Dinah moved faster than she ever had, with a strength that came from somewhere else pulsing through her muscles. Dinah grabbed a handful of Vittiore’s thick golden hair and flung her out of bed. Vittiore weighed barely more than a feather. She bounced off a dresser before she really understood what was happening. Dinah leaned over her, her devastated ebony eyes full of rage, her mouth twisted in a violent smile. Vittiore wiped her eyes, confused, and then began crying, her hand held out in front of her.
“Oh Dinah, please! I’m sorry! Please, Your Majesty, let me explain! You don’t understand!”
“I do understand,” said Dinah calmly. She grabbed Vittiore’s hair once again and began dragging her toward the door. Wardley, now wide awake, leaped from the bed.
“Dinah! Stop! What are you doing? Don’t touch her!”
Dinah glanced at Wardley with dead eyes before picking up his sword where it lay forgotten beside the bed. She turned it over in the light, watching the flickering candles reflecting across the clean blade.
“Restrain him.”
Ki-ershan stared back at her, utterly confused.
“I said, restrain him,” she ordered, her voice flat and emotionless.
“No!” Wardley leaped across the room as Ki-ershan stared at Dinah. The Knave of Hearts twisted around and grabbed Ki-ershan’s sword from his back. He lunged for Dinah. The fool, thought Dinah with a smile. Ki-ershan pounced on Wardley, whose hysterical voice bounced off the walls.
“Put the sword down. Don’t do this! This isn’t you! Please, gods, please!” Wardley was screaming at the top of his lungs now, his wrenching cries falling on deaf ears.
Ki-ershan struggled to regain control of the sword. Everything was happening so fast, but Dinah saw only Vittiore. The girl who had stolen her crown, and now her future. Wardley’s voice grew louder.
“Please! Dinah, stop! You are my friend. Please don’t do this.”
He brought the sword down toward Ki-ershan, who nimbly leaped out of the way. Dinah threw Vittiore down on the floor before her, one hand still tangled up in her hair, and brought her other hand hard across the girl’s face. Then she yanked Vittiore onto her knees. Moving quickly, Dinah lifted Wardley’s sword and pressed it against Vittiore’s porcelain neck. Wardley let out a bellow, his entire body straining against Ki-ershan’s arms.
“No, please, don’t hurt her! Kill me, take me! Dinah, do not do this! You are not your father!” His face contorted as he howled. “Alllliiiicccceeeeee!”
Dinah had never heard that name. She smiled a sad smile at Vittiore.
“Do you love him, Vittiore?”
“My name is Alice,” Vittiore whispered in return. The girl’s blue eyes found Wardley, and Dinah felt like she had been plunged into icy water. Wardley and Alice stared at each other, a thousand unspoken truths passing between them. Then she looked up at Dinah. “And yes, I do love him. I have loved him always.”
Dinah let go of Vittiore’s hair. The girl remained perfectly still, her eyes trained on Wardley, who writhed and screamed as Ki-ershan wrestled the sword from his grasp. Dinah stood tall, her figure illuminated by the moonlight and candles, which seemed to flare up with her roiling madness. She was only her rage.
“Not as long as I have.”
With both hands, she brought the sword down on the girl’s neck in one swift motion. Blood splattered Dinah’s face. Alice’s head fell from her body, landing facedown atop the pile of silk sheets. Her body gave a few twitches and collapsed beside it.
“Alice!” Wardley let out a scream, its wrenching sound tearing her away from the fury for just a moment. His hysterical cries seemed to shake the castle. “Gods, no!”
He fell forward. Ki-ershan stepped back and let him hit the floor, but as soon as Wardley’s knees touched, he twisted away from Ki-ershan and grabbed a silver dagger that lay on a dresser. Wardley launched himself at Dinah, the dagger held aloft in his hands. He was quick, but the Yurkei warrior was quicker. Ki-ershan grabbed a silver candlestick and brought it down against his head with a sickening crack. Wardley’s dagger was mere inches from Dinah’s neck.
Wardley collapsed, unconscious, in Dinah’s arms. Dazed, she looked at him, at the wet tears on his face, and then down at her gown, which was soaked with blood. She blinked. There was blood on her hands, the floor. It was all around her. The boiling fury receded from her vision, but in its place was a whirling circle of inky black.
Ki-ershan caught her before she hit the floor. Wardley slipped out of her arms. His body slumped against Vittiore’s headless form, his head nuzzled against the small of her back. Before Dinah lost consciousness, she heard Iu-Hora’s voice in her head. She had cut out the heart of the one she loved most.
Fourteen
Dinah swam slowly up toward consciousness. Up, up, out of the void, to light and hushed voices. Up, out of violent dreams filled with unspeakable horrors and bleak futures. Up, toward Harris, who softly called to her.
“Dinah, Dinah . . .”
Dinah opened her eyes. She was back in her chambers, in her own bed. She looked down. A plain white nightgown, completely without blemish or adornment, covered her body. Dinah exhaled a sigh of relief and let her head fall back onto the goose-down pillow. It had been a dream, thank the gods, the most terrible dream. Her eyes closed again, reaching back for the deep sleep that had eluded her that night.
“Dinah.”
With a start, she turned her head and opened her black eyes. Harris’s face was next to hers, his chair pulled up next to the bed. He cradled her face gently in his wrinkled hands, his skin like thin paper. His face was tired and worn, and his eyes were bloodshot.
“Oh, Dinah, my child.” He rested his hand on her forehead. “What have you done?”
Dinah slowly raised up her hands. Dried blood covered them, deeply caked in the cracks of her fingers, crusted in the valley of her wrist.
“No!” She clumsily pulled herself out of bed and ran to her mirror. The monster in her dreams stared back at her. Blood speckles covered her face. Her tangled hair was matted and damp with sweat. Dried blood streaked her arms. The soles of her feet were covered with it. She let out a shriek.
“Get it off, Harris! Get it off me!”
He simply stared at Dinah.
“Get it off me! I command it!” She was hysterical now as she made her way to the tub, climbing in and fumbling with the long, swan-necked spout that dangled from the ceiling. “Please, Harris! Help me!”
Harris’s gaze was unwavering. A hissing stream of water poured out of the spout and Dinah held it over her head, not bothering to take off her nightgown. The scalding water burned her skin, but the dried blood began to flake off and form rivulets that circled the drain. Sobbing, she grabbed a hedgehog skin and scrubbed her hands, feet, and face until her own skin began to crack and bleed. Again and again she raked the washskin over her hands, muttering, “No, no, no, oh gods, no . . .”
Finally, Harris walked over. He took the hedgehog skin from her and set it down beside the bath. “No amount of scrubbing,” he said simply, “will take the blood off your hands.”
Dinah pulled her nightgown off and watched it float on the surface of the water like a crimson ghost.