The Spade lifted the bow, his muscled arms quivering as he tracked something that Dinah couldn’t see across the dark sky. Finally, he exhaled and released the arrow. Dinah heard a thwap, followed by the sound of something falling through dried leaves. The Spade darted into the woods. Dinah stood. Now, she thought, now would be the time to run with Morte, her legs shaking. Go! she told herself, but her legs didn’t move. She stayed. There was something about this Spade, she reasoned, something different. Besides, the food was almost gone. And he was right—she didn’t have a plan. Defeated, she admitted to herself that she had been wandering aimlessly through the forest, and it was a miracle that she had survived. Now she had help, or at least someone who wanted something from her, which in some cases was as good as help. He wasn’t a friend, but she didn’t sense danger radiating from him either. She paused, thinking of the rage on her father’s face as she stood shadowed in the trees. “But you can’t trust that,” she whispered to herself. “You can’t trust that feeling.” She never would have dreamed that her father would try to murder her, or throw her brother out of a window. Feelings meant nothing. Whom could you trust when your own family turned against you?
She quickly sat back on the rotted log, which gave a creak underneath her. The day I find out what he wants, she told herself, is the day I will leave him behind in the dust. There was a rustling from the trees and something landed with a sickening crack at her feet. It was the hawk, the tracking hawk, its beautiful deep red feathers mottled with black blood, an arrow through its neck. Dinah looked up at the Spade—and the admiration written across her face deceived her.
He gave a laugh at her surprise. “Chicken, Princess?”
For the first time in weeks, Dinah slept long and deep, without dreams of bloody Heart Cards or anything else that woke her in terror. It was late morning when she woke to a loud clanging. She shielded her eyes as she sat up. The Spade was clanging his swords together and watching how the blades ran over each other. Dinah was understandably unnerved by this.
“Morning, Princess.” The Spade tossed a small loaf of bread in her direction and Dinah tore into it with ravenous bites. “Not very delicate, are yeh?”
She made a face in his direction.
“Now, get yerself up so I can begin yer training. Yeh need to learn how to fight, how to defend yerself. I’ve seen eight-year-old girls that can wield a sword better than yeh.”
“I highly doubt that,” replied Dinah, brushing the crumbs off of her cheeks. She handed a small piece of her bread to Morte, who almost bit her fingers off.
“On the contrary, I was raised in a village where every child could defend themselves.”
Dinah was curious about this man. “Where was your village? And what makes you think your children could defend themselves?”
The Spade didn’t answer and was silent before moving swiftly across the distance between them. Before Dinah could breathe, he had wrapped his thick hand around her arm and shook her roughly. “Don’t speak of things yeh don’t understand. If my daughter had survived, she would best yeh in a second.”
“Let go of me!” she snapped, yanking her arm out of his grasp. “I thought Spades weren’t allowed to have families. Your daughter is probably nothing more than your most fancy boy soldier—”
She didn’t have a chance to finish. The Spade swept both of her feet out from under her, and Dinah landed hard on the small of her back. All the air rushed from her lungs. She barely had time to react before the tip of his sword drew a line across her cheek. He bowed before her. “Now we have matching scars.”
Dinah leapt up and flung herself against him, and they both tumbled to the ground. The Spade easily flipped her face down into the dirt and then proceeded to keep her down with his boot, standing on top of her. Though his actions were quick and rough, his tone remained calm. “Yeh’ll not say one word about my daughter, understand? Now, are yeh ready to learn?”
Dinah writhed under his foot before shouting at him. “Get off of me. I order you to stand down! Obey me! I command it!”
The Spade’s gruff laugh echoed off the rock faces around them as he continued to balance on top of her. “Ah, Princess. Before yeh can learn to fight, yeh must let go of the idea that anyone in Wonderland gives a care about yer fate. Yer no longer a royal playing sticks with the stable boy. Yer no longer a princess, or anyone, for that matter. Yer a wretch, a wanderer in the forest. Think about it. Are yeh her, are yeh that girl, the girl who would be Queen?”
Dinah considered for a moment, her face bleeding into the dirt. He was right. She was no longer the princess who loved to watch pink snowflakes swirling down from the cloudy sky, one who could command the bowed knee of every person in the room. She was here, in the middle of the wilderness. She was starving, she was broken and bleeding, and there was a Spade literally standing on her back. All this and yet, Dinah felt more in control of her fate than she had the past few months at the palace. There was a freedom in having nothing to lose.
“Let me stand. I said, let me stand!” She rolled over quickly, which caused him to lose his balance. Then she grabbed hold of the Spade’s leg and dug her teeth into his calf. He let out a yell and hopped away. “Yeh bit me! Who bites someone?”
Dinah shuffled to her feet, unsteady, bleeding from the lip and covered with dirt. She spat on the ground. “C’mon you dirty Spade—teach me to fight.”