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“What are you doing out here on this freezing morning?”
Dinah gave a shrug. “It’s not that cold. You’ve never been a winter person. I like winter. Here, I brought you warm tarts.”
Dinah removed the steaming pastries from the folds of her cloak. The raspberry jam had already leaked through the cheesecloth, and its scent filled the yard.
Wardley licked his lips. “Oh, Dinah, you are too good. This is just what I needed. You’re incredible, you know that?” He took the pastry from her hand and shoved it eagerly into his mouth in one terribly messy bite. Powdered sugar dusted his top lip. Dinah smiled shyly as she circled a pink heart in the snow with her boot. Seeing Wardley was sometimes the only happy part of her entire day.
“My father came to see me this morning.”
“And he was horrible to you, as always?” As Wardley spoke, puffs of tart flew out of his mouth and floated down onto Corning. Dinah gave Wardley an amused smile.
“Must you always eat as if you were starving?” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it up to him.
He wiped his mouth and smiled. “Sorry. If you must know, I am always starving.”
“You know my father—he would have to speak to me to be horrible. He came in, had some angry words with Harris, and stormed out, but not before he threw my tray of food on the floor.”
Wardley stopped eating and narrowed his eyes. “And then you gave the tarts to me?”
Dinah smiled, her white teeth gleaming against the pink snow. “No. Those are fresh from the kitchen. I threw away the food—well, rather, Emily did.”
That was the short version of the story. Really, Dinah cowered in a corner while her father shouted at Harris all the things that Dinah was doing wrong and the depth of his disappointment in her. She wasn’t pretty, she was stupid, she wasn’t a lady, she wasted her time daydreaming and exploring the castle, she was horrible at croquet, she was unfit to rule … As the king struck Harris with his huge open hand, Dinah withered onto the floor. When the king turned on her, she covered her face and spun away. Her father left with a disgusted sneer. His rages came more and more frequently now, it seemed. When she was a child, he had always been cold and distant, but begrudgingly polite. Now, he openly hated her in front of her servants. The King of Hearts was still cordial in public, but his seething loathing was like a black undercurrent, sucking the color out of every party and public gathering of the royal family. Dinah avoided him at all costs, and even Harris and Emily had learned to stay far away from the King of Hearts and his fiery temper.
Back in the stables, Dinah sat down on an overturned bucket with a huff. “I hate him. He’s terrible.”
Wardley dismounted his horse with one smooth kick of his leg and wrapped his free arm around Dinah, the other holding fast to his practice sword. “I know your father isn’t a great father all the time.”
“Or ever,” replied Dinah sullenly. “He’s not the way a father is supposed to be. He’s not anything like your father.”
Wardley gave an understanding smile. Unlike Dinah, he adored his gentle father. “I know. But the king must love you; I’m sure he does … in his own horrible way. Ruling Wonderland isn’t for the fainthearted, and the crown weighs heavy, you know that. You are his daughter, his only viable heir, and someday he will see you for the …” He seemed at a loss for words. He patted her cheek lightly, and Dinah stopped breathing. “For the fierce woman that you will become. The Queen of Hearts. A good and just queen, and a doting sister. I see you growing stronger each day, and someday he will see that.”
“Someday,” she grumbled, “is not today.”
Wardley raised his hand, brushing the side of Dinah’s cheeks. “You …” His voice caught in his throat. “Will be an amazing queen one day.”
His touch was like fire on her skin, and she felt her pulse, along with every inch of her, raise to meet his fingers. Her breathing labored as he gently stroked her cheek. She looked up at him expectantly and when their eyes met, Wardley blushed and looked away. He leaped back from her as if she was dangerous, clumsily drawing his sword.
“Then you should tell your father how you feel. Today! I command it.”
It took a moment for Dinah to breathe again, but she did, grabbing a broom handle leaning against the stable door and shaking off her black cloak. She took a fighting stance and swung her broomstick at Wardley. He parried and moved to the side.
“I will! I’ll tell him, ‘Father! You are getting slow and mean in your old age. You are no longer the warrior you once were. Give me my kingdom already, you beast! Then I will defeat the Yurkei, once and for all!’”
Their swords rang together, wood on steel, through the stables and out into the yard. It was a complicated and perfected dance, one they had done thousands of times before. Wardley spun and easily deflected her downswing as Dinah caught him lightly on the hip with the side of the broom handle.
“Ow! That was hard!” He laughed.
He was distracted momentarily, and Dinah swung hard for his head. Wardley ducked and easily lopped off the top of her broom handle with his sword.
“You always go for the head. Always with these ill-planned swings,” he lectured. “It leaves you open. Wait for the right opportunity, and then go for the strike. Don’t go for it the minute you have any opening. You’re too impulsive. Xavier has been working with me on identifying my weaknesses, and that, my friend, is yours. It will be the last thing you do in a battle.”
Dinah smiled and brushed a string of black hair out of her eyes. “I’ll never be in battle. Croquet is the closest I’ll come to that, I imagine.”
“A queen should know how to defend herself,” Wardley answered, picking up the broom piece from the stable floor. “Even if all you do is listen to complaints and grow fat eating warm tarts on your throne. The King of Hearts is a seasoned warrior. He might not be a great father, but I know him as a commander. He is every bit the unyielding man Wonderlanders say he is. You shouldn’t be so hard on him. You should hope to be like him in that matter.”
“I’m hard on him?” Dinah flung her broken stick away. “I’m hard on him? He looks at me only with disgust and contempt. He treats Harris awfully, and gods know what women he has up in the mistresses’ chamber every night … .”
Wardley pushed his sword into the dirt and grabbed Dinah’s arm. It gave a passionate tremor under his calloused skin. “Dinah, be quiet.” He gave her a gentle shake. “You could be put in the Black Towers for saying such things. I know you haven’t had the best time without your mother, but this obvious hatred for your father could get you or, even worse, me killed.” He gave her a naughty grin, followed by a wink.
The thought stopped the argument rising in Dinah’s throat. She would never do anything to hurt Wardley. Never. Wardley had been her constant companion and playmate ever since she could toddle around the castle on chubby legs. When they were younger, Harris and Emily left her frequently with Wardley’s mother, a lady of the court, and the two children would scamper off chasing birds and pudgy hedgehogs that roamed the palace grounds. Wardley taught her how to wield a sword, how to ride Speckle, how to pee outside, and how to eat a tart without her hands. To a child, Wonderland Palace was truly full of marvel, and exploring its secrets together had brought Dinah more joy than any other part of her childhood. Wardley was hers and hers alone, something her father could never take from her. Not that it mattered much. The King of Hearts doted on Wardley and encouraged his fine abilities. He tolerated their friendship and almost encouraged it by his lack of anger toward Dinah when Wardley was around. If only she could be near him always …
Dinah turned that last wish in her heart as she scowled at him. “I’m leaving,” she snapped. “I don’t need to be told what to do by a boy with sugar powder all over his face.”
Wardley grinned. “Dinah, c’mon …”
“NO.”
She pulled her cloak over her pale-gray dress lined with red hearts and tucked her long black braid back into the hood. “That’s the last tart you will ever get from me. Who are you to lecture the Princess of Wonderland? No one, a lowly stable boy.”
Wardley pushed his hair back from his forehead and gave her a knowing smile. “All right, but I’ll still be hungry tomorrow.”
“Good-bye.”
“Dinah, wait!”
Her heart throbbed in her chest as she turned back to him. He leaned against the side of Corning, his face close to hers, whispering, “You can’t say anything like that about your father again, unless we are outside the palace or in our box in the Heart Chapel, do you understand? I’m serious.”
Dinah saw a rare glimpse of fear in his chocolate-brown eyes. She gave a sigh. “I won’t. I won’t say anything to get you in trouble, I promise.”
“Good.” Wardley gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze. “I enjoy having my head.” He pulled Corning over by his red reins and mounted up. “Will you come see me again tomorrow, after training?”
“Perhaps. If I have time. I probably won’t. Tomorrow is the Royal Croquet Game.”
“Ah yes, your favorite day of the year.”
Dinah grimaced. She hated the Royal Croquet Game. “Perhaps I can find a way to hit Vittiore with my mallet.”
“Go easy on her. I think your father scares her. She seems terrified all the time.”
“He should scare her. She’s a bastard child, unworthy of a minute of his time. I hope she dies of wheezing fever.”
Wardley looked off into the distance, focused on something Dinah couldn’t see. “You don’t mean that. So, you’ll visit me tomorrow, maybe after croquet? Or I’ll see you at the game.”
Of course, of course, her heart sang, I will see you every day! She gave a shrug.
“Good. Before I forget, I have something for Charles. Can you give this to him?” He handed Dinah a tiny wooden seahorse. He had whittled it himself; there was truly nothing Wardley couldn’t master.
She turned it over in her hand, admiring his craftsmanship. “He’ll love it.”
Wardley wheeled Corning around and out into the winter air. “See you tomorrow!” he declared. She smiled and waved as he joined the ranks of Heart Cards, marching in silent formation toward the courtyard, their steps echoing in harsh, single notes. Xavier Juflee patted him hard on the back as they galloped to the front of the line.
Dinah tiptoed out of the stable area, back into the circular labyrinth. As she rounded the endless curves and switchbacks of stalls, she allowed a smile to play across her face. One year ago, in the bright Wonderland sun, Wardley had given Dinah her first kiss, a light brush of his lips over her top one. They had been under the Julla Tree, a massive red skeleton with silky mulberry leaves and buzzing black fruit that opened and closed every hour. As children, they had climbed the Julla Tree hundreds of times, to play Tribes and Cards or to spy on the ladies’ bathing quarters. Now, they escaped to the leafy shelter to have a minute of stillness with each other—Wardley from his endless training, and Dinah from her lessons and, sometimes, her father.
It had been summer then, and Dinah was sixteen years old. The lunch trumpets had sounded from the Royal Apartments, and Dinah had reluctantly dropped the fruit she had been snacking on and slipped down the tree. Her ankle twisted at the bottom, and she fell, cutting her leg open on the tree’s thorny roots—fat fingers that twisted up from the ground to protect the tree. Wardley followed her and gently wiped the blood from her leg with his hand.
“Are you okay?” he’d asked, holding her leg in his large hand. Dinah gave him a brave smile, though she felt like sobbing. She didn’t want Wardley to see her cry, even though he had several times—like when Vittiore had a costume ball thrown in her honor, when Harris began teaching Vittiore in the evenings instead of Dinah, or when her father had forgotten to send her tea on All Tea’s Day.
Wardley wiped his hand on the Julla Tree’s fuzzy trunk, looked deeply into her black eyes, and kissed her. His lips were cool and soft, and his mouth tasted like lemons. Dinah leaned in, but he had pulled back, resting his hands on her flaming cheeks, his eyes filled with curiosity as he took in her face. He was trying to understand something; she could see it in his eyes. Dinah gasped, purely out of shock at the sudden heat rushing through her veins, and Wardley gave an easy shrug. “Just wanted to see what it felt like.” He swung himself back into the Julla Tree with a laugh, and Dinah walked, dazed and giddy, toward the castle.
A year had passed since then, and Dinah could still feel the touch of his lips upon hers as she wound her way out of the stables. Layers of pink snow dusted the swirling gold spires of Wonderland Palace, and the entire kingdom seemed to hold its breath with a still glow. A large group of Spade Cards was lounging near the red-glass doors that led into the palace. Dinah pulled her cloak over her head, hoping to hide her face, but her lips gave an uncertain jerk as she moved closer to them. They stood with an exaggerated ease, snickers escaping their blackened mouths.
“Your HIGH-ness.” They gave slight bows.
As she passed, she heard one of them murmuring under his breath: “The king’s daughter, disgrace to the throne. Looks nothing like her mother.”
“Recard,” whispered another.
Dinah’s heart was flapping wildly now. An uncontrollable rage started at her fingertips and worked its way into her chest. She stumbled, and the tiny wooden seahorse that Wardley had given her dropped from her hand. It rolled to a rest against the steel-tipped boot of a Spade.
“Aye, what’s this?” He bent down and picked it up, the figure minuscule against his large hand. “A toy? Aren’t yeh a bit old for toys, Princess?”
“It’s a seahorse, and it’s mine. Please give it back.” Dinah raised her eyes to meet his, hoping her trembling lip wouldn’t betray the shame she felt. “Please.”
The Spade gave Dinah a hard look. “Come and get it, Yer Highness.”
His eyes were a mottled gold, she noted with surprise. It was such a stark color against his black-on-black uniform, his long gray hair, and the black symbol of a spade tattooed underneath his right eye. The other Spades remained motionless, half-bowed, as Dinah took a timid step toward him. She started to extend her left hand for the seahorse and then thought better of it. I am the Princess of Wonderland, she told herself. Remember what Harris says. Someday I will be queen.
“No.”
The Spades jerked their heads up with curiosity.
“I am the Princess of Wonderland, and you will put it in my hand.”
The gold-eyed Spade gave a deep hoot. “Aye, indeed you are, although the other princess has the look of one. If it were up to me, pretty Lady Vittiore would be the one getting the crown.”
Rising anger burned her spine. With a swift movement, Dinah reached up and struck the Spade, hard across his face. One of her pearl rings left a thin trail of blood across his left cheek. He lunged at her, only to catch himself, his fist inches from her face. Dinah reveled in his shock.
“The Lady Vittiore is not a princess, she is only a duchess. Now, you will put the toy in my hand.”
The Spade gave her an amused smile. “No problem, Princess.” He reached out.
“No. My other hand.”
He looked down with a grimace at her other arm, tucked firmly within her cloak. She made no move to pull it out for him. The other Spades watched in shock as he tried in vain to get the seahorse into her hand without groping her, an action surely punishable by death. Dinah watched the farce silently, as if her arm were detached from her body and she was merely a spectator to this man fumbling around her cloak. Finally, the ashamed Spade pressed the toy into her palm, and Dinah closed her fist around it. The Spade walked back to the barrel he had been sitting on and leaned over it, peering at Dinah. A keen interest now replaced what had been mockery on his face moments earlier.
“Eh, so yeh have some of your father’s fiery blood in you then, do you?”
Dinah scowled at him. “Speak to me again and I’ll have you sent to the Black Towers in a coffin. What is your name?”
The man paled. “I was just joking, Yer Highness. Please don’t report me to the king.”
“I said, What is your name?”
His dirty hands wrung together. “Gorrann. Sir Gorrann.”
“Well, Sir Gorrann, I will not report you to the king this day. But if you ever insult me again, I will have your head. No need to involve the king.”
With a hard look she brushed past them, her black cloak trailing behind her. As soon as the red-glass palace doors closed behind her, Dinah plunged into an empty corridor off the main hall. Her lips parted in a soft cry, but she steeled herself from the shame. Victorious, she clutched the wooden seahorse in one sweaty hand and wiped the tears from her face with the other as she made her way to her brother’s chambers.
Four (#u7dec2894-5c8d-5be7-a534-2b9d4df5a471)
Charles’s quarters were located in the western tower of the Royal Apartments, situated neatly above the castle’s kitchens. Her father had given in building materials what he never gave Charles in life. The king showed no other sign of love, affection, or even duty to his son. Charles’s room, as a result, was one of the strangest places in the entire palace. Huge white columns inlaid with red hearts twisted up to the ceiling where they met an expansive fresco featuring all the creatures of Wonderland. Hornhooves, gryphons, birds of all types, great whales, white-striped bears, and four-winged dragons danced across the ceiling in rich paints.
It would have been lovely—a gorgeous work of art—if crudely drawn hats had not been scribbled across the creatures in black charcoal. The animals now wore ugly slashes of feathers, top hats, and huge fedoras in wavy, messy lines that ran from one to another without stopping. The hats were richly detailed, the lines between them angry slashes—the art of madness.
Sad, Dinah thought as she gazed upward, her hood falling back onto her neck, that madness and genius were always melded together in this room.
The room itself was a testament to Charles’s obsession. Racks upon racks of hats rose up from the floor, twisting and circling between rickety, half-built staircases that led to nothing but air. Doors had been attached to the hat racks, swinging open and shut with the cold air blowing in from a large open window at the top of the main staircase. This staircase was Charles’s favorite, covered with hundreds of bolts and swatches of fabric. Piles of melting snow were accumulating on the window ledge in little drifts. Dinah gave a sigh and climbed up one of the rickety staircases, shutting the window firmly and securing the clasp. She heard a skittering of tiny feet below.
“Charles. You cannot leave the window open when it’s snowing outside. It’s bitterly cold in here, and the snow will get all over your new hats. We’ve talked about this.” She dusted off a sturdy gray fedora with orange canary feathers embroidered into a sun and stars. “You have to be careful with them.”
At her feet, a matted head of dirty yellow hair rose up in a space between the wide stair treads. “Pink snow on pink hats makes the walrus dance. He dances on the sea, hee-hee!”
Charles jumped out from under the staircase. Dinah gasped as he fell to the floor, somersaulting on his rough landing and leaping up into a kicking dance. “Snow on the hat, snow on the hat, black like your Cheshire Cat!”
He gave a high-pitched giggle, and Dinah laughed with him. Charles was younger by only two years, but in his madness he was practically ageless. He was a genius, a savant, a helpless infant and naughty child, all mixed into one tiny boy. He had been born mad—a squealing infant who never slept, a silent toddler who would bang his head against the wall, a curious boy who once ate glass and loved nothing more than to look at the stars. Davianna, Dinah’s mother, had loved her crazed son fiercely and was best at dealing with him. When she curled her arms around him, clutching him to her chest as though she could squeeze the madness out, he relaxed and was content, even as he babbled nonsensically. With his mother’s intense love and focus, Charles seemed to be improving, step by tiny step. When she died, he went completely maniacal and never returned.
He was regularly found wandering around the castle, a dead bird in one hand and a tart in the other. It was as likely that he had taken a bite out of one as he had the other. He once walked off the Great Hall balcony, breaking both legs on the marble steps below. After that, his walk consisted of short steps and a trotting leap—the grotesque gait of the permanently insane.
Then he stopped eating for a while. Not even Dinah, his beloved sister, could get him to eat. Barely more than a child herself at ten years old, she pleaded with him as she tried to shove a tart, soup, quail, anything into his open mouth. He grew weaker, retreating completely into his own wondrous world, and the entire kingdom dressed in black, awaiting the death of the little Prince of Hearts.
On what surely could have been one of his final nights, Dinah brought in a trunk full of their deceased mother’s clothing. She tucked it all around him, her dresses, slips, and socks, so that he might be comforted on his journey to another place. Charles’s fingers had found one of her mother’s bejeweled hats, the one she had worn for All Tea’s Day the year before—a gorgeous plum hat with a tall plume, plump and glittering in his small hand. An absurd smile played across his translucent skin as he turned the hat over and over in his hands, a look of fascination on his face. He then turned to Dinah and simply asked for a biscuit.
“My Dinah,” he had whispered with a smile, his small hand tracing her chin. “Biscuit?”
She saw it in his eyes that day—he had decided to stay, just like that. That was seven years ago. Since then, Charles never left his room. He watched the world from his windows, where he occasionally threw his lavishly made hats down onto adoring townspeople. A hat created by Charles, the so-called Mad Hatter, was worth more than any piece of clothing in Wonderland. His creations were inspired works of skill and insanity. Unapologetically whimsical, rich in every color found in nature and some that weren’t, they were a testament to Charles’s lunacy.
He rarely slept or bathed. His two loyal servants, Lucy and Quintrell, saw to all his needs. They kept his chambers from falling into disrepair but allowed his mind the freedom to create in the wild lunacy that he fostered. Tapestries and huge rolls of fabric covered the ground and most of the walls. Narrow walkways had been created for the servants, but Charles simply danced over the rainbow floor, his feet barely brushing the patterned fabrics of amethyst, pumpkin, taupe, and lapis.
Charles looked up at Dinah, still standing on the stairway. He giggled and sang, “A ribbon across their necks, one, two, hearts. Check and check!”
She looked down at the tawny head and the mismatched blue and green eyes that stared back at her wildly. “Do you remember my name today?”
“Dinah, rhymes with lima, beans and more beans, growing up and up, over the hills into the pale white, like sugar on a pie, die, die …”
Dinah gave him a proud smile. “That’s right, Charles. Dinah. Your sister. I brought you something today.”
His right eye blinked twice. “Something? Something like the sun, inching closer every day. It will burn us, uh-oh, it will.”
