The Wonder (Queen of Hearts Saga #2)(38)
Time passed slowly here, and Dinah wandered aimlessly through the valley for a few hours; her only excitement was when she pressed herself against the mountain to avoid a group of tan ponies galloping through. The twilight hours of the Yurkei Mountains were their playtime, and the thundering of hooves had become a comforting sound each night when Dinah fell asleep. The Yurkei life was so peaceful, so different than the life she had grown up with at the palace—a life of politics and games, of tarts and dresses and Cards. Here, one simply lived and toiled against the ground. It was about community and a natural life. Possessions didn’t matter much to the Yurkei—only land and horses mattered to them, the wilds around them, the mountains and the birds, all the things they worshipped in one way or another. It was, of course, land that her father desired from them. And if she had been crowned Queen beside him, as she had desired her entire life, she probably would have consented to the Yurkei raids, and eventually to a war—after all, they seemed to come every thirty years or so. Wonderlanders feared the Yurkei while at the same time desiring their freedom and the connection they had with the wild nature of Wonderland itself. Her head spinning, Dinah watched a stunning pale mare run feverish loops across the valley. In the distance, dozens of white cranes folded their wings in a massive twig nest that nestled against a rocky outcrop. I could stay here, thought Dinah with surprise, I could be happy here. She could become a Yurkei warrior, live in a flat tent that was suspended from the mountainside and learn to love the heights of the ropes strewn between the two mountains.
Yes, she could be happy here, perhaps in time. There was no Wardley, so a truly perfect life was ruled out, but what could she do? He would never find her here, and she would never return to the palace, lest her head grace the white marble slab that took so many. This valley could hold a possible future for her, and yet, her heart kept its distance from the idea. The truth, if she thought about it, was that there was no blissful ending to her story. Her punishment had not been decided, but whenever Mundoo got around to planning it, Morte would be put to death. Her fate awaited his, and if his was any indication, then she should understand that this brief reprieve from death was just that. Mundoo would be right to let her fly off the wings of the crane, for if she was Queen, she certainly would have put the daughter of her most-feared enemy to death. Perhaps Mundoo was having Bah-kan train her so that later it would be a fair(er) fight to death when her time for execution came. A show for the crowds, a glorious bloody death for those who desired justice.
Her wandering thoughts were interrupted by a delicious smell entering her nostrils. It was a distinct smell, warm and fruity, so unlike the earthy aromas of the Yurkei food. There was a hint of cherry and rose, fresh baked bread and cream. How was that possible? Was she dreaming? She sniffed the air again. No. The smell is real. She carefully followed the aroma into a small orchard that sat at the far west end of the valley.
The trees were thick, the swath of fruit trees perhaps a quarter of a mile long. Petite lemon trees dripping with yellow fruit nuzzled up next to lush apple trees, their trunks pushed against floating mulberry trees. Even higher, some fruit trees hovered, connected to the ground by some sort of shiny blue vine that snaked along the path, its purple fruit the size of marbles.
The orchard in itself was marvelous—truly, a wonder—but nothing could compare with what Dinah was smelling: home. Tarts. Tea. In the back of her mind, she knew that she was being led, and yet, the smell was everything she missed: Harris and Wardley and warm baths and the palace. Her palace. Lights flickered ahead of her in the orchard and she slowed her walk. A nagging voice inside ordered her to draw her dagger, and she obeyed, shielding her eyes from heart-shaped lanterns that seemed to float among the trees. Finally, she emerged from the trees into a small clearing. A long table, magnificently set with towering tea cups in every shade and adorned with buckets of flowers, stood before her. The table was covered with all of her favorite Wonderland tarts: raspberry and cream, whipped limes and butter roses, deep cocoa mixed with powdered jam. They rested alongside haphazardly piled plates and cups, candles and steaming glasses of hot tea.
A bright pink checkered tablecloth brushed against the tall grass, and in the middle sat a cake. It was a plain white cake with a simple design frosted on the top: a heart, a single red heart. Dinah’s own heart clenched, and she clutched her dagger as she began to back away from the table. A light stirred in the trees, and she watched as a tall figure dressed in an elaborate purple robe stepped forward and sat down at the table. His long fingers reached out and grasped a cup of tea before pulling it up to his thin lips. He blew on the steam and took a long sip.
“Mmm. Hello, Your Highness,” he said silkily, before setting the cup back down. “Won’t you have a cup of tea with me? Nothing would make me happier.”
Dinah felt the air whoosh out of her chest and saw the orchard spin around her. The man leaned back in his seat and gestured to the table. “Please sit. You wouldn’t want it to get cold.” Cheshire’s wicked grin seemed to stretch to the end of the valley. “Cat got your tongue?”
Chapter Eleven
Dinah was having trouble breathing. Her lungs pressed against her chest, her head against her shoulders—everything, everything was tucking itself into a wild panic and she couldn’t quite understand what was happening. There was a table full of food, lights in the trees, and then there was the man—THAT man—responsible for so much pain, for turning her father against her, for helping her father murder her brother and crown Vittiore. Cheshire, the cleverest man in Wonderland. He was right there, his impossibly long body stretched out on a wooden chair, sipping tea like he hadn’t a single care in the world. A peppered goatee had stretched across his rubbery face since she had last seen him, and his black hair and eyes glistened with malice in the flickering candlelight. A purple rope tied over a plum tunic cinched his waist, and as he took a lavish bite of one of the cocoa tarts, sugar dusted the tip of his brooch, which was adorned with jeweled symbols of the four cards. It symbolized that he controlled ALL of the Cards.