Queen of Hearts: The Crown (Queen of Hearts Saga #1)(52)

“Shh . . . shhh there . . . ,” Wardley approached Morte slowly, still holding onto Dinah flailing in his arms. Morte tolerated Wardley, since he had fed him every morning for years as the stable squire. The animal’s eyes focused warily on Dinah. She could hear commotion outside the stable now, the clanking of boots and armor, the yelling of townspeople.

“Damn it, Dinah, GO NOW. Step up. Now, NOW!”

Her hands trembled as Wardley hoisted her up to his chest, her hands on his shoulders. With a rough shove, he vaulted Dinah onto Morte’s back with so much force that she almost ended up on the ground on the other side. Morte snorted and backed into the stall door. Dinah let out a cry. She was kneeling now on his back, an ocean of glistening black muscle and bone. He was so wide—twice the width of Speckle. Her legs couldn’t fit around him.

“How do I . . . ?”

“Straddle his neck, not his back.”

She edged forward and placed her legs on either side of Morte’s neck as he nipped down at her with his sharp white teeth. He bucked once, twice, and Dinah clung desperately to his mane to keep her balance.

“He’s restless. Your father kept him locked up inside for years. He’ll run for you.”

Wardley threw her bag at her. Dinah wrapped the straps over her shoulders. The noise outside grew louder. Cards were flooding into the stable; they would be on them in minutes.

“Come with me!” she cried.

“I can’t leave,” answered Wardley, avoiding her eyes. “Not yet. Someone has to protect your people when you are gone. What about Harris? And Emily?”

Dinah felt a whisper of doubt. “I don’t think I can do this without you.” Morte bucked again. Wardley reached up and put his hand on Dinah’s shin. He was barely able to reach her because of Morte’s towering height.

“I will find you. Head for the Twisted Wood. You should be able to hide there. I promise Dinah, I’ll find you, you have my word.” Morte reared up and kicked his front legs, narrowly missing Wardley’s face with a razor-sharp spike. Dinah looked down at Wardley. He did not seem afraid. He believed in her. It made her feel stronger, even if just for a second.

“Wardley, I—”

“Stab me.”

“WHAT?”

Wardley handed her his sword, inlaid with a ruby pommel. “Take this, leave me your rusty one. Now, stab my shoulder.”

He patted the fleshy part of his upper arm. “Hurry up. Gods, Dinah, don’t think about it! STAB ME!”

With a cry, Dinah brought the point of her sword down into Wardley’s arm, feeling his muscle separate and tear. Crimson rushed out of him, his blood, the boy she loved, splashing onto the ground, splashing onto her hand. Wardley let out an agonizing scream of pain.

“Arrggghh . . . Dinah, you didn’t have to do it so well!” He staggered out of the pen and began throwing open one stall door after another with his other hand. Dinah heard voices from the outside ring of stalls. The Cards were making their way in. They were trapped. She would die here, Wardley as well. Here in this stinking pen, in the scents of manure and hay. Morte was almost dancing now, his hooves coming up and down, excited by Wardley’s blood. Dinah looked over at Wardley, unlocking every stall door he could. She told herself to remember the curve of his brow, the color of his hair, the tilt of his spine . . . but she didn’t have time.

A Heart Card burst through one of the stall doors. His eyes widened with fear when he saw Dinah on Morte.

“She’s in here! The Princess! She’s on the King’s—”

He didn’t have time to finish. Wardley had pushed the rusty blade through his back. The man fell face first into a drinking trough. Wardley glanced at Dinah, their eyes meeting.

“It’s time.”

Dinah opened her mouth to object. She heard men shouting orders outside the stalls. Morte began to pound the ground with his huge hooves.

“I can’t, Wardley. . . .”

“GO!” screamed Wardley.

He brought the flat of his sword down across Morte’s hindquarters. It was enough. Morte reared up and bolted forward. Dinah didn’t even have time to see what happened to Wardley because suddenly they were plunging through the stable. Morte rushed straight out through the labyrinth of stalls, bursting through door after door. His massive knees hit the doors first, and huge shards of wood shattered out from the pens as Morte trampled everything in his path—doors, troughs, wooden benches, other beasts. Dinah was inundated by a shower of splinters, but could do nothing more than cling desperately to his mane. His breath was so loud it hurt her ears as he burst through wall after wall, pen after pen. Chaos reigned. Wood exploded all around her as horses and men screamed. She could sense Morte’s wild desperation to get out of the stable, his drive to be free.

Heart Cards flooded the stable now, a sea of red and white, and they watched with a fascinated horror as Morte shot past them in a violent shower of wood and hay. The final rung of the circle was a stone paddock. She pulled back on Morte’s mane, but nothing happened. He charged forward, ever faster, excited by the challenge. Morte easily vaulted the wall and Dinah almost lost her balance, slipping down his neck before she was wrenched upright by his momentum when he hit the ground.

They were outside now, and the bright dawn blinded her vision, which eventually focused on a terrible scene, something out of nightmares. Heart Cards were swarming around them everywhere, swinging their swords in her general direction as she flew past them. A brave Heart Card ran out in front of Morte, putting his hands up to stop him. Dinah motioned him out of the way, but he stood firm, his hands out in front of him.