Colleen Oakes - Blood of Wonderland

Keep Reading … Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

Books by Colleen Oakes Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

About the Publisher Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

The former Princess of Wonderland was lost. Leaves crunched loudly beneath Dinah’s feet as she made her way through the Twisted Wood, her exhausted body groaning, her eyes taking in the maze of living trees that breathed above her. Not living 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.

The trees of the Twisted Wood were taller than the Black Towers, and sometimes just as wide. The night before, Dinah had found herself not so much walking as maneuvering through them. Dinah folded her hands over her stomach—empty and ravenous, as always—and looked at the trees. 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—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 walked, she considered how the trees knew everything. 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. He had murdered her beloved brother, Charles—once the infamous 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 bloodthirstiness 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.

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. They knew each 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 through the wood 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, always knowing, groaned and cracked around them.

Her stomach gave a loud growl and Dinah reached for her bag as she knelt on the forest floor, 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 black dress, eight full loaves of bread, twelve large pieces of dried bird meat, a bag of rapidly rotting berries, 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 drape 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. It was all so clear to Dinah now, how Vittiore had always been part of the plot, always waiting in the wings to get her hands on Dinah’s crown. She had long suspected that Vittiore wasn’t exactly the poor child found in a sack that she claimed to be. Vittiore had been in on the plot to frame Dinah from the start. She’d been in on the plot to kill her brother, Charles. The king could never have pulled off such a coup without her willing participation. Dinah angrily closed her fist 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 among Wonderlanders. She wouldn’t. She would just disappear into the wood, 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, it would come for her swiftly. Her legs were sore when she pushed herself onto her feet and strapped the sword firmly across her back. Morte had fallen asleep beside her, 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.

Making note of the path behind her, Dinah began wandering through the trees as she snacked on some 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.