The Wonder (Queen of Hearts Saga #2)(11)
From what she could tell, the tracks of the Cards (huge, impossible not to notice once she was looking) were heading north, and so she turned Morte east, not veering away from their previous path. From there, Morte ran. Her heart thudded in her ears as Morte raced through the ever-blackening woods. Farther and farther in they dashed, making an incredible noise, yet what chance did they have not to? Dinah could barely see, but Morte seemed to have perfect night vision—he easily navigated branches and deep holes in the earth without trouble. Every few seconds, she would glance back, praying that she wouldn’t see a white Hornhoov emerging from the darkness. They had made it a few miles from the house when she heard the first faint shouts and clinking of armor. Fear surrounded her and made it hard to think. The sounds seemed to be coming over a dark ridge in the distance.
Tears welled up in her eyes and her hands shook as she clutched Morte’s mane, turning him around, racing away. I’ve come so far, so very far—it couldn’t happen here. Not now… . As they raced away, the sun disappeared over the Yurkei Mountains and all was black. The Twisted Wood became nothing more than shadows, an inky shade of trees and branches. Dinah could barely see Morte’s head in front of her as he dove through the trees, straining to outpace the growing sounds of horses and men. The cacophony was coming from all sides now, so foreign and abrasive to her ears after so much silence. Their arrival raped the quiet wood, violating the peace of the trees. It was a violent commotion. They were so loud and they seemed to be everywhere, all around her, pouring down from every side. She couldn’t see where they were, but they were getting closer—and there was nowhere to run where they wouldn’t hear Morte crashing through the brush.
Dinah drew her sword and the thin swoosh of metal echoed through the trees. She wouldn’t be able to fight through many of them—any of them, maybe—but she would not be taken to the Black Towers. She would force them to kill her, and she would try her best to kill her father. That was her only purpose on this black night; if this was going to be the way it ended, so be it. She would avenge her brother, his keepers, and her mother, killed by her father’s neglect and cruelty. Dinah stood still and held her breath for a moment. Then her father’s voice carried out through the darkness, commanding his troops, the sound of him sending a dagger of fear straight through her.
“She’s here! Bring her to me, dead or alive. A lifetime’s worth of wages and a position in the court will be given to the Card who can bring me either. Listen to me, men, do your duty and avenge your innocent prince! His blood will not be in vain!”
The voice stopped Dinah cold; Morte as well. They stood perfectly still as the roar of soldiers echoed all around them in the darkness. They were surrounded. A leaf crackled directly behind Dinah and she heard deep breathing.
“Hide,” hissed a voice in the darkness. “If you want to live, hide; don’t fight. Hide.”
Dinah didn’t need to be told twice, or have time to consider the source of her advice. She quietly dismounted Morte and bid him to follow her into a densely leafy area of the trees, stumbling many times over things she could not see. Something slithered over her boot and she forced herself not to scream. It was a consuming darkness. The stars must be on the other side of the sky tonight, she thought, hiding from this terrible noise. She could see almost nothing, save the tips of the trees as they reached for the gray night sky. The sounds of the Cards were all around her; the violent breaking of tree branches, the clanking of a cup against a thigh, horses pawing the ground, and a singular sound that chilled her blood—the thundering sound of another Hornhoov crashing through the brush.
She stood still, considering how best to hide. And how did one hide Morte? She looked over at him in the darkness but was surprised that she could see almost nothing—the black of his coat blended effortlessly with the trees and night. I have to disappear, she thought. Disappear into the night. The dress. Moving as quickly as she dared, Dinah untied the flaps on her bag and rummaged through it, her hands feeling for the thick, heavy fabric. When it seemed she had touched everything in her bag except for what she needed, Dinah’s hand felt it—the heavy black dress. She pulled it out, unfurling it against the starless night. Dinah could barely see her hand in front of her face, let alone the pitch-black fabric of the dress. Dropping her sword to the ground, she pulled the dress over her head. It slipped over her easily, the ends of the dress brushing the ground. Reaching back, she felt that the dress collar was lined with a hood; Dinah pulled the thin black linen over her dark hair and face. It was long enough to cover everything, and the fabric dusted her chin. She pulled her hands into the sleeves so that they would not show and inched up next to a particularly wide tree, leaning into the trunk.
The voices were almost on top of her now—they would be on her in seconds, with their swords and horses and torches. She looked over at Morte, who stood as still as she was, white steam hissing out of his nostrils. It was taking every inch of his control not to leap into the fight. Dinah reached out and felt for his nostrils. She gently and carefully laid her hand over his muzzle. Her voice shaking, she murmured, “Still…, still….” The steam stopped and Morte knelt on the ground, becoming one with the thick foliage around him. Perhaps the animal knew he could not win this fight, not tonight, not while he was still partially wounded from the bear. Either way, Dinah could no longer see him; she pressed her face and body up against the tree and waited for them to come. Quivers of fear crawled up from her legs and infested her chest. Her knees felt weak. She clutched at her heart.