Dinah turned and wandered through the Twisted Wood, taking in each head. Her empathy for them was much deeper than it had been last time. Ruling was not for the faint of spirit, and she could no more judge those who’d held the crown before her than she could her own heart.
The heads of the Yurkei chiefs were here as well, situated together in a tight cluster at the end of the valley. The strong heads of handsome warriors were crowned not with a piece of gold or silver, but with feathers or elaborate fabric swirls that trailed down over their faces. The eyes of the Yurkei made her feel as if they were watching her as she walked along, touching each face, marveling at its size and beauty. She found Mundoo’s head standing upright, a cascade of feathers down the side of his temple. His eyes were made out of blue sapphires that glimmered and danced in the canopied sunlight. Fitting for the hero of his people, and a dear friend.
She tucked a second bunch of flowers across his feathered head and smiled at the uncanny likeness. Mundoo had been in fierce form when she saw him a week ago, when they had met to exchange Morte’s newest offspring. The peace treaty held, and her yearly trips to Hu-Yuhar had become a beloved tradition of both Wonderlanders and the Yurkei. Now, the celebration of the newest Hornhoov colt eclipsed even the Royal Croquet Game. She smiled. Then again, what wouldn’t Wonderlanders use as an excuse for a lavish party?
She walked past the statues, her boots crunching in the wet twigs. Who made these, and why? She would never know.
Not a fearful child any longer, she found the valley strangely beautiful—a perfect place for kings and queens to find their royal rest both during their life and after death.
Beyond a thick gathering of white trees, a clearing caught her eye. She pushed through a curtain of white moss, feeling her breath catch in her throat. The grass here was green and short, not unlike the grass on the croquet grounds at home. The ground in this clearing was covered with pale blue flowers, the morning dew glistening on their flat petals. There she was.
Dinah’s gray stone head sat straight and tall, with Charles’s crown upon her head. Her sculpted short black hair fell like a waterfall on the sides of her face. No jewels sat around her neck. Her eyes were carved from black obsidian, narrowed in fury. Her mouth curved up in a half smile, and though her eyes were angry, her face was serene, carved forever with a look of wisdom. The crown was perfect in its replication. Dinah absently ran her fingers over the sharp tips upon her actual head. She stared at her likeness in wonder, thinking that this was a very strange feeling indeed.
From high above, the trees let out a deep groan. Dinah watched as the woods rippled like water. Several trunks twisted in her direction. Something rumbled in the foliage next to her, and Dinah’s hand went to her sword. She heard high shrieks and what sounded like a thousand tiny feet crashing over ancient roots, destroying the sacred peace of the Twisted Wood. A smile crept over her face as three now-filthy children exploded out from the bushes and circled around her.
“Mama, did you see it? Did you see? It’s you!”
Dinah scooped up Davi, her youngest daughter, as Amabel and Charles, her nine-year-old twins, tugged at each other and pointed. They ran around the head several times before they tumbled to the ground, shrieking with laughter. They wrestled like puppies around Morte, shoving each other as he looked at them with annoyance. Finally, they came to a stop at Dinah’s feet.
“That’s you!” Charles, the spitting image of his father, said. He put his hands on his hips and his ruddy cheeks flushed. “I want my own head when I’m king.”
Dinah rested her hand on his cheek. “You’ll have one, love. Someday you and Amabel will both rest here in the Valley of Heads.”
Charles turned to his twin sister. “I bet when your head is here, it’ll be covered with crane droppings!”
Amabel shoved him hard, and before Dinah could intervene they were running, a swirl of dirt and insults mixed with sibling familiarity like a cloud around them. Wardley descended on them, and soon he was hauling them apart.
“You two! Is this the way that princes and princesses should act?” he asked, trying to keep the smile off his face.
They both looked at the ground.
“Now, forgive each other so we can go look at the rest of the heads.”
Amabel reluctantly hugged her brother before Wardley lifted her up and kissed her hard on both cheeks, a fierce love for his children dancing over his face. The King of Hearts didn’t smile often, but it was always his children that made his face transform into the Wardley Dinah remembered, the carefree boy with flour dashed across his mouth. He lived for his children, and they adored him.
“We should go now,” Wardley intoned to Ki-ershan, who sat nearby on a gray-speckled Hornhoov. Ki-ershan nodded silently. Charles hung on Wardley’s right hand and Amabel on his left as the King of Hearts dragged the giggling twins after him, disappearing behind the white moss curtain.
Dinah turned back to her youngest daughter, so still and silent, always watching. Of all the children, six-year-old Davi looked the most like her—hair black as a raven’s wing, eyes such a dark brown that they glittered like ink. Davi was lean and long, and much more clever than her two older siblings. She was sensitive and easily hurt, a quality Dinah loved. At times, she could be quietly thoughtful and kind to her family. Those days, when Dinah looked at her, she saw the best parts of herself. There were other times, though, when she was bullied by her older siblings and stared at them with such a consuming envy that it alarmed Wardley. After that, Davi would retreat into her own isolated world. Dinah stayed silent, because she could see that her daughter wasn’t removing herself for anyone else’s sake; Davi was plotting. On those days, when Dinah looked at her daughter, she saw someone else.
With a soft smile, Dinah curled her arms around her. “What’s the matter?” Dinah nodded to the statue of her head. “Does it scare you?”
Davi nodded and buried her head against Dinah’s shoulder. “I don’t like it.”
Dinah ran her hand over Davi’s dark hair. “It’s just a stone. It’s not me.”
“Does it mean you will die?”
“Someday. But not soon.”
Davi whimpered. “I don’t want you to leave. I wish you could stay forever.”
Dinah pressed her red lips against Davi’s cool cheeks. “Would that I could, my darling.”
Morte trotted up beside them, and with a smile, Dinah put her tiny daughter on his still back. Davi shrieked with laughter.
“Look how high I am!”
Davi’s face grew determined, her eyes glinting in a way that caused Dinah’s heart to twist uncomfortably.
“Look, Mama! I am higher than Amabel and Charles!” She reached her hand down to Dinah’s head. “Can I hold it? Please, Mama?”
It was the question she asked every day.
With a grimace, Dinah removed the heavy crown from her head and handed it to Davi, who placed it on her small head. It slipped over her eyes and she laughed. Then Davi stood on Morte’s back and pointed at the sky.