Vittiore.
Dinah ground her teeth together, gripping the dagger. No doubt Vittiore would soon be crowned Queen, taking Dinah’s place on the throne next to her father. She had always been part of the plot, always waiting in the wings to get her hands on Dinah’s crown. She had always suspected that Vittiore wasn’t exactly the poor child found in a sack that she claimed to be. Vittiore had been in on it from the start, the plot to frame Dinah, the plot to kill her brother Charles. Dinah angrily closed her fists around the dagger hilt before forcing herself to calm down. She turned the dagger over in the sunlight. Maybe I can exchange it to buy food, Dinah thought, before she realized how silly that sounded. She would be going to no villages, no towns. Her father and Cheshire expected her to be weak, to look for help amongst Wonderlanders. She wouldn’t. She would just disappear into these woods, forever. I will learn to survive, she thought, I will wait for Wardley and then we will find a boat and sail to the Other Worlds. The thought made her weary and morose. Heavy despair seemed to hover around her, waiting for the perfect opportunity to overwhelm. If Dinah didn’t keep moving, then it would come for her swiftly. Her legs were sore when she pushed herself up onto her feet, strapping the sword firmly across her back. Morte slumbered on, and Dinah thought it best not to wake him. He no doubt needed the rest as much as she did, and waking an angry Hornhoov might lead to being crushed to death. Better to let him sleep.
Making note of the path behind her, Dinah began wandering through the trees as she finished the rest of the berries. The wood seemed to go on forever in every direction. Tiny clusters of flowers brushed her face as she pushed past a tree that spiraled in on itself, its trunk circling into the sky. The tree was weeping a frosty milk that dripped down its branches and formed a white moat around the base of the trunk. Dinah knelt beside the tree and peered into the milky substance. Tiny pink insects with gossamer wings skated over the surface, dipping their long noses into the liquid. The milk was sucked up into their bodies and distributed into their veiny, transparent wings. The white substance then gave their wings a crumbly texture, like toasted bread. At this transformation, the insects tucked their wings back and walked away, looking more like tiny lizards than the butterflies they had resembled at the start. They looked at Dinah with indifference as they strolled away into the forest, a trail of white bread slices marching in sync.
“Incredible,” murmured Dinah. She stood. The sun flashed on something hard and metal as Dinah raised her eyes. She leapt backwards, stumbling on a wide root, and the sword fell to the ground. She scrambled for her weapon in the damp leaves as she struggled back to her feet. I am no warrior, she thought, as her heart hammered in her ears. The metal continued to flash in the sun. Dinah advanced slowly, making her way through the trees, her sword leading the way. Scrambling, Dinah clawed her way up a small embankment parallel to the flashing light to gain a better view.