Queen of Hearts: Volume Two: The Wonder
Colleen Oakes
Praise for the Queen of Hearts Saga by Colleen Oakes:
Named one of the “Most Cinematic Indie Books” by Kirkus Reviews
Winner – 2014 Next Generation Indie Book Awards – Young Adult
Award-Winning Finalist – 2014 International Book Awards – Fiction: Young Adult
“Queen of Hearts will keep you dreaming of Wonderland long after you read the last page. I want more of these characters, more of this fantastical world!”
— Lorie Langdon, author of the Doon series
“Oakes’ latest heroine is spoiled, headstrong, temperamental, and prone to tantrums, yet she somehow remains an incredibly sympathetic character. Perhaps it’s Dinah’s oh-so-human nature that makes her so easy to like, despite her flaws…. Oakes’ portrait of the villain-to-be turns her into a real and even likable person while clearly foreshadowing her future as Alice’s Queen of Hearts. A wonderfully entertaining twist on an old classic.”
— Kirkus Reviews
“Dinah is a headstrong, spirited princess grappling with a lot of the same issues that even us non-princesses in the real world face—anxiety, confusion, jealousy, anger, and the growing burden of responsibilities that often feel too heavy to bear. The fact that I cared so much about this complex young woman on the cusp of adulthood and can't wait for the next book is just a testament to the amazing talent of this breakout author.”
— Jessica Hickam, author of The Revealed
“Colleen Oakes has written Wonderland like it’s never been written before. If you loved Gregory Maguire’s Wicked, you won’t be able to put down Queen of Hearts.”
— SheKnows.com
“Fans of Frank Beddor's The Looking Glass Wars will lose themselves in Colleen Oakes’s dark vision of Wonderland, which challenges everything Alice fans thought it was and takes readers on the Queen of Hearts’ journey from adolescence to off with their heads.”
— Kayleigh Roberts, BOP and Tiger Beat
“This beautifully written series presents the captivating backstory of the Queen of Hearts from Lewis Carroll’s beloved Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and is sure to intrigue both fantasy fans and young-adult readers alike.”
— Emily Kiebel, author of Serenade
“This tale puts a dark and evil spin on some familiar classic characters that will leave you wanting more. Colleen Oakes creates a parallel universe to a world we already know and makes us wish we had this book sooner!”
— Girls’ Life
“Colleen Oakes creates a fantastic, dark backstory for the Queen of Hearts from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland in her novel Queen of Hearts.”
— POPSUGAR
“I highly recommend baking some celebratory tarts and settling down with Queen of Hearts, though I warn you that when you finish it, you're going to be gnashing your teeth to find out what happens next.”
— xoJane.com
“The Queen of Hearts series is darker and more twisted than Carroll’s version, and Wonderland is less whimsical and more dangerous than most of the other incarnations we have seen. Filled with deadly politics, monstrous creatures, and bloody beheadings, The Crown is just the beginning of a longer tale about how a princess became a queen, and an innocent girl became a menacing villain.”
— Hypable
Queen of Hearts
Volume Two:
The Wonder
Colleen Oakes
SparkPress, a BookSparks imprint
A division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC
COPYRIGHT © 2014 BY COLLEEN OAKES
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Published by SparkPress, a BookSparks imprint,
A division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC
Tempe, Arizona, USA, 85281
www.sparkpointstudio.com
Printed in the United States of America.
ISBN: 978-1-940716-21-3 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-940716-20-6 (ebk)
Cover design © Julie Metz, Ltd at metzdesign.com
Cover photo © Malgorzata Maj/arcangel-images.com
Cover silhouette illustration of queen by Monica Gurevich, based on previous art by Truenotdreams Design
Formatting by Polgarus Studio
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Acknowledgments
About the Author
This book is for Ryan, forever the good king of my heart.
“The cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good-natured, she thought; still it had very long claws and a great many teeth, so she felt that it ought to be treated with respect.”
— Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
by Lewis Carroll
Chapter One
Leaves crunched loudly beneath Dinah’s back as she turned over in the Twisted Wood, her eyes weaving through the maze of living trees. Yes, the trees in the Twisted Wood were alive. Not alive in that they spoke or walked or had faces, but that they saw her; of this Dinah had no doubt. It was strange and unnerving, these eyes without eyes. She lay on her back, blinking in the midafternoon light, watching the tree branches as they swayed in the wind, so far above she had to squint to make out their budding leaves. The trees of the Twisted Wood were taller than the Black Towers, and sometimes just as wide. Their thick, gnarled trunks of pine and oak choked her passage, and the night before Dinah had found herself not so much walking as maneuvering through them. Each tree was so different—some had bountiful blossoms of pink that swirled through their branches and up their trunks, some had velvety ferns that draped from weeping branches, and some were barren, with only their branches to shelter them. There were trees that grew sideways—they were long and low. Others were spindly towers of wavy bark, their branches shooting straight into the heavens. Some trees looked as though they had been burned; they were as black as night and their trunks gave off a faint aroma of ash. They were alive and thriving, however, as evidenced by the black and white swirled flowers that danced on the tips of their branches. It was incredible—and terrifying.
As Dinah lay still, she considered how the trees knew everything—they knew where she had been and what had happened; they knew that she had once been the Princess of Wonderland Palace. They knew that her father, the brutal King of Hearts, had betrayed her mere days before her coronation to the throne and murdered her beloved brother, the Mad Hatter, by throwing him out a window. They knew of the stranger who had sent her on her way, fleeing the palace on Morte, the devil steed, a Hornhoov whose bloodthirst was legendary. They knew Wardley, the love of her life, had promised to come for her. And they knew that her father was probably tracking her now as she lay motionless under a pile of leaves. She closed her eyes for just a moment more. It wasn’t just Dinah’s history that these trees knew—she could feel their keen awareness in her bones. These trees of the Twisted Wood knew who drew the location of the stars night after night, and who formed the Todren. They knew e
ach Yurkei and Wonderlander, those who embraced the dark and those who chose the light. Yes, the colossal trees of the Twisted Wood were aware, and that fact had both frightened and comforted her as she trekked into the wood that previous evening, with Morte following her, always at a distance of at least twelve paces. Farther and farther they wove their way into the wood, as the trees groaned and cracked around them, always knowing.
It wasn’t until Dinah collapsed in a particularly thick tuft of muddy leaves that they stopped. With her last bit of effort, she pulled her wool cloak over her and closed her eyes. Sleep took her immediately. The slumber was dreamless, a black nothingness, and she was grateful upon waking that she had not been visited by any night terrors. Now, blinking her eyes in the morning light, Dinah marveled at how much clearer her mind was after a night of rest. Morte slept nearby—Dinah could hear his loud breathing. She prayed it would warn away any other wildlife in this corner of the wood. He sounded terrifying, a creature of nightmares.
She rubbed her eyes gently, grimacing as her broken fingers ached with a sharp pain. Her back rattled in protest, as it felt like she had been sleeping on a stone slab rather than a bed of leaves. Her stomach gave a loud growl and Dinah reached for her bag, but not before she settled Wardley’s sword close beside her. She untied the brown straps attached to the muslin and slowly laid out its contents, taking a full inventory of what she had: two white linen tunics, a belt, one heavy black dress—so odd!, eight full loaves of bread, twelve large pieces of dried bird meat, a bag of rapidly rotting berries, an ancient rolled map of Wonderland, the remnants of her bloody nightgown, and a sharp dagger. She pulled the dagger out of the bag. It was obviously expensive, the hilt inlaid with dozens of amethysts, interspersed with rich swirls of silver and gold. The black gown beside it was heavy and completely devoid of color—it was the kind of thing that Dinah would wear, but Vittiore would never let such a thing be draped on her shoulders.
Vittiore.
Dinah ground her teeth together, gripping the dagger. No doubt Vittiore would soon be crowned Queen, taking Dinah’s place on the throne next to her father. She had always been part of the plot, always waiting in the wings to get her hands on Dinah’s crown. She had always suspected that Vittiore wasn’t exactly the poor child found in a sack that she claimed to be. Vittiore had been in on it from the start, the plot to frame Dinah, the plot to kill her brother Charles. Dinah angrily closed her fists around the dagger hilt before forcing herself to calm down. She turned the dagger over in the sunlight. Maybe I can exchange it to buy food, Dinah thought, before she realized how silly that sounded. She would be going to no villages, no towns. Her father and Cheshire expected her to be weak, to look for help amongst Wonderlanders. She wouldn’t. She would just disappear into these woods, forever. I will learn to survive, she thought, I will wait for Wardley and then we will find a boat and sail to the Other Worlds. The thought made her weary and morose. Heavy despair seemed to hover around her, waiting for the perfect opportunity to overwhelm. If Dinah didn’t keep moving, then it would come for her swiftly. Her legs were sore when she pushed herself up onto her feet, strapping the sword firmly across her back. Morte slumbered on, and Dinah thought it best not to wake him. He no doubt needed the rest as much as she did, and waking an angry Hornhoov might lead to being crushed to death. Better to let him sleep.
Making note of the path behind her, Dinah began wandering through the trees as she finished the rest of the berries. The wood seemed to go on forever in every direction. Tiny clusters of flowers brushed her face as she pushed past a tree that spiraled in on itself, its trunk circling into the sky. The tree was weeping a frosty milk that dripped down its branches and formed a white moat around the base of the trunk. Dinah knelt beside the tree and peered into the milky substance. Tiny pink insects with gossamer wings skated over the surface, dipping their long noses into the liquid. The milk was sucked up into their bodies and distributed into their veiny, transparent wings. The white substance then gave their wings a crumbly texture, like toasted bread. At this transformation, the insects tucked their wings back and walked away, looking more like tiny lizards than the butterflies they had resembled at the start. They looked at Dinah with indifference as they strolled away into the forest, a trail of white bread slices marching in sync.
“Incredible,” murmured Dinah. She stood. The sun flashed on something hard and metal as Dinah raised her eyes. She leapt backwards, stumbling on a wide root, and the sword fell to the ground. She scrambled for her weapon in the damp leaves as she struggled back to her feet. I am no warrior, she thought, as her heart hammered in her ears. The metal continued to flash in the sun. Dinah advanced slowly, making her way through the trees, her sword leading the way. Scrambling, Dinah clawed her way up a small embankment parallel to the flashing light to gain a better view.
The hill rose up next to a deep groove in the forest and Dinah perched on the edge, preparing to see a battalion of soldiers waiting for her. Instead she found herself looking down into a valley… of heads? There were dozens of them—Dinah quickly counted them as she carefully made her way down the hill. Dirt rose when her boots hit the ground with a thud. The forest floor had changed—all around this particular valley, the foliage was thick and dense, with ankle-high ferns and roots tangling the ground. Here there were only bright-green grasses that danced in the wind, their seeded tops brushing the carved heads. They were massive in size, most larger than Dinah’s ridiculously large bed back at the palace. Some of the heads were propped upright, which made it appear as if the rest of the body was buried underground and they were simply popping up for a look around. Some of the heads lay on their sides, their lips brushed with the burnt yellow grass. One head lay completely upside down, the blunt cut of its square neck facing the sun. That head was wearing a crown, which allowed it to be propped that way, the sharp tips of the crown anchoring the head into the soil. There was something familiar about it…. Dinah ventured closer, making her way through the heads. She bent to look at the face and crown, her black hair brushing the dirt.
A wave of dizziness rushed over her as she realized what she was looking at: her father, the King of Hearts. She could tell by the crown, the same crown that encircled her father’s head now, and by his heavy cheeks. Standing so close to the head made Dinah uncomfortable. Though he was made entirely of shiny bronze metal, it looked so much like her father—the same unbending will etched across his brow, the same bloodlust running through his eyes, the same hint of an ironic smile that never quite blossomed. The upside-down head stared at Dinah, its hard eyes piercing her chest. Her heart thudding, she turned away to take in the others. They were all kings and queens of some sort. She recognized several members of the royal family—her grandfathers and grandmothers, dating all the way back to those who had been present at the building of the palace.
There was Queen Millay, famous for her gracious hospitality and striking beauty. Her head lay on its side, the pearl crown on top of it covered with a creeping, soft, green moss. Next to her lay her king, another King of Hearts, King Royce. He was famous for not being faithful to his diligent queen, and for making his mistress the Queen of Hearts after Millay had died. Dinah did not see the mistress’s head anywhere. Twenty or so heads of what Dinah guessed to be Yurkei chiefs were here as well—strong, solid heads of handsome warriors carved from stone, crowned not with a piece of gold or silver, but with feathers or elaborate fabric swirls that dangled down and framed their bright, glowing eyes made of blue gemstones. Dinah found these the most haunting—the eyes of the Yurkei heads made her feel as if they were watching her as she walked along, as she touched each face and marveled at its size and beauty.
Sunlight reflected through the low clouds and sent a rippling shadow over the heads, making them look for a minute as if they were engaged in conversation—a never-ending dialogue of politics, land, and legend. Dinah was fascinated. Who made these, and why? And when? How had they transported such massive sculptures into the forest without rem
oving the trees that surrounded them? Dinah let her fingers run over the face of the current Yurkei chief, Mundoo, her father’s enemy. The metal was warm, perpetually kissed by the sun, and it felt soothing against her cut palm. Had she been Queen, would her head have one day graced this clearing? She hoped so. The valley was strangely beautiful, utterly unnerving, a good place for kings and queens to take their royal rest.
I will take Wardley here one day, she thought, if I can find it again. She wasn’t convinced that she could—she and Morte had twisted and wound their way through these woods, not unlike the black snakes with silver eyes that she had seen in several trees so far. Together they had spiraled themselves into the deepest parts of the Twisted Wood, hoping to make their trail confusing and untraceable. How could she find her way back here, to this valley of her ancestors, to those who ruled when she would not? Her head should be here, not Vittiore’s. She felt the blind fury rising up inside of her, that black hunger that clawed up her stomach and wrapped its arms around her heart when she was least expecting it. How dare they take her crown away? With a cry, Dinah flung her sword blade across the nearest tree, hacking and jabbing until the trunk was battered and flaking. She felt the tremors vibrate up the blade and into her arm, a jarring sensation that was more cathartic than painful. Until she stopped. Both of her hands throbbed with pain, but she didn’t care.
