The Wonder (Queen of Hearts Saga #2)(27)
A cold fear shot through her as she remembered all the terrible stories she had heard about this warrior chief. He raised his hand to her, his voice steady and calm. “Woman. You have trespassed into the sacred burial ground of the Yurkei tribe and will now be punished as such: give us your steed, your supplies, and all of your food and then you may go with your lives. Otherwise, you will be pierced through with the arrows of my strong warriors. They do not miss.”
Dinah sat perfectly still, surprised at his perfect grasp of the Wonderland language. This seemed like a fair deal, but she did not want to part with Morte. Mundoo was eyeing him greedily—who knew what they would do to him.
Dinah coughed. “I have something of great worth to give you instead of my steed. Jewels and gold are worth much more than this horse. I can get you all of those and more.”
Mundoo gave a nick of his tongue and his pale Hornhoov approached, eyeing Morte with aggression. The mare was almost the same size as Morte, the color of the purest sand, her white mane braided through with blue ribbons and paint.
Mundoo narrowed his glowing blue eyes as he neared them. “But that is not just a steed, My Lady, as you well know.” As Mundoo grew closer, Dinah saw his bright-blue eyes widen just before he drew his own arrow, pointed straight at her throat, drawn in the time it took her to blink.
“Iy-Joyera! Iy-Joyera!” The tribe moved swiftly toward her, all arrows trained on Morte.
Mundoo stared past his quivering arrow. “This is no regular Hornhoov. I have seen this steed before. Iy-Joyera, the black devil. This is Morte, the King’s horse. This beast has killed dozens of my best warriors and carried the murderous King of Wonderland upon his back as he burned and pillaged our villages.” Mundoo was now very close to Dinah, their Hornhooves dangerously close to each other as they heaved and pawed the ground, desperate to fight each other. Morte stumbled again, and Dinah lurched down toward Mundoo. The tip of his arrow brushed her throat.
“Tell me! Tell me how a dirty peasant girl has the horse of a king and the speech of a noble. Tell me now or I will spill your blood here. I will let you watch as we kill your devil, one arrow at a time.” Dinah raised her chin and stared deep into the Chief’s eyes. She had no choice. They would no doubt kill her once they learned who she was, and it was better to die a quick death than a long one by torture. She would not go quietly, a meek, insecure princess. She would go out in a blaze of glory, a warrior who had come so far on her own, one who had made it through the Twisted Wood. She had seen death and pain, felt the blade of a sword on her neck and the thrill of the fear that preceded imminent death. She was a woman, not a girl, and she would not go without a fight.
Dinah raised her voice as she drew her sword quickly. “My name is Dinah, and I once was the future Queen of Wonderland until I escaped my father and made my way here. You will not touch my steed this day, nor spill my blood. I do not fear death from your arrows, but you should fear my sword and my rage.” Morte rose up on his hind legs and she saw confusion and surprise register across Mundoo’s face as she sliced her sword down toward his head. Mundoo’s Hornhoov gave a skilled leap back, and Dinah swung into empty air before something hard and heavy hit the side of her head with a sickening crunch. The hazy light of the mushroom field went dim and Dinah gave thanks that her death had been quick and painless. She closed her eyes and waited to see Charles’s happy face, just on the other side of the rabbit hole.
Chapter Eight
There it was again, the swirling darkness, the inky sky, the floating clocks. Dinah twisted and turned inside it, struggling to move. Something was wrapped around her arms—something like a vine? No matter how much she struggled, it wrapped tighter around her, strangling her, pressing her organs uncomfortably together. She opened her mouth to scream, but the vines were in her mouth as well. But now they were the roots, the roots of the Black Towers, twisting in and out, filling her with their visions. Blood on a sword, a white ghost emerging from the darkness, its claws outstretched…. Dinah’s body jerked and she had the sensation of falling before something strong and hard encircled her waist and righted her. Awareness returned and she realized that she was bobbing up and down. She shook her head once and forced her eyes to open.
Morte. She was on Morte, but what was behind her? She managed to turn her head. The Spade was sitting behind her on Morte, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other one clutching the red leather reins with desperation. She could see why. Sir Gorrann had been blindfolded. Dinah’s head dropped forward and she could see that she was bound with a heavy white rope, its texture not unlike the branches of trees. In her mouth was some sort of fabric gag, and she forced herself to breathe through her nose before she choked. The side of her head felt like a blunt object had been shoved through it, and there was dried blood crusted over her eye and nose. She tried to move her mouth and felt the Spade’s hand feel its way up her face and gently remove the gag from her mouth. His lips brushed against her ear, an angry rush of words coming from his mouth.
“Do not say a word, not one godsdamn word, yeh stupid, silly Princess. Yer lucky to be alive right now, and because of yer impulsiveness, we almost both lost our lives. So like yer father, quick to rage and slow to think. Yer lucky that my hands found a rock, otherwise you would be strewn about the mushroom field in a thousand pieces.” Dinah felt the waterskin brush her lips. “Drink some water now and yeh go back to sleep. I imagine we have more than a few miles to travel before reaching Hu-Yuhar.”