The Wonder (Queen of Hearts Saga #2)(12)
“Don’t move,” hissed the same voice from before. Was it above her? “Don’t move, don’t breathe and the Cards shouldn’t see you.” Dinah froze, a black statue in the woods. Don’t breathe. Don’t think. She closed her eyes as the Cards swarmed around them. Several of them trampled right past her—one almost tripping over Morte before he suddenly changed direction and veered to the right. He should be thankful to be alive, she thought, as that would have ended in his very gruesome death. Two brushed past the tree she was leaning against and Dinah clenched her hands inside the sleeves to keep from fainting. Unable to raise her head for fear of being seen, Dinah kept her eyes glued to the ground. She could see nothing except the occasional flash of a torch as it was waved in the darkness, the woods swallowing the light in their vast space. She could hear them scrambling, hear the swords being drawn and the arrows being cocked, the sounds of weathered breathing and water canteens and flags flapping in the wind, as loud as a trumpet’s blast.
The voices of the Cards rose up from the trees. “She was here!” “I heard her, Your Majesty!” “She’s over there!” The cacophony of sounds bouncing through the woods made it very hard to tell where each man was—and she could see that the Cards were disoriented and scattered. They were unaccustomed to the trees, to the starless night. To Dinah’s horror, she felt the Earth shake beneath her feet and heard the singular plodding with which she had grown so familiar. She dared to raise her face a few inches. The white Hornhoov carrying her father had entered the trees, with Cheshire following behind him. Her father sat proud and furious atop a female half the height of Morte, but still gigantic. He carried a torch, so clearly visible in the darkness that surrounded the rest of the Cards. He wore his red armor, a black heart slashed boldly across the chest. The gold of his crown glinted in the firelight, his eyes lit up like flames. He held the reins on the Hornhoov in one hand and his Heartsword in the other, ready to kill. He seemed to stare right at Dinah, right through her. Beside him, Cheshire sat with his dagger clutched loosely as he scanned the wood, his black, catlike eyes searching each tree, his purple cloak draped over the flank of his steed.
The Hornhoov pulled her head in their direction and the King began thundering toward them. Dinah clutched the tree, pressing her face against it, fearing that her heart would actually explode.
“Stay still,” ordered the voice. Dinah froze as her father’s Hornhoov walked closer and closer to them, his torch only lighting the few feet in front of him. Carefully, she raised her head and saw her father staring right at her, squinting in the darkness, his face a mask of righteous fury. Dinah didn’t move. He looked confused, as though he were unsure of what he was seeing. He tilted his head, his bloodshot eyes filled with rage and still squinting in the black night, looking right at Dinah but not seeing her. He was close enough that she could make out the sweat on his brow and smell the stink of drink clinging to his skin. She was sure he could hear her heart, which thudded with enough power to shake the tree.
Her father climbed off of the Hornhoov and began making his way toward the clump of trees where Dinah was standing. Hatred flooded over her fear, and she felt an intoxicating rush of fury circle up from inside her gut. He killed Charles, she thought. And I will kill him now, a shadow in the darkness. Yes, my King, come ever closer. Moving as slowly as she could, Dinah reached for her sword, her eyes trained on his neck, the only open spot in his armor. Suddenly there was a loud crash from the woods behind them.
“There!” yelled a soldier from a distance, “I heard something over there! I think it’s her!” The King’s face distorted with pleasure and he vaulted back onto the Hornhoov, turning her in the direction of the sound. Cheshire followed, giving a backward glance at the seemingly empty valley before raising his dagger menacingly and following behind the King. The King’s Hornhoov kept trying to turn back—it could obviously smell Morte—but Dinah’s father simply yanked the reins and dug his spiked heels in.
“Go, you blasted creature! Find her!” Together they galloped off into the darkness, the light from his torch dimming to a dull candle in the darkness.
“Go…,” hissed the voice, and then Dinah heard the sound of a body dropping down from the tree above. “Who are—”
“No time!” snapped the voice, distinctly male, somehow familiar. “Yeh go! I’ll lead them south. Quickly, for they will surely come back here.” He was as invisible as she was, a hulking dark shape in the trees. Dinah flung the bag around her body and climbed onto Morte’s back, strapping the sword across her shoulders. She leaned forward and pressed herself against his black skin, becoming invisible once more. Black on black, a shadow at midnight.
“Quietly now,” she whispered to her giant steed. Morte seemed to understand as they silently headed east, his hooves gently kissing the earth. They moved far away from the tiny cottage and the roaming Cards, deeper and deeper into the black night, until the sounds of her father’s army were no more. They walked quietly for hours, and Dinah noted that the flat floor of the forest was now increasingly sloping upward, harder and rockier. Hornhoov and rider moved silently through the trees, until Dinah spotted a small rock outcropping perched upon a narrow ridge overlooking the forest. Strategically, it would be a great place to watch for the approaching Cards, and besides, the trembles in her legs reminded her that they should go no farther. Without a word, she slipped off of Morte and collapsed against the rocks, exhausted from her ride and from the all-encompassing fear. Morte knelt behind the rocks next to her and fell quickly into slumber, leaving her alone with the starless night sky.