The Hornhoov pulled her head in their direction and the King began thundering toward them. Dinah clutched the tree, pressing her face against it, fearing that her heart would actually explode.
“Stay still,” ordered the voice. Dinah froze as her father’s Hornhoov walked closer and closer to them, his torch only lighting the few feet in front of him. Carefully, she raised her head and saw her father staring right at her, squinting in the darkness, his face a mask of righteous fury. Dinah didn’t move. He looked confused, as though he were unsure of what he was seeing. He tilted his head, his bloodshot eyes filled with rage and still squinting in the black night, looking right at Dinah but not seeing her. He was close enough that she could make out the sweat on his brow and smell the stink of drink clinging to his skin. She was sure he could hear her heart, which thudded with enough power to shake the tree.
Her father climbed off of the Hornhoov and began making his way toward the clump of trees where Dinah was standing. Hatred flooded over her fear, and she felt an intoxicating rush of fury circle up from inside her gut. He killed Charles, she thought. And I will kill him now, a shadow in the darkness. Yes, my King, come ever closer. Moving as slowly as she could, Dinah reached for her sword, her eyes trained on his neck, the only open spot in his armor. Suddenly there was a loud crash from the woods behind them.
“There!” yelled a soldier from a distance, “I heard something over there! I think it’s her!” The King’s face distorted with pleasure and he vaulted back onto the Hornhoov, turning her in the direction of the sound. Cheshire followed, giving a backward glance at the seemingly empty valley before raising his dagger menacingly and following behind the King. The King’s Hornhoov kept trying to turn back—it could obviously smell Morte—but Dinah’s father simply yanked the reins and dug his spiked heels in.
“Go, you blasted creature! Find her!” Together they galloped off into the darkness, the light from his torch dimming to a dull candle in the darkness.
“Go…,” hissed the voice, and then Dinah heard the sound of a body dropping down from the tree above. “Who are—”
“No time!” snapped the voice, distinctly male, somehow familiar. “Yeh go! I’ll lead them south. Quickly, for they will surely come back here.” He was as invisible as she was, a hulking dark shape in the trees. Dinah flung the bag around her body and climbed onto Morte’s back, strapping the sword across her shoulders. She leaned forward and pressed herself against his black skin, becoming invisible once more. Black on black, a shadow at midnight.
“Quietly now,” she whispered to her giant steed. Morte seemed to understand as they silently headed east, his hooves gently kissing the earth. They moved far away from the tiny cottage and the roaming Cards, deeper and deeper into the black night, until the sounds of her father’s army were no more. They walked quietly for hours, and Dinah noted that the flat floor of the forest was now increasingly sloping upward, harder and rockier. Hornhoov and rider moved silently through the trees, until Dinah spotted a small rock outcropping perched upon a narrow ridge overlooking the forest. Strategically, it would be a great place to watch for the approaching Cards, and besides, the trembles in her legs reminded her that they should go no farther. Without a word, she slipped off of Morte and collapsed against the rocks, exhausted from her ride and from the all-encompassing fear. Morte knelt behind the rocks next to her and fell quickly into slumber, leaving her alone with the starless night sky.
Comforted by the fact that she didn’t think her father’s army could sneak up on them in the dark—or find them in the dark, for that matter—Dinah let her eyelids flicker closed once, twice, and then she surrendered to her voracious exhaustion. She dreamed of a deck of cards on a glass table, being played by a black glove. The hand was detached from an arm, and tiny flecks of crimson dripped across the faces on the cards as they were revealed. Hearts. Spades. Diamonds. The King. The King. The King. Again and again.
Her eyes wrenched open again in the early dawn and she woke drenched in a feverish sweat, unsure of what had awakened her so suddenly. Then she heard the click of a boot in front of her and felt a cold steel blade pressed firmly against her neck. Trembling, she raised her eyes, her black braid brushing the tip of her sword. A Spade stood before her, his massive frame blocking the sun.
“Morning, Princess.”
Chapter Four
Dinah curled backwards, knocking her spine against an overhanging rock. Picking up a handful of loose dirt, she flung it at the Spade’s face and felt the ground for her sword. The Spade gave an annoyed cough.