Queen of Hearts: The Crown (Queen of Hearts Saga #1)(55)
Dinah opened her eyes and gave a terrified glance over at his hoof. One of the bone spikes had broken and was now pushed upward, several inches deep into Morte’s foot. It must have happened when he stepped in the hole, she thought, and when he struggled he pushed it into himself. Marrow dangled from the end of it and Dinah felt her stomach heave. The huge hoof came down again in front of her face, breaking the hard ground as if it were made of glass. Dinah took a deep breath and raised herself slowly to her knees, her hands up in front of her, showing surrender. Morte bucked, his feet landing in a shower around her. She stayed still until he stopped moving and then reached out her shaking hands until they hovered above the bloody bone spikes. He huffed angrily.
I could lose my hands, she thought, either my hands or my head. Reaching out with the utmost of care, Dinah placed her shaking hands on Morte’s leg, running them slowly down together until they reached the hoof, as she had seen Wardley do a hundred times with normal horses. Wardley. What had become of him? Her hands rested now just above the bone spikes. She left the hand with the broken fingers on Morte’s massively muscled leg while she wrapped the other around the bone spike that was impaled into the bottom of his hoof. The jagged edges of the spike pressed into her skin as she pulled downward. Morte let out a terrifying scream of pain and pounded the ground with his other hooves. The bone hadn’t moved at all, except now it was slick with blood from Dinah’s lacerated hand.
Morte gnashed his teeth together, and Dinah could sense his fury and anxiety growing. She had mere seconds before he lost control and killed her, she could feel it. She wrapped her hand once again around the bone spike and yanked with all her might, the skin on her hand ripping and tearing as if she was grabbing the end of a sword. Dinah let out a blood-curdling cry as the bone scraped deep into her skin, sliding on the wet blood. Her blood mixed with Morte’s as it dripped, and her high-pitched scream was matched by his as he knocked her roughly aside with his head. Dinah curled into the ground, her head under her hands, one of them holding the bloody bone spike as Morte stomped around her in a circle, his hooves inches from her body.
“Please . . . ,” murmured Dinah. “Please.”
Morte stood still and considered taking her life for a few minutes before he stomped away to inspect his wound. When Dinah raised her head, he was staring at her from a dozen yards away, his huge black eyes taking in every inch of her face; he was thinking, calculating. After what seemed like an eternity, he gave a loud huff and bent his head to drink from the meager stream. Dinah sat back and let relief wash over her as she clutched her injured hand. Morte would not kill her, not right now, anyway. She washed her hand in the creek, blood tinting the water red before it traveled downstream with a cluster of variegated purple leaves. She ripped off the hem of her once-white nightgown—now brown, bloody, and covered with coarse black hair—and wrapped it around her hand. Pain from her broken fingers swept over her and she wearily climbed out of the creek bed, fearing she might faint. Stumbling, she came to rest against the overturned tree she had smacked her head on, keeping an ever-wary eye on Morte, who was now happily eating every bit of foliage in sight.
Food. Dinah was suddenly aware of a gnawing emptiness in her stomach, a hunger stronger than she had ever experienced. Legs trembling beneath her, she pushed herself to her feet, and walked very slowly toward her bag. She untied the strings, letting it fall open before her, her hands searching wildly for food. It wasn’t long until she found a second bag inside the first, filled with dried bird meat, small loaves of bread, and fresh berries. Dinah ripped into the bread, chewing quickly and swallowing large chunks. She was convinced that nothing had ever tasted as good as this plain bread, and she followed it with a handful of berries. There was a small waterskin inside the bag, which she filled with water from the creek. The liquid was brown and muddy, but it still flowed down her throat like sweet nectar, and Dinah drank until she felt that she might be sick.
Her stomach full but unsettled, Dinah finally felt her mind begin to clear as she stared in shock at Morte, his mane tousled wildly in the wind. The truth played over her mind in waves. Her father had killed her brother. The stranger had warned her, packed this bag, and sent her on her way. If she had followed his instructions, there would have been no chase. She would have slipped away quietly into the night, heading in whatever direction best suited her. But she had to see Charles, had to see his broken body, had to see Lucy and Quintrell piled on top of each other like old dresses in the closet. She had to see Wardley. Wardley, her love. Wardley had saved her and she had stabbed him in return. What would happen to him? How would he possibly find her again? Would her father spare his life because of his liking for the boy or would he take his head because of his loyalty to Dinah? Hopefully the King would see the very-real stab wound she had given him and be convinced, but he was generally untrusting. What would become of Harris and Emily? A tear rolled down her cheek as she thought of her kindly guardian waking up, finding her gone. Would he believe that she had done it? That she had knocked him unconscious and killed her own brother? Dinah shook her head. Never. Harris knew her true self, but hopefully he had the good sense to hide his loyalty from the King.
The Twisted Wood gave a loud groan behind her, followed by the creaking of the trees consciously shifting their wide branches. Every time Dinah blinked she could see her father, the rage on his face, the Heartsword raised above his head, the bloody look in his eyes. He would have killed her if he had caught her, and he would kill her now if he caught up with her. Dinah quickly got to her feet, her thighs aching and raw from clenching them around Morte’s neck. The King of Hearts would be coming back, with horses and Cards and trackers. Several of the Spades were trained in tracking, and they would find her easily out here.