes by the name Faina Baker?”

Vittiore choked on her tea and dropped her cup, which exploded against the plate. Blood-red tea splashed over the collar of her peach dress, the red spreading from fold to fold. Vittiore sputtered. “Oh, I’m so clumsy. I’m sorry. My hands have always had a shake.” She began to wipe up the tea on the table. Dinah added her napkin to the effort. “No, no. I’ve never heard that name. Why do you ask?”

Dinah decided to be bold. “It’s just a name I overheard.”

Vittiore’s already-pale skin had turned a pasty shade of white, but she seemed to have regained her composure. “It is a sadness. I pray for all those imprisoned in the Black Towers, especially women.”

Dinah arched her eyebrow. She had never mentioned the Black Towers, or the fact that Faina was a prisoner there. Vittiore was obviously unhinged. Behind Dinah, a door shut as Nanda left the room. She had obviously been listening.

Dinah stirred some sugar into her tea. “Tell me again where you grew up? I don’t think we’ve ever actually spoken since your—” she paused, “arrival on our doorstep.”

Vittiore took a deep breath. Her eyes looked to the left. “I was born just inside of the Twisted Wood, at the base of the Yurkei Mountains. I was born in the early autumn. Your father had camped at our village during his great battle with the Yurkei, and met my mother. They fell into lust.”

“While he was still married. To my mother, the Queen.”

Vittiore blinked. “Yes. I’m sorry, I forget that sometimes. It was not right of him to be unfaithful to your mother. I believe he was simply seeking emotional comfort in my mother’s arms, nothing more.”

“And your mother?” asked Dinah.

Vittiore’s eyes filled with tears. “She was a wonderful woman. Her body matched her nature—soft and tender. By the time I was brought here when I was thirteen, my mother was long dead.” Her voice caught in her throat. Dinah waited patiently for her to finish. “I am so blessed to have such a loving and gracious father, and so happy to be included in the Royal Line of Hearts. For even though my mother was common born, our father is a great king.”

“Indeed,” echoed Dinah, her mind churning. “Do you miss the Yurkei Mountains?”

“Sometimes. They were so large, a permanent shadow over our village. However, I am glad to be here now, in this lovely palace.” Her hand shook. “Although, to be honest, it can be lonely. I visit your brother often.”

Dinah couldn’t hide her shock. Quintrell and Lucy had never mentioned anything about Vittiore visiting. She brought her cup down with a clink—the saucer underneath it cracked. “I was not aware of that. What reason could you possibly have to visit my brother?”

“There is an innocence about Charles that puts me at ease. He’s mad, but he’s also genuine.” She gazed out the window. “He’s so unlike anyone else in this palace. Charles has no motives or politics. His world is one of wonder, something that being a part of the court doesn’t usually grant.”

You aren’t part of the royal family, thought Dinah. Not really.

“Do you miss your mother?” Vittiore inquired.

It seemed to Dinah that all the air was sucked out of the room at once. She was never asked about her mother. After she died, it was as if Davianna had never existed. Only Harris mentioned her from time to time. Dinah found herself unable to produce a hateful reply, not about this. “I think about her smile. I think about the way she would smile to herself as she made her jeweled slippers. I remember how she would read stories to us, with different voices and accents. And how she would hold Charles—so fiercely unlike everyone else—as if he was made of glass.”

Tears gathered at the corner of Vittiore’s eyes. Her unflinching blue gaze unnerved Dinah, who found a fury rising inside. “Why would you ask about my mother? She was nothing to you, and she never even knew you existed. You should be thankful that she is dead, otherwise you would never have been allowed to come here, to be given everything from my father, simply out of pity for his bastard child.”

Vittiore refused to rise to Dinah’s taunt and changed the subject. “I can see how that would be upsetting for you. It’s truly unfair.” She sighed and rose from her seat, her features vacant. Her mind was obviously somewhere else as she stared at the view from her balcony. “Have you ever been outside the palace? There is a beauty you cannot dream of.”