She bit her lip. Her father was brave, a man of massive physical strength. He was not, however, terribly clever. No, he left that up to Cheshire. It wasn’t her father she had to outmaneuver, it was Cheshire. What would he do? He would expect me to go north, she thought. The Twisted Wood was full of dangers and mysteries, but most importantly, it was the outlying land of the Yurkei tribes. The Twisted Wood would only bring death, but in the North there were scattered towns in which she could take refuge, hide out, change into someone else. He would expect her to find her mother’s family, who lived on the northern tip of the Western Slope, in Ierladia.
Behind her, the Twisted Wood groaned again, the trees simultaneously turning their branches to the sky by some unspoken command. Past the Twisted Wood lay the topless Yurkei Mountains. That was the least-safe place for the Princess of Hearts, for it was a place of wild Yurkei, bent on the destruction of Wonderlanders. It was the last place her father would expect her to go. Perhaps that’s why Wardley had suggested it. She looked fearfully at the wood as it moved slightly, alarmed by the unsettling feeling that she was being watched by the trees. Few men had lived to tell the tales of the Twisted Wood, but even fewer men had gone up against her father and survived. The decision was made. Morte nickered softly in the wind, seemingly enjoying the breeze on his face.
Dinah took note of the ground. We are all over this place, she thought. Both she and Morte had spilled blood here, left footprints, pieces of themselves. Any tracker worth his snuff would surely see that they had rested here. Dinah kicked a petrified piece of wood in frustration. It splintered into tiny shards. Then lead them away, she thought. I have to lead them away from here. She looked at the sky. By her best guess, her father would have half a day’s ride back to the castle and then half a day’s ride back to this spot. She had been unconscious for maybe three hours, judging by the sun’s location when she woke. Dinah cursed herself for never paying attention to Harris’s sun-tracking lessons. Sure, it was a gamble, but one she must take. She had to escape, and to do that, she had to lead the trackers away from her trail, confuse them. She had to act differently than they would expect her to. It might not work, but she had to try.
Dinah picked up her bag and began walking northwest. Her feet groaned with each step, and both hands throbbed with sharp pains. Dinah found herself dreaming of sleep, of lying down in the thick grasses, which looked now as comfy as her down-filled palace mattress. She let her thoughts wander wildly as she staggered along. Who was the stranger? There was something familiar about him, but yet, she wasn’t even sure it was a man. The way the stranger had wrapped a hand around her mouth, the way the whisper had washed over her, it was all so absolute. Powerful. The more she thought about what had happened, the more frustrated she became. The night was a blur of intense fear and wild emotion, and she found her memory of the whole thing very blurry and filled with gaping holes. Had there been anyone else in Charles’s room with her? She hadn’t even thought to look. Was his head wound from the fall, or was it by a sword? How had she gotten from his room to the courtyard? What had happened to Wardley when she galloped out of the stable? Why hadn’t he come with her? Why had Morte not listened to her father?
Overwhelmed by the questions, Dinah stumbled over a rock, her knees hitting the ground with a hard thud. Her mind collapsed inward. Was she responsible for Charles’s death? She let her tears fall unabashedly for her beautiful brother, for Lucy, for Quintrell. All innocents, all slain by her father’s hand. It was her fault that they were dead, her fault that Charles had sailed out an open window in the dark, starless night. Had he been afraid? Did he scream? Dinah offered up a silent prayer that he hadn’t understood what was happening, that his last moments were peaceful and unaware. Had Lucy and Quintrell been killed after him, or before? She choked on a sob. Did Charles see their murder and run up the stairs to escape? Oh gods. Dinah covered her mouth, afraid she would be ill. She couldn’t stay here, kneeling in this field, but she couldn’t will herself to move either. She was paralyzed by her grief, sobbing. After a while, a tiny pebble near her hand wobbled and then rattled over the dirt. Hooves. She heard them. The ground vibrated with the sound of horses and Dinah lowered her head.
The thudding of hooves slowed as they approached and then stopped. Reluctantly, Dinah looked up, expecting to see the shiny reflection of a Heartsword. Instead, Morte stood beside her, his great head lowered so that Dinah could look straight into his huge black eyes.