Queen of Hearts: The Crown (Queen of Hearts Saga #1)(56)

Dinah took a look around to fully understand her situation. They were on the edge of the Twisted Wood, only three hundred feet of field before the trees—giant colossal trees that looked angry and unwelcoming. The clearing was lovely, a hilly field that hid a small creek bed, its rocky ground covered in spotted purple wildflowers and yellow shrubs. As Morte munched on wild grasses, the scene was almost picturesque—a rural fantasy, something she would paint in her art lessons. The raw beauty of the moment mingled with Dinah’s lingering terror and she clutched at her chest. The King would return; in fact, he was probably already on his way. She had to think, had to move. She didn’t have time to linger on what had happened—this was not the time to grieve. Dinah scurried over to the bag. The stranger had packed clothing, along with a few tools and food—two white linen tunics, brown wool pants, a belt, one heavy black dress, and deep-red riding boots—the boots of Heart Cards, she noted. Looking around sheepishly, Dinah pulled the thin white nightgown off over her head and shivered in the cool spring air as the breeze caressed her bare body. She pulled on the brown pants and a white tunic, and shoved her feet into the red riding boots. They fit perfectly. Moving quickly, she rolled up the nightgown and her wool cloak and shoved them back into the bag, both hands stinging with the effort.

I have to think differently now, she thought. I can use these things later; look how I needed them for my hand. She gingerly unwrapped the linen from her palm. The wound was ugly: a thick black and bloody slash that ran the length of her hand. She rewrapped the cut before splashing a palm full of creek water on her face. The sun was paused high in the sky, and the warmth on her skin made her sleepy. I have to focus, thought Dinah, as the wind blew her hair around her face. I have to be smart or they will find me all too easily. I can’t think about things like sleep right now.

She bit her lip. Her father was brave, a man of massive physical strength. He was not, however, terribly clever. No, he left that up to Cheshire. It wasn’t her father she had to outmaneuver, it was Cheshire. What would he do? He would expect me to go north, she thought. The Twisted Wood was full of dangers and mysteries, but most importantly, it was the outlying land of the Yurkei tribes. The Twisted Wood would only bring death, but in the North there were scattered towns in which she could take refuge, hide out, change into someone else. He would expect her to find her mother’s family, who lived on the northern tip of the Western Slope, in Ierladia.

Behind her, the Twisted Wood groaned again, the trees simultaneously turning their branches to the sky by some unspoken command. Past the Twisted Wood lay the topless Yurkei Mountains. That was the least-safe place for the Princess of Hearts, for it was a place of wild Yurkei, bent on the destruction of Wonderlanders. It was the last place her father would expect her to go. Perhaps that’s why Wardley had suggested it. She looked fearfully at the wood as it moved slightly, alarmed by the unsettling feeling that she was being watched by the trees. Few men had lived to tell the tales of the Twisted Wood, but even fewer men had gone up against her father and survived. The decision was made. Morte nickered softly in the wind, seemingly enjoying the breeze on his face.

Dinah took note of the ground. We are all over this place, she thought. Both she and Morte had spilled blood here, left footprints, pieces of themselves. Any tracker worth his snuff would surely see that they had rested here. Dinah kicked a petrified piece of wood in frustration. It splintered into tiny shards. Then lead them away, she thought. I have to lead them away from here. She looked at the sky. By her best guess, her father would have half a day’s ride back to the castle and then half a day’s ride back to this spot. She had been unconscious for maybe three hours, judging by the sun’s location when she woke. Dinah cursed herself for never paying attention to Harris’s sun-tracking lessons. Sure, it was a gamble, but one she must take. She had to escape, and to do that, she had to lead the trackers away from her trail, confuse them. She had to act differently than they would expect her to. It might not work, but she had to try.

Dinah picked up her bag and began walking northwest. Her feet groaned with each step, and both hands throbbed with sharp pains. Dinah found herself dreaming of sleep, of lying down in the thick grasses, which looked now as comfy as her down-filled palace mattress. She let her thoughts wander wildly as she staggered along. Who was the stranger? There was something familiar about him, but yet, she wasn’t even sure it was a man. The way the stranger had wrapped a hand around her mouth, the way the whisper had washed over her, it was all so absolute. Powerful. The more she thought about what had happened, the more frustrated she became. The night was a blur of intense fear and wild emotion, and she found her memory of the whole thing very blurry and filled with gaping holes. Had there been anyone else in Charles’s room with her? She hadn’t even thought to look. Was his head wound from the fall, or was it by a sword? How had she gotten from his room to the courtyard? What had happened to Wardley when she galloped out of the stable? Why hadn’t he come with her? Why had Morte not listened to her father?

Overwhelmed by the questions, Dinah stumbled over a rock, her knees hitting the ground with a hard thud. Her mind collapsed inward. Was she responsible for Charles’s death? She let her tears fall unabashedly for her beautiful brother, for Lucy, for Quintrell. All innocents, all slain by her father’s hand. It was her fault that they were dead, her fault that Charles had sailed out an open window in the dark, starless night. Had he been afraid? Did he scream? Dinah offered up a silent prayer that he hadn’t understood what was happening, that his last moments were peaceful and unaware. Had Lucy and Quintrell been killed after him, or before? She choked on a sob. Did Charles see their murder and run up the stairs to escape? Oh gods. Dinah covered her mouth, afraid she would be ill. She couldn’t stay here, kneeling in this field, but she couldn’t will herself to move either. She was paralyzed by her grief, sobbing. After a while, a tiny pebble near her hand wobbled and then rattled over the dirt. Hooves. She heard them. The ground vibrated with the sound of horses and Dinah lowered her head.