The Crown (20 page)

An eternity passed as they strolled past her, their eyes focused straight ahead, the sound of their laughter bouncing off the walls. From there on, Dinah clung to the walls, staying in the shadows as she wove her way through the palace, her face rubbing up against thick cobwebs and scurrying spiders. Charles’s apartment was in the southwest end of the castle, and Dinah was out of breath by the time she reached the hallway that led to his atrium. Trembling, Dinah set the bag down and ducked behind a massive statue of Stern Ravier, the greatest Club Card that ever lived, killed in a battle with the Yurkei.

She peeked around his leg muscles. There were two Heart Cards standing in front of Charles’s open door. Wind whistled down the corridor, the door bucking in the breeze. She leaned back against the statue, her heart fluttering with panic.
What would Wardley do?
He would send them away somehow,
she thought.
But if I try to do that, it will be my blood left behind.
Dinah untied the bag. Inside were a few pieces of clothing, loaves of bread, and a seemingly random collection of items. She shook her head. There was a strange metal contraption at the bottom. It looked like some sort of ratchet with wheels, moving parts, and a siphon. It would do. Dinah closed her eyes, said a silent prayer and flung it down the adjacent hallway with all her might. It landed with a loud metal clatter that ricocheted up and down the palace walls. The Heart Cards, well trained, didn’t hesitate. Swords drawn, they ran in the direction of the sound.

Dinah pulled her cloak around her and slipped silently through the door into Charles’s apartment. All was still. The room was a bizarre tomb—a monument of hats, stairways, and twisted furniture. The animals painted on the domed ceiling watched Dinah, their mouths forever open in macabre smiles. Clear white moonlight fell in through open windows, illuminating a shiny red ribbon in front of Dinah’s feet. Horror spread through her veins as her eyes followed the ribbon into an open closet near the front of the room. Walking slowly, she made her way over ankle-deep hats to the door. It inched open slowly, and Dinah prayed that she wouldn’t see Charles’s face. Instead, she saw the lifeless open eyes of Lucy, staring straight at Dinah, her throat a river of black blood. Quintrell was slumped over her, his dagger lying beside him on the floor. His taut muscles looked like stone in the dark light, ruined only by the rivulets of blood that ran down them. His throat also had been opened, his chest stabbed. Dinah clamped both hands over her mouth as she opened her throat in a silent scream, and rocked back and forth, struggling to hide her loud sobs. Then she reached out and shut their eyes with her fingers.

She heard the stranger’s voice in her head, again and again
. Time is ticking, Princess. Ticktock. You must go.
She raised her head. “Charles?” she whispered, daring to hope. “Charles?”

Only the darkness answered back, howling wind from an open window.
The window
. . . her gaze drifted up to Charles’s favorite staircase, where an open window creaked and slammed in the violent wind.
Oh please
, thought Dinah,
oh gods, no
. She rushed up the winding staircase, for once not aware of how dangerous it was, a staircase that seemingly led to the heavens, a staircase with no railings and cluttered with hats of every color and shape. She followed the corkscrew up and up, climbing without thinking, her feet slipping precariously on the edges of the thinning wood.

As she reached the top, she paused to breathe, clutching her abdomen. Stepping carefully, Dinah leaned over the window ledge, praying that she would see nothing, anticipating the cool air on her face and nothing more. There were no stars out tonight—they had migrated north. Perhaps they rested on the surface of the Todren, light on that distant water. It took all of her willpower to cast her eyes down, and when she did, a whimper escaped her lips. Under the window, maybe a hundred feet down, was a stone precipice that jutted out from the palace kitchens. The wide stone slab, perfectly square, lay below, Charles’s tiny body splayed awkwardly across it. His back was bent at an unnatural angle, his head tilted toward the bare night sky, his features slowly becoming illuminated in the coming dawn. His eyes were open, blue and green, forever looking and never seeing. His mouth curved up in a half smile at Dinah, and his pale face was unblemished by the dark spot that blossomed from the back of his head.

Hats lay all around him; they had obviously fallen out with him. Scattered along the stone lab were some of his greatest creations—a sapphire top hat, a mossy green pillbox with lion-hair stitching, hats made of pink woven silk and peacock feathers. These pieces were proper funeral decor for the Mad Hatter, for a life so violently lost. Violently taken. A bird fluttered above his head in the dark, landing near his shoulder. Charles didn’t move as the bird poked curiously at his flesh. Dinah turned and vomited on the staircase, her stomach emptying between wrenching sobs. She collapsed onto the edge of a coat rack that perched vertically out from the wall. Everything stopped.

I could stay here,
she thought, closing her eyes.
I could just stay here and wait for them to kill me. I’ll join Charles and Mother, Lucy and Quintrell, and we will all be together. I should stay.

Her heart clutched with raw grief, but something else, something hungry, was clawing its way up her stomach, spreading its poison, its delicious red fury rushing through her limbs. It alarmed and seduced her, this fierce anger. Dinah forced herself to stand. She looked down once more upon her brother’s face, her eyes lingering on the way his dirty blond hair flopped over his forehead, the way his fingers curled, the color of his green eye. Making the sign of the heart over her breastbone, she whispered quick prayers over his broken body, praying that the gods would welcome him to their heavenly realm with love and kindness.

“It’s time for me to go,” Dinah whispered to his still body. A choking sob rose up in her throat as she realized this would be the last time she ever saw his face.

“I love you, I’m so sorry.”

Dinah felt as though she was ripping apart as she turned down the stairs, so reluctant to leave him alone in a dark, starless night. Sobbing, she made her way down the stairs and slipped silently toward the back of Charles’s chamber, pushing back the towering racks of millinery supplies. The door to the button room had been wrenched open as well, a lock dangling loosely from its hinge.

Another sob wrenched its way out of her. The crown was gone, the table empty. His gift to her, taken. Now there was not even a small piece of Charles left for her, only his shattered body on a stone slab. Anger rose up inside of her as she stood in the moonlight before the empty table. It was all gone. She stayed a few seconds longer in the darkness, willing her body to be strong, willing herself to be brave. Pulling the hood of her cloak over her head, she walked silently back to the door. She inched it open without making a sound. The two Heart Cards stood silhouetted in the moonlight, their backs to Dinah.

“Do you reckon she really did it?” one of them asked, turning the metal siphon over in his palm.

“I’m not sure,” the other one said and laughed. “She would have to be a monster to kill her own brother, eh? Perhaps the pressure of the coronation was too much. What do you reckon will happen when the King wakes her up, sword to her throat?”

The first Card shrugged. “She’ll be beheaded, either that or put into the Black Towers, no doubt. So long as I get food in my belly and a warm bed at the end of the day, I don’t give a horse’s ass if the Princess or the Duchess or the Mad Hatter sits on the throne.”

“The Mad Hatter won’t be doing that now, that’s for sure. Pity, I never could afford one of his hats.”

The other Heart Card gave a chuckle. “What’s stopping you now?”

Dinah’s hands shook as she pulled the sword from behind her back. It slid from her hilt without a sound. She replayed Wardley’s lessons during their swordplay:
Hold the sword tightly. It is a part of your body, an extension of your strength, not a tool you use. Swing with force. Let your emotions radiate through the blade instead of through your mind.

The hungry fury she had felt on the staircase swam in front of her eyes as she stepped out of the darkness, close enough that for a second, the guards could feel her breath on their necks. The first one went down easily enough with a thrust through the back of his neck. Dinah felt her sword meet tissue and bone, felt it slide through his flesh. His blood flecked Dinah’s face. It was warm, and mingled with her tears.

Pulling her sword back out was harder than she anticipated and required both hands. She gave a hard yank and his body fell forward, dead before he hit the ground. The second Card stared at her in shock. Dinah brought the pommel of her sword across his temple as she had seen Wardley do. He dropped to his knees, and she ran the blade swiftly through his chest. A stain of red bloomed out, becoming one with the crimson heart of his tunic.

I’m sorry
, she thought, as she stood behind the bodies.
I’m sorry for this.
Dinah retrieved her bag from underneath the statue and gave a lingering glance back to the empty doorway of Charles’s apartment. The glass doors rocked slightly back and forth in the wind, never giving a peek at the nightmare within.
Goodbye, Charles
, she thought.
Goodbye, my dear one.
She glanced down at the bodies in shock. Then, she ran. She ran faster than she ever had in her life, plunging through the palace hallways one after another, taking turns without thinking. Her legs burned and her lungs contracted, but she never wavered—she had to get outside the palace. Dawn was beginning to break, and a pale morning mist had begun to filter through the carved-iron windows. Flinging open a side door, she approached the servants’ quarters through the kitchen, where she dashed past several cooks making breakfast. They stared at her with wild confusion as she rushed past them, knocking over plates and trays.

“Your Highness?” several cooks called out to her, but she couldn’t stop. The kitchens eventually led out to the courtyard, and she flung open the doors with a sigh of relief and stepped outside. The change in the light was so extreme that Dinah stood still for a minute, willing her eyes to adjust. She was in the trellised gardens that bordered the courtyard. White roses she had planted a lifetime ago with her mother were beginning to show, their early spring buds poking forth from their ivy blankets. Dinah straightened her bag and ran through the yard, keeping close to the walls, thankful that the trellis offered shelter from curious eyes.

At the sound of raised voices, she stopped and ducked behind a bush, elaborately trimmed in the shape of a dodo. Her whole body shaking, she tentatively raised her head over the prickly leaves and clenched her teeth. There he was—her father, marching through the courtyard with Cheshire at his side, leading what looked like an entire army of Heart Cards into the castle. His face was blotchy and red, full of a righteously blazing wrath.

“HALT!” All the Cards stopped moving and Dinah felt her pulse quicken. Had he seen her? The King of Hearts’ booming voice echoed over the marble pavement as he turned to address them. His hands shook as he screamed at the Cards. “Heed my orders and find my daughter! Should she try to run or fight, however, use any force necessary to subdue her. If this means at the cost of her life, so be it! She is guilty of murdering my innocent son, of high treason, and of planning the eventual demise of Wonderland. She is no longer a princess; she is a murderous traitor to the realm! We will wake her from her slumber and bring her to justice this very day. I will have her head by nightfall!” Cheshire grinned nastily, his hand wrapped around one of the Diamond’s telltale dagger handles. The King turned and drew his Heartsword. “To the Royal Apartments!”

The Heart Cards marched two by two into the castle. Dinah began to shake uncontrollably. It was true, it was all true. Her father was a murderer. He killed her brother, killed Lucy and Quintrell
. You killed two guards
, a quiet voice reminded her.
You are not so innocent yourself.
Dinah wiped the sweat off her face. The truth of her situation dawned on her. There would be no talking through this, no plea from daughter to father. No compromise. It was over. She would not wear a crown and she would not wear her head if she stayed here. The stranger had been right—she needed to leave the palace now, and never return.

Run
, she whispered to herself, though her lungs tightened at the idea. It was not long before her advantage would disappear into the bright morning buzz. She followed the courtyard walls, making her way to the stables. The trellis ended, and Dinah waited until she could see no one lurking through the glaring morning light before sprinting toward the outside stalls. Keeping her head low, Dinah entered the stable labyrinth and began to weave her way through, one rivet and stall at a time. Around and around and around she went, circling deeper into the dark wood. The horses snorted and bucked as she passed them, their gentle senses picking up her panic and disorientation.
Almost there
, she thought, as she passed one stall after another, her feet slipping in mud and manure. The paddock she was looking for appeared again, and for the first time that night, Dinah dared to hope she might make it out of this day alive.

Fumbling, she unhooked the latch and stepped into Speckle’s stall. Someone was waiting for her. A man stood in front of her, the darkness of the stables concealing his features, his sword drawn. Dinah pulled back her hood and raised her hands up in surrender. “Who is there?”

“Dinah?” whispered a voice.

“Wardley?”

They rushed together, falling gratefully into each other’s arms. Dinah clutched him with desperation. Wardley kissed her forehead, her head, placed his hands on her cheeks.

“Are you hurt? What is happening? Dinah, what’s happened?”

Dinah let the sobs she had been holding in since she saw Charles’s broken body escape from her trembling lips. “Charles. Wardley, Charles is dead! Someone pushed him from his window. Oh gods.” She buried her face in Wardley’s Heart tunic. “I saw him, his little face, his neck, his head. And Lucy and Quintrell, their throats were slit—by a Heartsword, I’m sure of it. And I, I killed two Cards trying to escape.”