ТОП просматриваемых книг сайта:
War of the Cards. Colleen Oakes
Читать онлайн.Название War of the Cards
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780008175467
Автор произведения Colleen Oakes
Жанр Детская проза
Издательство HarperCollins
“And to those who kill our men? Our warriors? Or what of those high-ranking court members who aided the king?” Bah-kan was stalking around the room, scowling at everyone who looked in his direction. “I’ve seen what Cards do to the Yurkei they capture. It is unforgivable. They have taken our lands, raped our women …”
“Spoken by a man who once called himself the greatest Card to ever live?” snapped Starey Belft. He turned to the group. “Do you mean that you’ve taken their lands and raped their women? Before you turned? Before you became one of them?” His voice rose. “How dare you speak against them when you were once a Card yourself?”
Bah-kan lunged for Belft but was blocked by Wardley, who leaped in between them. All parties fell to the ground in a fury of fists and shouts. Cheshire raised his eyebrow at Dinah from across the room. Her head throbbed as they tumbled at her feet. Fury rose into her chest; she had had enough.
“Sit down!” she thundered, rising to her feet. “Enough, all of you!” The three men stared at her with shock. “I am your queen and you will listen to my command. I order you to stop acting like spoiled children with your imagined hurts and prejudices. You are no better than the men out there in the tents, looking for any excuse to beat on each other. We are their leaders, and we must project to our men that we are one army. If you cannot control your emotions, how am I to believe that you can lead these men and warriors into battle?”
She whirled, unleashing her ferocity on the men seated around her.
“Bah-kan, control your temper, or this council will know your absence. Starey Belft, you may not insult Bah-kan or any Yurkei again, not in or outside of my presence. He has made his choice, and he has been an essential ally in our fight. Now, we will continue with our discussion in a civilized and dignified manner.”
The men sat like obedient children, and it occurred to Dinah that what all these warriors might need was a strong mother with a whipping spoon. She rubbed her forehead. “You have disappointed me tonight. You are dismissed.”
In silence, they filed out of the tent.
That night, as Dinah undressed for bed, she was filled with a surge of pride. Without a trace of fear, I just belittled the greatest collection of warriors I’ve ever seen. Perhaps there is hope that I can be the queen that Wonderland deserves. This thought followed her pleasantly into sleep, but her subconscious proved to be the enemy of rest.
In her dreams, the King of Hearts stood beside her, his massive red cape snapping around them like a cold wind as they stood on a pile of Yurkei corpses. He pointed his finger at her. “I’m waiting for you.”
Dinah cried out in her sleep, but there was no one around to hear her.
The long march north toward Wonderland Palace continued. The landscape gradually changed from the Darklands’ marshy bogs into sweeping green expanses marked occasionally by gray crags of rocks. The rocks were covered with strange etchings that only the Yurkei seemed to understand.
Today had been one of those rare days where Dinah didn’t have to speak to Wardley at all. Those were the good days, when her heart wasn’t bleeding out and her chest wasn’t constantly aching with longing.
Without meaning to, Dinah had isolated herself from the rest of her council: Sir Gorrann with his kind words and blunt advice was taxing to her nerves, Starey Belft with his grumpy mutterings made her reach for her sword. Her two Yurkei guards stayed a couple of horse lengths away from her at all times, sensing that she wasn’t in the mood for company. The only person that she could occasionally tolerate was Cheshire. He hid nothing from her and didn’t patronize. His emotionless words of war, locations, statistics, and schemes were like warm milk down her throat.
At the front of her line she sat numbly on Morte, feeling like a queen only in that she was wearing her small ruby crown. Disturbing fantasies of revenge and violence were a strange source of relief that she could indulge fully during the long hours of silent marching.
Sometimes, she imagined that Wardley would appear in the door of her tent. With his curly brown hair plastered across his forehead, his large hands would trace her cheeks. His trembling voice would confess that something had changed and that all he had ever needed was her. He would kiss her lips softly before lifting her up to meet him, and then both would be wrapped up in an ecstasy of love and passion. It didn’t happen. Deep inside her, where the core of anger was always churning now, she knew it would never be. Even if they were destructive, these images kept her awake and kept her face still and strong in front of her men. Dinah knew that no matter how she was feeling inside, she couldn’t project anything less than a statuesque strength. If she faltered, her rule would end before it began.
As the sun simmered high in the sky that afternoon, Dinah felt as though they would never be at the palace, that they would just march until they walked into the sea. With the hot sun bearing down on them, it would have been a welcome break.
She heard thundering hooves as Starey Belft rode up behind her. She closed her eyes. Please be good news, she thought. His grave face threw water on that theory.
“Another one?”
Starey nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty. A young one, marching near the back. His name was Kingsley.” The commander of the Spades paused. “He was a good lad. Had a knack for the lyre and a dirty joke.”
Oh gods, a young one. Dinah nodded. “Thank you for telling me.”
Starey placed his horse in front of Morte, who snorted angrily. “That’s the second one in two days. We need a break. We need to burn our men and tend to our bleeding feet.”
Dinah’s eyes narrowed. “I am not unaware of your sufferings. But we must meet Mundoo at the right time or this battle will be lost.”
Starey wheeled around. “If you keep marching at this pace, you won’t have an army to meet him.”
Dinah dismissed him with a wave. “I’ll take it under consideration.”
Starey turned his horse and muttered something under his breath as he moved past her. Anger ignited underneath her skin, and the black fury that was eating her from within moved her muscles without her permission. Dinah saw a flash of red, and suddenly she was swinging her leg up and around Morte’s neck, her hand reaching out to grab ahold of Starey Belft’s reins. With a wild leap, she crossed the gap between their two steeds and found herself seated behind the Spade commander, with one arm wrapped around his waist and the other holding a dagger. The sharp blade pressed into his neck.
“Do you want to say that again?” she whispered. “Say it so everyone can hear.”
Starey looked around with bewilderment. Dinah’s two Yurkei guards halted, their eyes wide with confusion.
Dinah pressed the blade harder. “Say it.”
Starey’s heart was hammering—Dinah could feel it through the back of his body. Her own heart loved the sound the fear made.
“I said …” He cleared his throat. “I said you’re just like your father, building a kingdom by the blood of our backs.”
“That’s what I thought you said.” She leaned forward, her black hair brushing his chin. “I march for you, do you know that? I march for the Spades, and for you, Starey Belft. Someday when I am