Mundoo released her. “Then I accept. Twelve Hornhoov foals for the Yurkei, brought to us when they are a year old to begin training.”
Dinah nodded. “Twelve. And not one more.”
“And what if you do not become Queen? That is quite likely you know.”
Dinah was already climbing down the ladder. “Then we will all be dead anyway. Good night.”
And so she had been reunited with Morte. She found him in a pen as high as three men, lined with the strong white wood that held the tents of Hu-Yuhar aloft. This wood, however, was ringed with thorns, and she saw hundreds of tiny cuts along his legs and head. Morte had been so happy to see her that he only stomped around her three times as he threatened to crush her to death. Finally, once a stream of steam hissed from his nostrils, he let Dinah run a single finger down his massive nose. He lifted his knee so she could mount and jumped from the opened cage. They ran through the valley for hours, the thundering of his hooves scaring the other wild ponies into submission. Later that week, the Yurkei presented her with a saddle, built specially to ride a Hornhoov, originally built for the Chief. It straddled Morte’s neck, rather than his back, but it also had a groove where Dinah could sit on her knees if she so desired. With her steed, her saddle, and her crown, she led the army of a thousand Yurkei south, navigating a secret narrow path that wound down from the Yurkei Mountains, through the middle plain and into the Darklands. The path had led her here, to this pit of wet sorrow, astride Morte, proud and exhausted. Dinah looked now, out at the tents, silent in the morning air.
The black devil gave an impatient stamp of his hooves as she pondered what she came here for. What had Sir Gorrann said? A conflict between two Yurkei, oh yes. She climbed down from Morte, who gave an angry snort when she attempted to tie him to a pole. His saucer-sized eyes shimmered with anger. Would she never learn? Instead she dropped the reins and Morte galloped off. He would return when she needed him, dragging along a bloody carcass of some poor animal to place at her feet. He would then feast on it until Dinah heaved up her supper in a bush.
Dinah ducked into Sir Gorrann’s tent. The men were waiting for her—Cheshire, Sir Gorrann, and Bah-kan—all stood silently as she peered curiously at each of them. Their faces were twisted. They looked alarmingly happy.
“What are you staring at? Where are the warriors? Have they already killed each other?”
Cheshire let a devious smile creep over his face. “There are no warriors. Follow me.” Without another word, he stepped out of the tent, with the two other men following.
“What?” Dinah ran to catch up with him, her sword bouncing across her hip. “Stop! I’m in no mood for a game right now! I think you have played enough with me for a lifetime.”
Cheshire’s grin stretched even wider, a naughty cat, caught in his deception. “I think you will much enjoy this game, Your Majesty.”
They were climbing a low grassy ridge, slick and wet from the evening mist. Dinah slipped a few times as she made her way up the rise, her boots squirming in dark water that ran uphill. “Have you found more rogue Cards? Send the ambassadors to speak with them at once.”
“No,” replied Cheshire. “Not rogue Cards.” He stopped Dinah and held her by the shoulders. “Listen to me now, as you didn’t before. Climb to the top of the crest and see what we have brought you, a gift to our Queen from your loyal servants.” He bent his head to her ear and whispered, “But mostly from me.”
Sir Gorrann and Bah-kan hung back just before the crest of the hill. Dinah gave Sir Gorrann a strange look as she walked away from them. He gave a small nod and so she continued climbing. The top of the hill looked out onto a low meadow, dotted with white mossy trees and small pools of still water. She squinted, unsure of what she was seeing. Then her heart began hammering. Men. It was a line of men. Men wearing black. Thousands of them, each armed, bearing the familiar uniform, black on black. A man on a large white horse led them forward. Dinah’s breath caught in her throat. Had she been tricked? Was this her father’s doing? Had Cheshire played her? The white horse was plunging toward her now, but it didn’t move like a Hornhoov—he was too slow, and the rider was smaller, with a mane of curly brown hair blowing in the….
Dinah didn’t feel her body start to move, but soon she was sprinting over the meadow, screaming his name, tears falling freely down her cheeks, the opposite of a queen, a woman lost, a child coming home. There was no majesty, no decorum, only him, always him.
“WARDLEY! WARDLEY!!”
He abandoned his horse, sprinting toward her as she screamed his name.
“WARDLEY!”
They collided in the middle of the field in a tangle of limbs and a crushing embrace. Both fell to the ground, sobbing, pressed into each other with a breathtaking fierceness. Wardley was kissing her forehead, his arms wrapped tightly around her.
“I thought I would never see you again!” sobbed Dinah.