“Force them? Did you force yourself to play with me when we were children? Did Cheshire put you up to it? Or to seek me out when we were older? Were you forced to train me on the sword or to follow me here?”
Wardley shook his head angrily. “No. Never! You’re not listening. You don’t understand. Dinah, I would do anything for you!”
“Except truly love me in the way a man should love a woman,” she replied coldly. “Except kiss me.”
“Does that even matter?”
Dinah let out a hysterical laugh. “Does that matter? Does it matter?” She bent over, shallow prickly laughs tearing her into pieces. “It was the only thing that ever mattered, Wardley.”
Wardley closed his eyes and whispered to her, his words drifting off in the wind, blowing away with every light dream she had ever had. “I am yours in every other way . . . you are my best friend . . . my queen.”
She couldn’t listen anymore to his words. Not when her heart was thumping on the ground, bleeding, dying. Tears were flooding her vision, and a retching sob was making its way up her throat. She took a deep breath. “I need you to leave. Now, Wardley.”
“Dinah, no—”
“I COMMAND IT!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “OBEY ME!”
He turned away from her, making his way to the edge of the clearing. “I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow morning as we ride north.”
She shook her head, holding back the cruel words that longed to drip from her tongue.
Wardley turned back to her for a moment, his face wrenched with guilt before he finally disappeared into the bramble.
Dinah waited until she couldn’t hear his footsteps, then collapsed into gut-wrenching tears. An empty hopelessness overtook her, and she lay beside the pool, barely breathing through the ache. The thought of being with Wardley had kept her alive all those cold nights in the Twisted Wood, all those warm afternoons in Hu-Yuhar. She had always envisioned him sitting on the throne beside her, his hand in hers as they led Wonderland into a glorious and peaceful future. Now there was nothing, only blackness and despair. What would she fight for? What would she live for?
Waves of anguish and rejection washed over her, and she let herself drown, glad to feel anything against the numbness that threatened.
She thought of his face, and how just moments ago, his lips had been on hers. She bit down on them so hard that she tasted blood.
For hours, Dinah lay beside the pool, her heart throbbing over each word he had said.
He didn’t love her. He never would. He never did.
She was undone.
When the night finally settled around her, she heard someone calling her name. Wardley? She listened again. No. Sir Gorrann. With trembling hands, Dinah pushed herself to her knees and splashed the clear water of the pool on her face. Opening her black eyes, she stared at herself, hardly recognizing the face in the reflection. She had left Wonderland Palace an idealist, a naive girl who dreamed of an easy crown and ruling beside a man who would understand and love her heart.
Now a jilted woman stared back at her, a forgotten child, a bitter warrior. The ends of her long black hair, her mother’s hair, dripped in the pool. Her mother. Even when her mother had everything—a crown, a husband, children, and all the riches of Wonderland Palace—she had still been unhappy. But unlike Dinah, at least her mother had had the man she loved. Dinah wouldn’t even have that. She was alone. Hands clenching with rage, Dinah picked up her dagger. With two short tugs, she was able to cut off most of her hair, so that it hit her right at the chin. Without a second thought, Dinah tossed her braid into the pool and turned to meet Sir Gorrann. He ran up to her, his eyes filled with concern, his voice raining curses down on her that she didn’t hear. The pain was still alive inside her, consuming and insatiable.
The Spade gave her a hard shake, and Dinah’s glassy eyes finally connected with his.
“Yer Majesty! Dinah! What’s happened?”
Her lips trembled into an ironic smile. “He doesn’t want me. After all this time.”
Sir Gorrann’s eyes filled with sympathy, and he let Dinah lean against him. “I’m sorry, Yer Majesty. He’s a bloody fool. Come on, let’s get you back to your tent.”
She felt raw inside, stripped, and she followed without thought. Only the anger was left behind, and it was a raging current, Dinah helpless in its flow. She let Sir Gorrann help her through the bramble back to where Morte waited for her. He pawed the ground impatiently until she mounted him.
With a click of her tongue, they were flying over the landscape, leaving Sir Gorrann trailing far behind. With each pound of Morte’s hooves, she felt her sadness turning to anger. Her rage was boiling over, spilling out until she seethed with fury. She clutched Morte’s mane, driving him harder, faster, until the two of them moved over the earth in a blur of blackness. Disjointed thoughts began to twist in her mind, shadowy tendrils of skewed reason.
A dark smile crept across her face as she let the rage she had held back for so long consume her.
If she could not quench the fire burning within her, she would set Wonderland ablaze.
The Black Towers
Water dripped down from a small, rotted hole in the ceiling, trailing down the stone walls and into a tiny rivulet between two roots. The harmonic sound of the water was soon interrupted by a scream, spiraling up from the depths of the Towers. Harris shuddered, his shudder leading to a coughing fit that racked his ribs and left him heaving. Shackles of iron slinked across the floor as he made his way toward the tiny little puddle in his cell. His ancient fingers, once used to turn the pages of glorious books of history and language now struggled to fold a tiny piece of paper that a guard had dropped earlier. It was nothing, just a wrapper, but here in the Towers, an unexpected gift.
“Curses!” he mumbled out loud. There was no reply, not from another prisoner, not from even a guard. A voice would have been so welcome, even if it were full of menace.
He focused back on the task at hand, consoling himself with his own voice. “Remember, my dear, it’s not the size of the paper, but the size of your skill that matters.” He folded the top of the paper down until the edges aligned with the bottom of the paper and his withered fingers creased it. He continued to work, licking his dry lips from time to time as he struggled to remember what he had taught her all those years ago.
He remembered her sitting in the crook of a tree as he tried to teach her history, rolling her dark eyes and fiddling with the bark. “Harris, how long is forever?” she had asked.
Harris had smiled. “Sometimes, just one second.”
He folded the paper wings down so that they were perpendicular to the body, crest, and tail, and then with a final flourish, he creased the head. Harris smiled and held his creation up in the waning light of the Towers before setting it down in the dirty puddle of water. The crane stared back at him, bobbing slightly.
The queen was coming. He knew it. That was not the question.
The question was who would she be when she got here.
Acknowledgments
In every novel, there is a point where the author must bridge the cavernous gap between the magical, bright-eyed beginning of the novel and the exciting, steely-eyed ending. I remember feeling inadequate as I moved into what would turn out to be the second novel in the Queen of Hearts series, wondering if I could connect the beginning to the bloody ending that loomed in my future.
This novel was the result of that pressure, but also the unleashing of an imagination that I had pushed away for years because I thought imagining was not something grown-up people did. For too long I ignored it, despised it, and let it manifest itself in other, unproductive ways. When I wrote the Queen of Hearts series, and in particular Blood of Wonderland, I let it flow out through every pore. I let it consume me. That is why we have trees that know, that is why there are giant stone cranes and curling blue smoke that takes you to the stars. To the readers out there, I hope you hear that imagination isn’t just reserv
ed for our fleeting childhoods. It is essential to our hearts.
With that being said, another truth I learned is that had it not been for some incredible people (and lots of coffee consumption), I may not have made it through the Queen of Hearts series.
So, please accept my deepest gratitude and thanks to the kindhearted people who made this novel happen. You have the soul of the Yurkei with the determination of the line of Hearts.
Ryan Oakes, for his endless feedback, support, and the sheer power of his belief in this novel—thank you for your unflagging love, your creative mind, and your amusing nerd knowledge; I’ll never stop needing it.
For Maine . . . I wrote this book when you were nothing more than the brightest dream. Now that you’re here, I know that even my imagination couldn’t fathom something as awesome as you are.
Tricia McCulley and Ron and Denise McCulley, thanks for always coming to the book signings and pretending like it’s the first one in all of history. I feel it’s important to note here that my own father is a very nice man who has never tried to kill me, not once.
Cynthia McCulley, getting to be your sister never gets old. Thanks for agreeing to be a horse.
To my village, my beloved people who help my writing process by just being their superb selves: Kimberly Stein, Katie Hall, Nicole London, Butch and Lynette Oakes, Karen Groves, Emily Kiebel, Sarah Glover, Cassandra Splittgerber, Elizabeth Wagner, Erin Burt, Amanda Sanders, Katie Blumhorst, Erin Chan, and the entire group hug that is RSLC.
For the beta readers who helped sculpt Queen into something very unique and special—Michelle Rehme, Erika Bates (equestrian fact-checker), Jen Lehmann, Patty and Sarah Jones, Angela Turner, Holly Cameron, and Stefanie Feustal—thank you. I wish I could take you on a tour of the wood you helped build. We (probably) wouldn’t die.
This book and all the Queen novels have passed through the hands of more than a few skilled editors: Erin Armknecht, Jeni Miller, Jess Riley, and Wayne Parrish, who prepared it for the devoted PR team at Sparkpress: Crystal Patriarche, Heidi Hurst, Sara Divello.
To Emilia Rhodes, my editor at HarperTeen, whose skilled and merciless brain is only matched by her generous smile—thank you for putting faith in a book that thought its run complete and giving it a completely new life. I have been dazzled by what you and your team can do. I’m so thankful that Queen found her forever home at HarperCollins.
To Jen Unter, my agent, who was making deals for me before I was even her client, thank you for your dedication, your straightforward nature, and your patience. “Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”
To the team at HarperCollins: Jenna Stempel, for a cover that makes me happy every time I look at it, and Reuben Ireland, for the images of Dinah that have come to define her character as much as I have; Gina Rizzo, such a cool chick and such an incredible publicist, and Elizabeth Ward, who is so kind even when she’s telling me to be better at Twitter; Alice Jerman, for additional editing and proofing, Jennifer Klonsky, and Jon Howard.
For all the Bookstagrammers who have posted such beautiful pictures of Queen of Hearts and now Blood of Wonderland—you’re my favorite thing.
Thank you finally to a God who promises not a comfortable life but a grace-fueled, fulfilling one. I’m almost halfway through my journey here and I think I’m finally starting to understand the difference.
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About the Author
Photo credit Erin Burt
COLLEEN OAKES is the bestselling author of books for both teens and adults, including the Elly in Bloom series and the Wendy Darling saga. She lives in North Denver with her husband and son and surrounds herself with the most lovely family and friends imaginable. When not penning new books, Colleen can be found swimming, traveling, reading, or advocating for adoption and literacy.
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Books by Colleen Oakes
Queen of Hearts
Blood of Wonderland
War of the Cards
Credits
Cover art © 2017 by Ruben Ireland
Cover design by Jenna Stempel
Copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
BLOOD OF WONDERLAND. Copyright © 2017 by Colleen Oakes. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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* * *
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016949942
ISBN 978-0-06-240976-8 (trade bdg.)
EPub Edition © January 2017 ISBN 9780062409782
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17 18 19 20 21 PC/LSCH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FIRST EDITION
Originally published as Queen of Hearts: Volume Two: The Wonder in 2014 by SparkPress
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