Dinah sighed, too tired to argue with him. “Fine. Enjoy your company.”
Sir Gorrann clicked his tongue and winked. Dinah rolled her eyes, but sadly walked away from the tent, rubbing her aching neck and dreaming of a pillow. She suspected his pressing appointment was with one of the Yurkei women who was fond of watching him bathe every day, but it wasn’t worth mentioning. After the life he had endured, perhaps Sir Gorrann deserved some momentary happiness. Dinah let herself relax. It was late afternoon, and the falling sun was just beginning to cast a hazy golden glow on the valley.
After a few minutes of consideration, she decided to walk the length of the valley to the orchard. She still had an hour or so before the sun set in the east. She longed to see what rested behind the highest mountain ridge, the northernmost hill with the winding staircase carved deep into its side. Dinah took her time getting there, and found herself wandering along the outer mountain face of the valley. Dim lights from white torches flickered within the fabric tents as the Yurkei settled in, giving the valley an enchanted, mythical glow, like ethereal clouds had floated into its midst.
As she walked, Dinah saw the lowered eyes of the tribe as she passed them, a sign of disrespect. The Yurkei’s distrust and anger toward her remained, but she was no longer spit upon or had rocks thrown at her when she left her tent, and that was a vast improvement. Many of them crossed the valley to avoid walking next to her, and Dinah wondered if it was simple hatred, or if they were afraid of her. Her sessions with Bah-kan and Sir Gorrann were growing in popularity, and while she always lost, she was a strong fighter.
Her head spinning with possibilities, Dinah watched a pale mare run feverish loops across the valley. In the distance, dozens of white cranes folded their wings in a massive twig nest that nestled against a rocky outcrop. I could stay here, thought Dinah with surprise, I could be happy here. She could become a Yurkei warrior, live in a flat tent that was suspended from the mountainside, and learn to love the heights of the ropes strewn between the two mountains.
Yes, she could be happy here, perhaps in time. There was no Wardley, so a truly perfect life was ruled out, but what could she do? He would never find her here, and she would never return to the palace, lest her head grace the white marble slab that had held so many. This valley could hold a possible future for her, and yet her heart kept its distance from the idea. The truth, if she thought about it, was that there was no blissful ending to her story. Her punishment had not been decided, but Morte would be put to death. Her fate awaited his. If she were queen, she certainly would have put the daughter of her most-feared enemy to death. Perhaps Mundoo was having Bah-kan train her so that later it would be a fairer fight to death when her time for execution came. Perhaps to ensure a gloriously bloody death for those who desired justice. Perhaps, but it didn’t feel that way.
Her wandering thoughts were interrupted by a delicious smell entering her nostrils. It was a distinct smell, warm and fruity, so unlike the earthy aromas of the Yurkei food. There was a hint of cherry and rose, fresh baked bread and cream. How was that possible? Was she dreaming? She sniffed the air again. No. The smell is real. She carefully followed the aroma into a small orchard that sat at the far west end of the valley.
The trees were dense, the swath of fruit trees perhaps a quarter of a mile long. Petite lemon trees dripping with yellow fruit nuzzled up next to lush apple trees, their trunks pushed against floating mulberry trees. Even higher, some fruit trees hovered, connected to the ground by some sort of shiny blue vine that snaked along the path, its purple fruit the size of marbles.
The orchard in itself was marvelous—truly, a wonder—but nothing could compare with what Dinah was smelling: Home. Tarts. Tea. In the back of her mind, she knew that she was being led, and yet the smell was everything she missed. Harris and Wardley and warm baths and the palace. Her palace. Lights flickered ahead of her in the orchard and she slowed her walk. A nagging voice inside ordered her to draw her dagger, and she obeyed, shielding her eyes from heart-shaped lanterns that seemed to float among the trees. Finally, she emerged from the trees into a small clearing. A long table, magnificently set with towering teacups in every shade and adorned with buckets of flowers, stood before her. The table was covered with all her favorite Wonderland tarts: raspberry and cream, whipped limes and butter roses, deep cocoa mixed with powdered jam. They rested alongside haphazardly piled plates and cups, candles and steaming glasses of hot tea.
A bright pink checkered tablecloth brushed against the tall grass, and in the middle sat a cake. It was a plain white cake with a simple design frosted on the top: a single red heart, sliced from top to bottom. Dinah’s own heart clenched, and she clutched her dagger as she began to back away from the table. A light stirred in the trees, and she watched as a tall figure dressed in an elaborate purple robe stepped forward. His long fingers reached out and grasped a cup of tea before pulling it up to his thin lips. He blew on the steam and took a long sip.
“Hello, Your Highness,” he said silkily before setting the cup back down. “Won’t you have a cup of tea with me? Nothing would make me happier.”
Dinah felt the air whoosh out of her chest and saw the orchard spin around her. The man leaned back in his seat and gestured to the table. Cheshire’s wicked grin seemed to stretch to the end of the valley. “Cat got your tongue?”
Nine
Dinah was having trouble breathing. Her lungs pressed against her chest, her head pulled against her shoulder—everything, everything was tucking itself into a wild panic. She couldn’t quite understand what was happening. There was a table full of food, lights in the trees, and then there was the man responsible for turning her father against her, for helping her father murder her brother and crown Vittiore. Cheshire, the cleverest man in Wonderland. He was right there, his impossibly long body stretched out on a wooden chair, sipping tea like he hadn’t a single care in the world. A black goatee had crept across his rubbery face since she had last seen him, and his black hair and eyes glistened with malice in the flickering candlelight. He smiled at her as he took a lavish bite of one of the cocoa tarts, sugar dusting the tip of his brooch, which was adorned with jeweled emblems of the four cards. The symbol that he controlled all the Cards.