Читать книгу Queen of Hearts Complete Collection: Queen of Hearts; Blood of Wonderland; War of the Cards - Colleen Oakes, Colleen Oakes - Страница 19
ОглавлениеDinah dreamed she was floating through a black ink, weightless, without the confines of her body. Tiny sparks of white light pulsated on the sides of her vision. They circled and danced while she wavered between consciousness and slumber. Dinah was aware of something malevolent slowly swimming through the black mist toward her. It was just out of reach, but it was fearful and hungry. Dinah realized with a start that she was actually hanging upside down, her hair undulating in the bright stars.
The inky sky throbbed and turned into a silver liquid. Dinah spun in the air, clawing to upright herself. Clocks and various pieces of furniture drifted past, buoyed on an invisible river. The black gave a second shudder, and she was now floating in a mirror. The murderous pursuer was close—she could feel it now. It was almost on top of her. Icy-cold fingernails clutched at her stomach and breasts. Struggling, Dinah righted herself, rising up over her feet until the tip of her nose brushed the soft mirror. It parted like water. There was no one behind her. Her own arms clutched at her body. Her black eyes opened wide as she looked at her own reflection. She was the darkness.
Dinah lurched out of bed with a start. She was drenched with sweat, her arms flailing in the cold night air. Emily stood up from the rocking chair near the bed.
“Everything all right, Princess?”
“Yes, yes. Thank you, Emily. What time is it?”
Emily put down her knitting. “We should probably dress for the feast. Anything in mind, Your Highness?”
Dinah stared out the window at the shifting Wonderland stars, her mind lingering on the dream. “Something light. Absolutely no wool.”
Dinah usually disliked feasts. After the endless and mind-numbing pageantry that was the seating of the lords and ladies, the highborn Cards, the squires, and the advisers, she and the rest of the royal family were finally seated behind the King’s Table, which was no ordinary piece of stone. The ends of the thick obsidian table curled at the tips, its razor-sharp points the source of more than a few bloodied limbs. The King of Hearts was seated on a raised platform near the middle of the table, his crown resting beside his enormous goblet. His blond mustache was already stained with cherry wine, giving him the look of a crazed cannibal. Dinah sat at his left, Vittiore on his right, looking luminous as always in a form-fitting gown the color of ripe blueberries. Her bright-blue eyes radiated out from her petite face, striking dead the heart of every man in Wonderland. Nary a Card could walk by her without being entranced by her ethereal presence.
The king sat back in his chair and gave a loud burp. “More wine!” he demanded.
Cheshire leaned over her father, hovering as always. He was whispering in her father’s ear, aiding as the king’s eyes darted around the room, taking in friends, foes, and fools. The squires poured more wine into his massive goblet, and he downed it greedily with one hand, the other hand always resting on his Heartsword. Her father saw enemies in many places, in every house, in every distant and seemingly absurd lineage leading to the throne. Yurkei assassins were everywhere, he believed, each one trying to steal his crown. Emily had spilled to Dinah that rumors abounded about her father’s paranoia. That he slept with his Heartsword. That six guards stood watch while he slept. That he truly trusted only Cheshire.
Dinah pushed the oily emu breast around her plate, covering it with seeds and sprouts. She wasn’t hungry in the least, and by her count she would have to sit here for another four hours, a frozen smile plastered across her face. Vittiore gave a tinkling laugh at something her father said, and Dinah leaned over to give her a reprimanding look. Cheshire rewarded Vittiore with a pointed smile from above her father’s head. Dinah fought the urge to fling her plate at him as bile filled her throat. She could remember being very young—before her mother died—and seeing Cheshire for the first time. With black hair and eyebrows, Cheshire had been young but just as devious looking. His hand had rested on the king’s shoulder, had squeezed hard as Dinah approached them both, toddling on little legs. She looked up into the king’s face with happy anticipation and saw nothing but simmering anger. He scared her. Wasn’t this her father? The man who loved her mother? His blue eyes ran over her, searching for something he did not find. His mouth contorted first with confusion and then disgust. He pushed her back roughly.
“Remove her from my sight. Don’t bring her around anymore,” he said to Harris, and two Cards gently pulled her away from him. Dinah gave a scream and kicked the first one in the shin. The second Heart Card grabbed for her, and she twisted away from him too.
Crying, she screamed for her father into empty air as Harris wrapped his arms around her waist to restrain her. “Father! Father!”
The King of Hearts walked past her without a second look, his black cloak brushing over her face as he passed her, beyond her. Cheshire followed behind him, his head bowed. Dinah was short enough to see the satisfied smile stretched across his long face. Even as a young child, she suspected that somehow this clever sliver of a man had turned her father’s mind against her. His child, the one he was supposed to love but never did. She smiled up at Cheshire, while vowing in her heart that the first thing she would do as queen after her father had passed away or she had married would be to send Cheshire to the Black Towers forever. Of course, he had helped her the day Vittiore arrived by showing her the tunnels, but that was for his own purposes. With Cheshire, one could be sure of it. He was not a man to underestimate.
The hours ticked by slowly as the crowd became more intoxicated with drink and the lights slowly dimmed. Gay laughter and the delicious scent of tarts wrapped like lovers around those who sat and enjoyed the feast. Dinah was bored. She glanced over at her father, who was roaring with laughter along with Xavier Juflee. The King of Hearts did not notice Dinah staring, nor did he notice Vittiore gazing sadly off into the distance, looking at something Dinah could not see. She followed Vittiore’s gaze to the back of the room, but there was only the trace of a shadow, no one. Vittiore cast her eyes down, blushing. There was some movement in the periphery of her vision, and Dinah jerked out of her trance and looked down at the table.
Her plate was gone, and in its place was a steaming slice of berry loaf on a delicately thin plate. She blinked in shock. She had not seen the extra plate put down in front of her, and that was alarming in itself. Scrawled in lovely looping letters, someone had written “Eat Me” in raspberry jam on the side of the plate. Bewildered, she looked around, but there was no one acting suspicious, no one looking mischievous in the corner. There were only hundreds of people eating, dancing, and boasting with excitement about their own croquet games of that afternoon. Wardley was making his way to the other side of the room, drinking heavily out of a gigantic silver stein; Harris was talking with the Master of Music; and Charles would never be let anywhere near the royal feast.
She returned her eyes to the message on her plate: “Eat Me.” Was this an insult? A threat? Poison? Dinah quickly smeared the words with her silver spoon. Her every breath bursting with curiosity, she raised her fork and brought it down into the loaf. She heard the clink of metal on glass, and found a minuscule glass vial, smaller than a spool of thread. Hands trembling, she picked up the vial, keeping her hands low over her plate. The cork came out easily and a tiny piece of paper slid into her waiting fingertips. She looked around again.
The party continued to escalate. Fat white birds were running up and down the tables, being fed by amused guests. As always, no one cared about the king’s strange, black-haired daughter. Her hands shook as she unrolled the paper, wondering who could have possibly sent it. Five words, written in a lilting script, graced the square of parchment: Faina Baker, the Black Towers. Scribbled next to the words was a tiny picture of a triangle with a wave underneath it. The symbol was vaguely familiar, although Dinah couldn’t quite put her finger on it and didn’t have time to think about it at this moment. She turned the paper over. Nothing. The thudding of her heart was so loud that she was sure the entire room could hear it, yet no one even looked in her direction. Dinah closed her eyes, committing the name, the symbol, and the words to memory. Then she did as her plate instructed and ate the words, the paper pasty and tasteless on her tongue.
