“Go away,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to see anyone right now.” The black fury was stirring inside of her. She would not let his arguments push her over the edge of sanity.
With a huff, he began descending down the winding path, muttering to himself about “Cheshire’s mad daughter.” Dinah was suddenly alone, comforted only by the crackling fire that continued to project massive dancing shadows on the rock walls. She felt swept away by a surge of emotion, as if she was drowning in a tidal wave of her own confusion. A thousand different hands were reaching inside her head, each yanking at a string. Her once-father, the King of Hearts. Her now-father, Cheshire, with his slippery feline smile. Sir Gorrann. Mundoo. Bah-kan. Wardley, Charles, Harris, Faina Baker, Vittiore. Their faces ran together, each one a part of her, but none of them giving her the answer she needed. Images chased each other through her mind, a game of insane tag: Wardley, kissing her under the Julla Tree. Her mother, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Charles, a finely crafted hat in his hand. Lucy and Quintrell, bloody and piled in a closet. An empty table. She closed her eyes and felt the heat from the fire sear close to her face. Then she willed the thousand voices to be quiet.
Unconsciously, she raised her arms, the pain of her shoulder making her wince through the confusion. Be silent, she shouted to the voices in her head. Be silent! she commanded again. Silence! Finally, she pushed them down until it was only her own voice that she heard. She lowered her hands. Be quiet, all. There was a stillness within her, and Dinah allowed herself to reach inside to gather her thoughts. When she opened her eyes again, she looked up at the rocky cliff face and immediately saw what Sir Gorrann had been pointing at. Stunned, Dinah lifted her chin in a way that she hadn’t done since she fled the palace. With the fire leaping behind her, the shadow of her figure loomed huge on the rock walls: a giant, almost larger than the mountain itself. And on her head, the shadow of the crown that Cheshire had placed upon her.
Dinah reached up and felt the brim of the crown with her shaking fingers, the gold warm from the growing flames. She had forgotten she was wearing it, she was so used to its weight and feel. It was natural for her—she had been practically born wearing that particular crown. It stayed put even as she had torn through the trees and bramble. It felt right on her head, and the spikes that dug into her temple gave her a steadiness that she hadn’t felt in a long time. She stared at her shadow, and the commanding figure with the crown shimmered in the flames. Her mind cleared. The answer was here. This was who she was, who she had always been. She was no one’s daughter, no one’s warrior, no one’s scapegoat or prisoner. She wasn’t a spoiled princess or the savior of a foreign people. Dinah raised her eyes to the circling stars, and her shadow straightened in accordance.
I am the Queen, she thought.
That’s who I am. I am the Queen of Hearts, born to sit in one of two Heart Thrones. I am the Queen of Wonderland and I will have the crown that my brother made for me. I will take it with fury and swords and whatever help I can find. Pride blossomed in her chest, and every inch of her skin felt alive with promise and purpose. Suddenly aware of everything touching her, pressing against her skin, clinging to her neck, Dinah began taking off her clothing. She flung down her dagger and pulled the red tunic that represented Wonderland off over her head. Off came the feathery Yurkei pants and the boots that had been tucked into her bag, a million years ago. When she was finished, Dinah was without an inch of clothing on her body, without chains to bind or gifts to bribe or tools to shame her. She was naked, with only the crown on her head, a crown that was her right by birth, by the line of her mother. I am the Queen. Everyone in Wonderland would bow before her. She wasn’t afraid, not anymore. I am the Queen.