Queen of Hearts: The Crown (Queen of Hearts Saga #1)(49)



Only the darkness answered back, howling wind from an open window. The window . . . her gaze drifted up to Charles’s favorite staircase, where an open window creaked and slammed in the violent wind. Oh please, thought Dinah, oh gods, no. She rushed up the winding staircase, for once not aware of how dangerous it was, a staircase that seemingly led to the heavens, a staircase with no railings and cluttered with hats of every color and shape. She followed the corkscrew up and up, climbing without thinking, her feet slipping precariously on the edges of the thinning wood.

As she reached the top, she paused to breathe, clutching her abdomen. Stepping carefully, Dinah leaned over the window ledge, praying that she would see nothing, anticipating the cool air on her face and nothing more. There were no stars out tonight—they had migrated north. Perhaps they rested on the surface of the Todren, light on that distant water. It took all of her willpower to cast her eyes down, and when she did, a whimper escaped her lips. Under the window, maybe a hundred feet down, was a stone precipice that jutted out from the palace kitchens. The wide stone slab, perfectly square, lay below, Charles’s tiny body splayed awkwardly across it. His back was bent at an unnatural angle, his head tilted toward the bare night sky, his features slowly becoming illuminated in the coming dawn. His eyes were open, blue and green, forever looking and never seeing. His mouth curved up in a half smile at Dinah, and his pale face was unblemished by the dark spot that blossomed from the back of his head.

Hats lay all around him; they had obviously fallen out with him. Scattered along the stone lab were some of his greatest creations—a sapphire top hat, a mossy green pillbox with lion-hair stitching, hats made of pink woven silk and peacock feathers. These pieces were proper funeral decor for the Mad Hatter, for a life so violently lost. Violently taken. A bird fluttered above his head in the dark, landing near his shoulder. Charles didn’t move as the bird poked curiously at his flesh. Dinah turned and vomited on the staircase, her stomach emptying between wrenching sobs. She collapsed onto the edge of a coat rack that perched vertically out from the wall. Everything stopped.

I could stay here, she thought, closing her eyes. I could just stay here and wait for them to kill me. I’ll join Charles and Mother, Lucy and Quintrell, and we will all be together. I should stay.

Her heart clutched with raw grief, but something else, something hungry, was clawing its way up her stomach, spreading its poison, its delicious red fury rushing through her limbs. It alarmed and seduced her, this fierce anger. Dinah forced herself to stand. She looked down once more upon her brother’s face, her eyes lingering on the way his dirty blond hair flopped over his forehead, the way his fingers curled, the color of his green eye. Making the sign of the heart over her breastbone, she whispered quick prayers over his broken body, praying that the gods would welcome him to their heavenly realm with love and kindness.

“It’s time for me to go,” Dinah whispered to his still body. A choking sob rose up in her throat as she realized this would be the last time she ever saw his face.

“I love you, I’m so sorry.”

Dinah felt as though she was ripping apart as she turned down the stairs, so reluctant to leave him alone in a dark, starless night. Sobbing, she made her way down the stairs and slipped silently toward the back of Charles’s chamber, pushing back the towering racks of millinery supplies. The door to the button room had been wrenched open as well, a lock dangling loosely from its hinge.

Another sob wrenched its way out of her. The crown was gone, the table empty. His gift to her, taken. Now there was not even a small piece of Charles left for her, only his shattered body on a stone slab. Anger rose up inside of her as she stood in the moonlight before the empty table. It was all gone. She stayed a few seconds longer in the darkness, willing her body to be strong, willing herself to be brave. Pulling the hood of her cloak over her head, she walked silently back to the door. She inched it open without making a sound. The two Heart Cards stood silhouetted in the moonlight, their backs to Dinah.

“Do you reckon she really did it?” one of them asked, turning the metal siphon over in his palm.

“I’m not sure,” the other one said and laughed. “She would have to be a monster to kill her own brother, eh? Perhaps the pressure of the coronation was too much. What do you reckon will happen when the King wakes her up, sword to her throat?”

The first Card shrugged. “She’ll be beheaded, either that or put into the Black Towers, no doubt. So long as I get food in my belly and a warm bed at the end of the day, I don’t give a horse’s ass if the Princess or the Duchess or the Mad Hatter sits on the throne.”

“The Mad Hatter won’t be doing that now, that’s for sure. Pity, I never could afford one of his hats.”

The other Heart Card gave a chuckle. “What’s stopping you now?”

Dinah’s hands shook as she pulled the sword from behind her back. It slid from her hilt without a sound. She replayed Wardley’s lessons during their swordplay: Hold the sword tightly. It is a part of your body, an extension of your strength, not a tool you use. Swing with force. Let your emotions radiate through the blade instead of through your mind.

The hungry fury she had felt on the staircase swam in front of her eyes as she stepped out of the darkness, close enough that for a second, the guards could feel her breath on their necks. The first one went down easily enough with a thrust through the back of his neck. Dinah felt her sword meet tissue and bone, felt it slide through his flesh. His blood flecked Dinah’s face. It was warm, and mingled with her tears.

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