The Crown (19 page)

Dinah watched in stunned silence until she realized what was happening, and then took a few steps and knelt beside her, attempting to turn her over. Her body flapped back against Dinah. The crowd gasped. Even though Vittiore was light, her dead weight was almost too much. With a groan, Dinah turned her over, sinking knee deep into the mud, Vittiore splayed dramatically across her lap, her white dress settling all around Dinah like swirling waves. Nanda and Palma were circling around her like dumb birds, crying and screaming but not actually doing anything.

Dinah looked down at the Duchess. Anger rushed through her at having Vittiore so near—a pale pink cheek against her forearm, blond curls crushed under her bosom, but she still held on. The royal family could not seem fractured, even when its foundation was cracked. Mud had somehow covered exactly half of Vittiore’s perfect face, which was porcelain white. Her normally coral lips were red with blood—she had been biting them. Dinah remembered then that Vittiore had never been to Execution Day, always claiming a sudden fever or an oncoming headache. She had never seen the heads roll, something Dinah had witnessed many times.

She noticed movement out of the corner of her eye: Wardley was rushing down upon her to aid Vittiore, and the rest of the Heart Cards were following his lead. Spectators and lords were raising their hands in concern for the Duchess, and the crowd watched them both with rapt fascination. This was a gruesome display, she thought. The bright rose of Wonderland being held by the dark thorn who would be Queen.

Dinah brought her open palm down hard across Vittiore’s face. “Wake up, bastard.”

Vittiore’s clear blue eyes opened with a gasp. “Dinah?” she stuttered, sounding even more pathetic than she looked. “He promised, he promised. . . .” Her eyes met Dinah’s with a direct gaze. “I will wear the crown to keep her head.”

Then she was out cold again. Dinah let her fall back into the mud with a thud. Suddenly, everyone was on top of them. Vittiore was yanked out of Dinah’s arms by Wardley, who cradled her like a child and carried her back to the castle, followed by Palma, Nanda, and a dozen Heart Cards.

Harris helped Dinah to her feet. “My Lady, that was most certainly brave and giving of you.”

Harris seemed delighted at Dinah’s unexpected comforting of Vittiore. He had always longed for them to be friends, an idea that Dinah had rejected so vehemently that he only brought it up once a year. Dinah looked down with disgust. The red gown that had been so lovely moments before was now covered in mud and stray blond hairs. She looked up at her father. He was staring at her. His blue eyes seemed to sear through her skin and bone, and she felt a seething hatred radiating out from the platform.

“Let us continue with the executions!” he declared. “You will have to excuse my daughter; she is a delicate and gentle flower, with a mind for those in need. Women by nature have weak and sensitive hearts, but your King shall never look away from justice!”

The feral cheering of the crowd swept over Dinah as she numbly watched in silence as her father ordered the sword brought down again and again on the remaining prisoners, until there was only a bloody block left, and a clear sky above to witness it. She longed to close her eyes, but kept them open, staring blankly at the proceedings, at the headless forms.

Later, she would return to the castle for the feast and ball that accompanied Execution Day. She would eat roasted birds decked with every imaginable spice, she would dance with Wonderland’s most eligible bachelors as her father looked on, and she would try to smile and be gracious as members of the court tried to gain her future favor with flattery. She talked of her upcoming coronation, of the King’s justice, of what the ladies of the court were wearing this month, of her brother’s latest hats. The conversations were hollow, dull, and easy to fake—she had learned long ago how to talk to an entire room without thinking once. But her mind never left the chopping block, her conscience whispering that she had caused an innocent woman to lose her head.

Later that evening, when the festivities were done and all was dark and still, Dinah excused Harris and Emily, and buried herself under the warm covers. The violent sobbing that followed left her physically exhausted and numb, and she fell asleep quickly. And so it would follow for the next few weeks—Dinah floated in a blank fog of disturbing thoughts or mindless tasks. She was fitted for her queenly gowns, instructed in the procedures and traditions of the coronation and cooed over by various ladies and Cards. The Royal Jewels were sent over for her to choose from, and she let Emily do it. The sun rose and set, the days disappearing into the changing night sky, and yet Dinah couldn’t be roused from her daze.

The coronation loomed just beyond her reach, something she had dreamed of her entire life, but Dinah found herself growing more distant from everyone and everything. Dinah marveled at the fact that what should have been the most exciting time of her life caused her to feel nothing but a gnawing fear and unease. Even as she tried on her coronation dress—a white-and-red monstrosity, and Harris chattered with joy behind her, Dinah looked in the mirror and saw Faina staring back at her. Her books were packed up and sent to the royal library, her rooms made ready to house a queen.

Every minute of the day held rounds of eating and dancing and croquet games, but Dinah was never content until she sank deep into her covers at night, into a dreamless sleep in which she saw neither blood nor towers. Waking, sleeping, none of it mattered. In a week, she would be the Queen, but all Dinah could feel was the heavy stone of guilt, pressing hard against her chest, heavier with each passing day. She gratefully surrendered to sleep, night after night, as the stars whirled above.

Chapter Thirteen

Dinah felt a feather on her hair.

No. Not a feather. A touch, an insect? A hand?

Dinah lurched up in her bed with a start, breathing heavily. She looked around her dark room. There was nothing, nothing but her curtains blowing in a cool breeze. She closed her eyes, willing the fear away.

Go back to sleep,
she told herself.
It’s nothing.

Her spine tingled with dread. She opened them again. Again, nothing—nothing but a faceless figure in a black hooded cloak standing beside her bed.

Dinah let out a terrified scream as a hand clamped violently over her mouth, black gloves cool against her lips. Her heart hammered wildly inside her chest, and she could feel all her limbs surge with strength. Dinah struggled ferociously, her hands reaching back, her nails clawing for the stranger’s face, legs flailing beneath her. Finally, she threw her body forward, dragging the person onto her own back as she lay face down on the bed.

They struggled as the stranger used most of his strength to keep his hand over Dinah’s mouth. She screamed against the open palm, her inhale sucking the black leather halfway into her mouth. The stranger’s mouth made it to her temple and a low whisper filled her ear.

“Shush now. Stop. Do not scream. Do not make a sound. Trust that I am not here to hurt you, Princess. You must trust me, you must; there is no time to explain. I could have slit your throat open five times by now, and yet, I haven’t. Nor have I stabbed you in your sleep. I am not here to harm you. Now, will you be silent?”

Dinah nodded and stopped struggling until the stranger gently lifted his hand from her mouth. Dinah bit her lip and thrust her elbow back into his face, feeling hard bone meeting flesh. The man gave a muffled roar as Dinah flung herself over the edge of her raised platform bed. She hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from her lungs. Willing herself to breathe, she frantically flailed her hands under the bed for something she knew was there, something that had been put there long ago, until finally her hands fell on a rusty hilt.

With a hard yank, Dinah emerged from under the bed with one of Wardley’s old practice swords pointed at her aggressor. Her heart was contracting so fast that Dinah feared it might explode. Her mouth opened and shut as she attempted to speak. Words came out, quickly, interspersed with gulps of air. “Who, who are you? Do not come any closer or I will kill you. Tell me now, I demand it!”

The stranger in black shook his head. The voice was muffled under the black cloth—he was obviously taking pains to disguise his cadence as well. Dinah did not recognize the voice that spoke.

“I cannot tell you that, not tonight. There will come a time when you will have every answer you seek, I promise. But now I need you to listen to me, listen to me as you never have before. It was I who sent you to Faina Baker.”

Dinah held the sword unwavering, pointed at the stranger’s chest. Black stars had started to form in her vision. She needed to breathe. The figure moved in a menacing circle around the bed.

“Don’t come any closer,” Dinah snapped. “Do not touch me again.”

“I will not, Your Highness. I have no desire to hurt you. You do not have much time.”

The figure paused, giving enough time that Dinah felt her hand tremble around the hilt.

“Forgive me for my bluntness. I wish there was another way to tell you, but it must be done. Your brother is dead. The King is planning to tell the kingdom that you killed him, killed him because you feared that he would take the crown that you have so obviously desired.”

Dinah lost all feeling in her body. She had no mind to process her thoughts, no body to control. She was numb. Only her tongue worked. “You’re lying. You’re LYING!” Her scream echoed through the empty chamber. The figure remained silent and still.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but it is a devastating truth. It truly grieves me to tell you in such a manner. Your brother is dead, but you may live. Allow me to rephrase: Do as I say and you
might
live. I have brought you a bag full of everything you may need. Take it and leave the castle, leave this very minute.”

Dinah now noticed the wide burlap bag at the stranger’s feet. She could not process what was happening.

“Charles is dead? By whose hand?”

The stranger ignored her questions. “Do not tell anyone where you are going. To protect your servants, they must remain ignorant. I have rendered them both unconscious. They sleep soundly and safely in the other room.” The stranger shuffled toward Dinah. He was growing agitated. “Princess, you stand in front of me when you should be moving. You can either leave or die, those are your choices. Your father won’t wait for Execution Day to take your head.”

Dinah looked up in disbelief. “My father? My father wouldn’t hurt me or Charles.”

“Your ignorance is staggering, Princess. Your father wishes to kill you. He will not share a crown with you, with anyone.”

“Charles, my brother—”

“Is dead. By the King’s hand,” the voice replied flatly. “The Mad Hatter sings no more. You will no doubt grieve for him later, but now you must act. We are ahead of the King’s plan tonight, but not by much, perhaps an hour. My Queen, it’s time to go.”

Time seemed to stop as Dinah stood paralyzed in the darkness. The sword in her hand lowered slowly. She smelled the sweet scent of the Julla Trees blowing in through the open window and stared at Emily’s shawl draped lazily over her dresser. The Wonderland moon blazed bright through the balcony windows, outlining the stranger as if he were made of stone.

“I can’t . . . I don’t . . . I’m supposed to be Queen.”

“And yet, if you do not leave this night, you will die.”

Something in the finality of his voice ripped her violently into the present. Dinah ran to the closet, grabbing her heaviest gray wool cloak and her mother’s favorite slippers. The gray cloak buttoned easily over her long white sleeping gown. She pulled the hood over her tangled hair and grabbed the bag from the floor. Everything was fractured as she pulled herself together; she couldn’t think straight. She tied Wardley’s rusty sword so that it crossed over her shoulder. The stranger stood frozen in front of the window.

“Time is ticking, Princess. Ticktock. You must go.”

She grabbed the door frame to keep her balance, realizing that this would be the last time she would ever see this room. Her voice quivered as tears welled in her eyes. Her brother. Dead? It couldn’t be so. “How do I know that I can trust you? Why should I believe anything you say?”

The figure turned to the balcony. “If you wait much longer, you won’t need to ask. There are many people in this castle with dangerous agendas. Mine was to see you crowned. But today, it is to see you live. I pray that we will see each other again.” The figure spun around and pointed to the door. “NOW RUN. Go straight out of the palace; do not stop for anything or anyone. If someone tries to stop you, KILL THEM.”

Dinah plunged out the door, tears running freely down her face. The wide stone hallways were pitch black in the night hours, lit only by a few torches and the moonlight streaming through the stained-glass windows. Dinah sprinted through alcoves and stairways, doing her best to stifle the heavy sobs violently ripping her chest apart. She could tell almost instantly that something was amiss, for the palace was oddly still. Normally Heart Cards were stationed outside each of the castle apartments and stairwells, but now there were only open doors . . . and no Cards to be seen anywhere.

As she tore through the shadowy hallways, it occurred to Dinah that the stranger had been telling the truth about
something
. The walls themselves rippled with tension; there was a discomfort in the air. Wonderland Palace itself seemed to seethe with unrest. Dinah sprinted through the dark, not seeing anything, vaguely aware which direction she headed. She could only see her brother’s face, his blue and green eyes peering up at her with pure adoration.
Charles. Charles
.

Her lungs burned with the effort of running as the bag bounced off her hip, the sword tight across her shoulders. She turned a corner and skidded to a stop as two drunken Spades strolled down an intersecting hallway before her. There was nowhere to hide; she was in the middle of a wide corridor. Dinah froze, certain that the guards could hear her heart pounding in her chest, her loud breathing, the sound of tears dripping off her face.