“You? Liking a dress? I’ll believe it when I see it. Did they not have a coronation tunic on hand for today?”
“No, but if I would have asked for one, Cheshire would have had it made within an hour.”
Wardley shook his head. “Isn’t that the sad truth?”
They laughed together until they stood in front of the vast golden doors that separated them from thousands of eyes. Harris was there, waiting like a father on her wedding day. He bowed, but not without difficulty. He had made incredible progress since Dinah had come for him in the Black Towers: the ruddiness in his cheeks had returned, and he had put on a few pounds since then. He was still painfully thin, and the dark gouges beneath his eyes lingered. But the joy that leaped out from them this day overpowered any sorrow drifting around him.
Harris clasped Dinah’s hands in his own and kissed both of her cheeks. “Finally.” Tears sprang to his eyes as he hugged her tightly. “The day I have dreamed about for so long is finally here. Are you ready, my queen?”
Dinah looked at the golden doors, remembering the last time she had stood here. It was the day her father had brought Vittiore into her life, the day that his violent grasp for power had begun. She had fought her way back to this place, and now, she would enter not as an abused child but as a woman.
As a queen.
She nodded. “I’m ready.” Wardley and Sir Gorrann pulled open the wide doors, and a chorus rose through the air, a song Dinah had not heard since childhood.
Ah, cruel three! In such an hour,
Beneath such dreamy weather,
To beg a tale of breath too weak
To stir the tiniest feather!
Yet what can one poor voice avail
Against three tongues together?
Anon, to sudden silence won,
In fancy they pursue
The dream-child moving through a land
Of wonders wild and new,
In friendly chat with bird or beast—
And half believe it true.
And ever, as the story drained
The wells of fancy dry,
And faintly strove that weary one
To put the subject by,
“The rest next time—” “It is next time!”
The happy voices cry.
Thus grew the tale of Wonderland:
Thus slowly, one by one,
Its quaint events were hammered out—
And now the tale is done,
And home we steer, a merry crew,
Beneath the setting sun.
Painted doves, each swirled with glistening scenes too beautiful to linger on, were released to symbolize the arrival of the new queen. They were joined by a few white cranes from the Yurkei, a nod of support for Dinah. Vast swaths of white and red linen draped the domed ceiling, waving in the light breeze that caressed the crowd. Harris kissed her hand and let her go with a wink. We did it.
She took a tentative step up the impossibly long aisle, and then another. A pair of red jeweled slippers, her mother’s design, carried her down the aisle. As she walked the bloodred carpet toward the throne, her subjects bowed before her, a pleasure that never got old. Seemingly endless showers of rose petals fell upon her head. The choir of young boys raised their voices together until they formed one long, lonely note, a melancholy sound used for the ending of an age. Dinah reminded herself to breathe.
Mundoo and Cheshire waited for her at the end of the aisle, flanking the throne. They were surrounded by dozens of cloaked lords and the local clergy, each wearing their finest black robes. When Dinah reached them, Cheshire bowed and Mundoo simply gave a nod of his head. This was a gesture to show not only Dinah but the people of Wonderland that Mundoo was not one of her subjects but rather her equal. Mundoo looked resplendent in his full headdress of feathers and an intricately woven robe dotted with tiny stitched mountains. It shifted in the bright afternoon light. Cheshire wore his purple cloak, now adorned with dozens of sparkling brooches. The most powerful man in Wonderland had a need for everyone to know his position.
Dinah reached the throne, her breath catching in her throat, crushed under a wave of happiness and the weight of her dress. There they were, the pair of gold thrones, cut from the same metal as Mundoo’s throne in Hu-Yuhar. Each was shaped like one large heart. They were embellished at the top with a cascade of rising hearts, each one razor sharp and more folded than the next. The throne next to her sat empty, with only a white rose placed on it—a single rose to hold that place until she married.
Dinah climbed the stone steps she had knelt before so many times and turned to face the crowd. As she looked down upon her subjects, she was crushed by a surprising wave of gratitude and love. Standing here, in the place that was always destined for her, Dinah’s soul was sailing. She raised her hand and the crowd grew silent. Dinah stared at each of them, a dazzling smile upon her radiant face, before sitting upon her throne.
The ceremony began, an intricate and ancient set of rituals with many readings, proclamations, stories, and songs. It took hours. Dinah stood and sat repeatedly while affirming each and every clause and duty of the queen. Each one she stored in her heart, convinced that each pledge of fealty would make her a better queen, a better leader, than those who had come before her.
At the end of the lengthy ceremony—Dinah noticed some children in the first row nodding off—the four commanders of the Cards approached her, each carrying a gold tray displaying a single playing card. Wardley and Sir Gorrann stood between the new commander of the Clubs and the new commander of the Diamonds, who was still nursing a thigh wound. All bowed before her, their trays outstretched. Cheshire stepped before the queen holding a single pearl-headed needle. Dinah gave her finger, which he cradled in a red felt cloth. Then he brought the needle down into her finger, much harder than Dinah believed was necessary. She didn’t make a sound as he withdrew it and a dot of warm blood pooled on the tip. He stepped aside as each of the four Cards brought up his tray and playing card. Dinah leaned forward and pressed her blood onto the surface of each card, one by one. The Cards were covered with dozens of other bloody fingerprints, from the kings and queens who had come before her. When it was Wardley’s turn, he gave her a sly smile. It was as if a thin shard of glass had been deftly inserted into her heart. She ignored it, giving him a shy smile in return. Nothing would take this day from her.