Dawn came early on the morning of battle, marked by a light rain that gently peppered the ground. The weather seemed to agree that this forlorn day had finally arrived. The rain fell lightly on her tent, making a lulling sound. Dinah lay still and concentrated on not opening her eyes. She knew that once she opened them, it would begin. By nightfall, her fate would be determined—either she would sit proud and triumphant upon the Heart throne, or she would be buried in the wet Wonderland earth, forever scorned as a traitor to her people.
Every day since she had left the palace, Dinah opened her eyes with the expectation that she might die. Still, today was different. Today death was not an unknown figure whispering between the trees. Today she would challenge death to a duel, a game in which the odds lay against her in spades. A hysterical laughter bubbled out of her, a mad laugh that made her sound just like Charles. In Spades. Her calloused hands trembled under her thin blanket.
It was the image of his broken body that finally forced open her black eyes, awash in tears. She stared at the roof of the tent, listening to the sounds of her army outside. Finally, Dinah rose slowly and washed her face in a basin of ice-cold water. A tray of hearty food had been left out for her—by Wardley, probably. Her stomach was knotted so tightly that it hurt to breathe. She forced herself to shove down a few eggs and a crust of bread. It would have to do.
For a few moments, she sat silently on the edge of her cot, staring through a small hole in her tent at the naked plains of Wonderland, dotted with black Spades and painted Yurkei horses.
“I am the queen,” she whispered to herself. She tried repeating the phrase over and over again, but her words faltered, tangled up inside her throat, caught in a knot of fear. She was staring at herself in the looking glass when Sir Gorrann poked his head through the tent flap.
“It’s time, Yer Majesty.”
Dinah looked up at the Spade, brave and powerful in his shining black armor.
“Dinah?”
“I’m afraid,” she whispered.
He knelt before her, his armor clanking against the ground as he took her hands in his and laid his forehead against her palm. “Everyone is afraid before a battle. No one speaks of the fear, though. Yeh cannot give it a name, for when yeh do, it becomes real. The Spades, Cheshire, the Yurkei, Mundoo, all those Cards that line the iron gates, all the people inside the palace grounds, and even the king himself—each one woke up today with the fear, deep inside of here.” He gently laid his hand over Dinah’s heart. “Even so, yeh will lead us into battle today, as a symbol of change. Yeh stand before Wonderland’s gates today as the rightful queen, an heir to yer mother’s line. And lastly, yeh stand before the King of Hearts today as a symbol of vengeance and justice, for the murder of yer brother, for Faina Baker, for my family, for the thousands of Yurkei, and for the innocent people of Wonderland he has murdered or imprisoned. We all must stand eventually, even if our knees shake.”
Dinah bent forward and kissed him on the forehead. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”
He left her alone, but just seconds later her tent flap opened once again, this time revealing a couple of Yurkei warriors who had come to dress her. Dinah stood with her arms outstretched as the Yurkei silently applied white stripes of paint to her arms and legs before wrapping them in a fine cloth dipped in Iu-Hora’s medicine to ward off infections. Over that, she was dressed in a simple white tunic and black wool pants before her armor was fastened around her. First came the breastplate, bright white with a broken red heart painted across it. It hit her at the hip, its edge sharp with tiny red hearts. The Yurkei gingerly lifted her legs as she stepped into her heart-covered, black leather leg guards that rose up the thigh. Red leather straps were added to protect her hips and shoulders. When they finished draping her body with the heavy armor, the warriors left the tent abruptly, without warning. She flexed her legs. The armor was heavy, but she was able to move fairly smoothly.
She heard quiet, purposeful steps, and Dinah looked up as Cheshire walked into the tent carrying her cape. He carefully draped it on her and then gently latched it at her neck. The white crane feathers, each appearing as if they had been dipped in blood, circled her, the cape’s weight brushing the floor while at the same time stretching out behind her like wings.
Cheshire stepped back and sighed, his eyes filling with tears. “Oh, my fierce warrior. For once, I am speechless. Look at yourself.”
She turned to the mirror. Dinah’s eyes widened in surprise as she barely recognized herself. A grown woman, proud and strong, stared at her, her eyes simmering like two burning coals, her pitch-black hair falling just below her chin. Cheshire reached for her crown.
“No,” said Dinah. “I’ll do it.” Watching herself in the mirror, she lifted the thin ruby crown and pushed it down onto her head. It sat snugly, a perfect fit. She looked at herself. This woman does not need fear, she thought. She is a queen.
“I’m ready.”
“You are a terrifying vision of glory,” Cheshire noted, with a sly smile. “Let’s hope the King of Hearts thinks so.” Just before she stepped outside, Cheshire spun her to face him. “Dinah, do not forget the plan. Even if you see the king, do not pursue him. There will be a time for your justice, and Charles’s justice, but now is a time for battle. If you go galloping off after the king on the north side, everything will descend into chaos. . . .”
Dinah nodded. “I won’t. I’ll follow the plan.”
His dark eyes bore into hers. “The plan is perfect. All you have to do now is fight. Let that anger rise. We are all behind you.” He bowed his head. “Your army awaits.”
With a deep breath, Dinah straightened her shoulders and stepped outside the tent. She heard a collective gasp and then found herself too moved to speak. At the bottom of the hill, Spade and Yurkei stood together for the first time. They lined the walkway from her tent to Morte, who waited for her at the end of a long column of men, his reins held gently by Sir Gorrann. Wardley, devastatingly handsome in his silver armor, stepped up beside her and raised his hands to cup his mouth. The crowd fell silent.
“All hail the Queen of Hearts!”