Alive in every way, Dinah flung a large burning piece of wood over the edge of the cliff, where it landed with a fiery burst in the massive nest. The air instantly thrummed with the sound of a thousand wings, and Dinah watched without fear as the sky filled with the enormous white cranes. They rushed at her with beating wings and sharp beaks, but she stood firm, naked and flushed, with only a crown on her head. They circled her, their loud cries coming ever closer, their beaks brushing her skin. “Go!” she screamed. “GO!” All around her was a sea of white feathers, but Dinah dared not close her eyes. There was a moment where the seething flock hovered just above her and all around her, an angry hissing and squawking swarm, considering an attack on this strange creature wearing a crown and blazing with righteous anger. Dinah’s black eyes stared at the birds, unflinching, daring them to touch her. The birds seemed to pause, violence on their minds, calculating the odds of taking on this latest sacrifice. Then, at the last moment, they rose into the air in an ever-widening spiral, blocking out the stars, the rock, everything. She had faced down the gods and won.
I am the Queen of Hearts, she thought, and I will take my throne.
The cloud of birds disappeared over the mountain and the air was silent again. She stood before the mountains, the painfully cold breeze whipping around her body. Something had changed here on this ledge, this piece of etched rock stained with an ancient religion. Dinah saw her path unfold before her, confident of what she needed to do and who she was. I am the Queen of Hearts. She was a queen, she would have her throne and when she had that, she would deliver Charles his justice. This was her fate and she was, for the first time, unafraid for her future. The path to war was suddenly the least scary option of all, because it was right. Once the birds had completely disappeared into the night sky, she breathed deeply until her heart stopped pounding. Dinah left the fire to burn itself out, but not before she glanced once more at her impassive shadow, so ferocious and secure, with the pointed tips of her crown brushing the top of the cliff face. A nagging voice told her that while she wasn’t as mighty as that queen, she would have to try to be. No matter the fear that would inevitably get her in her way, she had to try.
Dinah begrudgingly pulled all of her clothing back on and gave one quick glance at the Hu-Yuhar valley below. A crowd of Yurkei was gathering, and their voices gave way to silent awe as she made her way down the steep path carved into the rock wall. A nervous group of men waited for her at the bottom of the narrow staircase: Cheshire, his purple robes billowing in the wind and his hands resting together as if in prayer; Sir Gorrann, his weathered face a mask of concern; Mundoo, fierce and proud, the leader of his people; and Bah-kan, who towered over all of them, terrifying and vicious, clutching his Heartsword. The men watched her as she made her way down, her emotionless face betraying nothing. Hundreds of fascinated Yurkei gathered at the bottom watching her with their piercing blue eyes, almost luminescent in the darkness. She drew ever closer to the small group of men who had played her like a pawn, those men who had deftly moved her toward her destiny. Cheshire’s face broke into a wide smile when he saw the crown on her head. He quickly bent at the knee and bowed before her in grand fashion. Sir Gorrann followed. Mundoo and Bah-kan simply nodded in her direction. They would not bow before her.
Mundoo cleared his mighty throat. “Princess. We have much to speak about.”
Dinah wouldn’t realize until later that three simple words would forever change the face of Wonderland.
“It’s Your Highness,” she corrected him. “And I imagine we do.”
Chapter Thirteen
Seasons changed the landscape with alarming ferocity as the next few months flew by. Even the grass was different here in the Darklands, thought Dinah, as she watched the pale-blue ferns ripple across the murky landscape. Everything was softer and wetter. Her steed pawed impatiently at the ground, thirsty and ready to plunge his head into the swirling currents of cool water that ran just beneath the moss. Her hair, damp and twisted with white ribbons, blew out before her and Dinah shuddered in the morning air as something round and glowing slithered just underneath the foamy brush. She had expected the South to be warm and humid. She had been right about the humidity, but with the still, moist air of the Darklands came a certain chill in the early morning, the wet air holding on to the bite of night.
It had been a hellish march south—they had lost several Yurkei along the way, between the hidden bogs and the strange poisonous creatures that seemed to lurk under every rock. Disturbingly, the Twisted Wood seemed downright tame compared to the Darklands. As she dug her hand into her steed’s tangled mane, Dinah hummed a song softly under her breath, a song her mother taught her so very long ago. A song, she now knew, Davianna had learned from Cheshire. The landscape was brutal, but even with danger surrounding her on all sides, Dinah felt stronger than ever. Her crown rested on top of her head, its rightful place, and Dinah felt powerful in the high saddle. Her stomach grumbled loudly. She was hungry, as she had been ever since they started their march southward. Moving a small army required much food, and there was never enough, it seemed, to satisfy everyone. Everyone could eat at least five times more, even the future Queen, who slept in a battered tent, curled around her sword. Dinah was still humming when Sir Gorrann’s trotted up next to her on Cyndy.
“Sir Gorrann, good morning.”