A bitter wind danced around her, and she heard the low moans of the trees in the Twisted Wood carry over the land, a sound she no longer found terrifying. To her, the sound was comforting, like the trees were calling her back to their mysteries. Her hair blew around her face as she caught the hint of a black shadow moving swiftly over the ground. Dinah squinted. It couldn’t be. She ran to the edge of the balcony. It was.
She flew toward the door, yelling to Ki-ershan as she ran from her chambers. Soon she was sprinting through the palace, Ki-ershan loping behind her, peppering her with questions she fully ignored. A black cat, so dark he was almost plum, gave a lazy yawn as she raced past, licking his paws with contentment. Faster her feet flew through the hallways, then the courtyards, past the stables and toward the devastated iron gates. Three Spades stood guard, rushing to open the gates for their beloved queen while confused looks passed silently between them.
“Hurry!” she shouted. “Please! Open the gates! Faster!”
With a clang, the gates slowly opened, only wide enough for Dinah to slip through. She felt the cool grass beneath her feet, and the faintest bite of autumn nipping at her ankles. When she reached the cusp of the hill that overlooked the palace, she stopped running. She bent over to catch her breath, getting dizzy. Ki-ershan stayed back, hesitant for the first time since he had become her guard. There was a danger here not even he could overcome. Dinah reached out her trembling hand.
Morte was badly hurt. Jagged scars ran the length of his body, and some traces of white Yurkei paint still lingered from battle. He was missing a large chunk of flesh beneath his left ear, where his blood had dried into a thick crust. Bone spikes on both of his back hooves were broken or dangling from their stumps, the raw marrow exposed. An arrow was buried deep in his flank, and each time he took a step, blood and greenish fluid seeped from the infected wound.
Morte stepped back with caution when Dinah approached him, letting out a nervous whinny as she reached toward his nose. As her fingertips brushed his nostril, he bucked backward. Dinah ducked as one of his bone spurs almost took her eye. His teeth snapped at her hand.
“Shhh . . . shhh . . .”
“Your Majesty?” Ki-ershan hissed. “He is probably wild with infection.”
“He’ll be fine.” Dinah repeated it again and again, until she too was convinced.
Letting out a deep breath, she bowed her head low before him. Then she reached out and gingerly placed her hand on Morte’s side, running it up and over his wounds. She walked around him with timid steps, taking in each injury.
Morte seemed unsure of who she was. When her hand returned to his nose, he jerked away, his hooves plowing long furrows in the earth. She walked in front of him and raised her head to stare into his huge black eyes. Again, Dinah lifted her hand to his muzzle, where he eventually bent to smell it. The smell of war still drifted from his mane as it blew around them. Together they stood silently as the sky around them lit up with moving stars, each one leaving a bright streak as it traveled toward the sea.
With reluctance, Morte finally let out a hiss of steam from his torn nostril, bent his head, and lifted his hoof. Dinah stepped carefully on it, her bare feet screaming in pain as the bone spikes pressed into her flesh. Using his mane, she pulled herself snugly across his neck, her legs falling so easily into the grooves of his shoulders. His back, that black ocean of hard muscle, welcomed her home, and she nuzzled down against him, feeling his gigantic ribs contract and expand.
From atop his back, she could see the dazzling spires of Wonderland Palace and the red glow that the palace cast on the land around it. From here she could imagine the small lives taking place; Harris, asleep in the library, glasses sliding off the end of his nose; Sir Gorrann, tossing back some ale as he chuckled among fellow Spades; and Wardley, staring out across the land with a burdened heart, wondering how much he would give for his kingdom.
Her absent crown weighed heavy against her head as she clicked her tongue and gave the slightest of kicks against Morte’s sides.
“Let’s go home,” she whispered.
After a moment of hesitation, Morte began an unsteady walk toward the palace, step after tender step. Dinah clutched his black hair and leaned her head against his thick neck. Her heart sang that he had returned to her, and that this broken thing was not beyond saving. Together they made their way back to the palace that had once been a prison for them both. As he walked, Dinah felt the beat of his heart thundering up from his chest, its chaotic lullaby so angry and yet so strong. A heart that beat much like her own.
EPILOGUE
Fifteen Years Later
The place was different than Dinah remembered it. The overgrown weeds were shorter, the foliage was not as heavy. The heads were still there, as stunning as the first time she had seen them. Their unsmiling mouths sat frozen as tall white ferns brushed up against them, tickling the faces of giants. The bright grass that Dinah remembered so vividly remained there; it was still a glowing, unearthly green.
The heads were still massive, and Dinah was glad to see that fear had not twisted her memory to remember things as grander than they actually were. Their etched gazes still seemed to pierce right through her chest. Some of the heads lay on their sides, others were completely upside down. She pointed. “There he is.”
Dinah urged Morte closer from where they perched at the top of the hill. She turned her face sideways to look at one particular face and crown.
“It’s him.”
The bronze head of the deceased King of Hearts rested upside down on the ground, propped on his crown, with his mouth open in an angry scream. Some happy breed of mottled purple birds had made a nest in his mouth, and she watched with curiosity as they fluttered in and out between his teeth. At first glance, his wide eyes reminded her of Charles, but only for a second.
She smiled and reached down to unhook a clutch of wildflowers that rested on her saddle. She climbed off Morte and landed with a hard grunt. Getting on and off was just a little bit harder now. She had grown a bit less graceful with age, though many said the handsome queen had never been stronger. She knelt down next to the statue and arranged the lavender flowers so they draped gracefully across the tip of his crown.
Dinah glanced back at Wardley. “I think I’m going to look around a bit.”
He nodded at her. “Stay by the heads. There are wild animals in this wood.”
She knew it well.
The King of Hearts gave her the smallest of smiles, though sometimes it seemed to hurt his face to do so. Dinah would take it. Wardley was mostly quiet in her presence, but strong and firm when with others. His tender brown eyes had recently taken on a peaceful gaze underneath the crown her father once wore. As she walked away, she could feel the curious gaze of her husband piercing her chest. She turned back to look at him, but he was staring at the sky, something he did often.