The Wonder (Queen of Hearts Saga #2)(21)
Dinah clutched Wardley’s blade close to her chest. I have earned the right to this blade, she thought, I will not give it up so easily. She felt bold. “Come and take it!” she declared.
He did, and left her lying on a rocky ledge, out of breath, with a bloody nose. Once the morning ended, Sir Gorrann erased all traces of them at the campsite and they continued to weave their way deeper and deeper into the Yurkei Mountains. The terrain was ever changing. The ground rose and fell in rocky slopes, like waves of rock that crested and broke upon the valleys, spilling their huge boulders upon gorgeous green valleys before rising again. It was a physically exhausting climb, and Dinah periodically looked longingly at Morte, only to have him ignore her completely. Only once, when Dinah slipped on a rock and tore her shin open from top to bottom did Morte pause and lift his leg. Dinah wearily climbed up onto his massive back while Sir Gorrann watched with fascination.
“Thank you,” she breathed to him, letting her hand run over his smooth neck before he nipped at her. She loved the rhythm of Morte’s muscles beneath her, the ocean of black that coated his whole body. He climbed easily through the jagged peaks with which Sir Gorrann’s brown mare, Cyndy, seemed to increasingly struggle. The air became thinner and cleaner, and Dinah relished the sharp, cold breaths that cleared her mind.
They stopped to camp for the night, and Dinah was allowed her one question as the Spade stoked his nightfire. She asked about Harris, and learned that he had been imprisoned in the Black Towers. He was part of a group of prisoners being forced into slave labor, helping to reinforce the Iron Gates, and so Sir Gorrann said that Harris was outside for a few hours most days. He confessed that the old man looked broken, weary and sad. He was often covered with bruises and cuts inflicted by the Clubs. This news broke Dinah’s heart, and there wasn’t a day after that that she didn’t think of Harris’s kind face and soft hands. He had delivered her from her mother’s womb, loved her the way her father should have, taught her everything she knew, and now he was in pain. It was unforgivable, and the white-hot rage she felt toward her father could have burned the Twisted Wood to the ground. To her devastation, she learned that Emily had been beheaded in a shabby public execution, based on the testimony of Nanda and Palma, Vittiore’s ladies-in-waiting. The Spade didn’t talk to her for the rest of that evening, and Dinah was grateful. She stared out at the Wonderland stars, bunched together in small clusters, and didn’t bother to wipe the tears that dripped down her face.
Each day that followed in the next few weeks was the same. She woke sore but rested. Together, they gulped down a quick breakfast of bread and game before her training began. After days of working on balance, Dinah finally got her sword back, and with it her pride. She was covered in bruises, but each one had taught her a painful lesson, one that she would not soon forget. Pain cemented things in the brain the way reading did not. After sparring, they continued to make their way east, going painfully slowly as they navigated their way over pebbly ground and fields of strewn boulders. The Yurkei Mountains were upon them now, and the farther they got from the Twisted Wood, the less she feared her father finding them. The rocky outcroppings and grooves in the earth provided minimal protection once they reached the tree line, but there was no one around. The Spade had delivered them from the King’s hands, as promised. In the evenings, Sir Gorrann would tell her of the politics and rumors swirling around Wonderland, some she knew and some she did not know. He told her dark stories of the Spades, stories that entertained while making her blood curdle. He never spoke of his own past, which made Dinah even more curious about where he had come from and why he was here. When she pressed him for answers, he simply walked away, leaving her in uncomfortable silence.
When the stars appeared, they watched with fascination as strange shades of light played over the mountain face, shifting swirls of every color, flickering like a flame as though they were reflecting an invisible sunset. It was beautiful, ethereal, and terrifying all at once. The light seemed to hover over one specific peak. She had never seen anything like it. Dinah did not relish turning her back to the lights, and slept facing them only to awaken facing the plain gray mountainside in the morning. Through it all the Spade remained, and with his training Dinah grew lean and strong. Another week passed. Thoughts of leaving his side slowly faded, and in the clear cold nights she was grateful to have a friend, if that’s even what he was.
Chapter Six
After their morning lesson—which consisted of repeatedly striking targets that Sir Gorrann had marked with charred wood—they started their hike early due to the abundance of ominous clouds in the west. The weather had turned in the last few days. Cheerful and glossy spring had changed into sopping warm rains and foggy nights. As she was almost constantly damp, drenched, or drying, Dinah had never known that being wet could be so miserable.
As they circled their way around boulders that resembled hulking granite giants, ones that even seemed to dwarf Morte, Dinah felt a question alight on her tongue. The Spade had shared so little about himself, and her curiosity grew more potent every day. Some days she felt as though she knew him better than anyone else; other days she was following nothing more than a shadow—listless, hard to pin down. Today had proved the most challenging climb so far, and both were exhausted from the rocky switchbacks that led up a nearly sheer cliff face. In a shocking twist, Morte had allowed Dinah to lead him with a leather rein that the Spade had given her. It was a cruel joke, thought Dinah. If Morte pitched off the side of the mountain, then she wouldn’t be able to do anything to help him. She would plummet down with him, and both of their bodies would be broken on the rocks below. Just like my brother. Still, a physical connection with Morte helped calm them both as they walked and tried not to look down.