Spinning quickly away from Cheshire, she plunged into the dark tunnel ahead, not looking where she was running, not caring. She was sprinting now, her breathing heavy, her footsteps echoing through the darkness. She turned once, and then once again, spinning deeper and deeper into the depths of the tunnel, until all she could smell was earth and cold. Cheshire faded into the darkness behind her, his calls for her fading quietly into the black. She sprinted beneath the depths of the palace, as fast as her jeweled feet could carry her. She turned right, then left, then slipped through a vertical slit in the wall. The dancing pink flames of the lanterns dimmed gradually as the tunnel deepened.
Dinah wasn’t thinking—only running, running as fast as she could. She kept seeing her father’s proud gaze at Vittiore and the devastated expression on Harris’s face as he let her walk into the Great Hall. The tunnel narrowed and, through her tears, Dinah could see the stone walls closing in on her. Close to hysterics, Dinah knelt on the cold floor and let the tears wash out, a pouring sob that was deafeningly loud in the tight space. Weeping and pounding on the stone, she let out a loud scream of anger.
How dare he? How dare he be unfaithful to her mother? How dare he bring her in front of the court only to shame her? Why did he HATE her so much?
In her mind, she saw Vittiore. Vittiore, her new sister, the bastard of her father’s loins, the proof that he didn’t love her mother as he claimed so publicly. Vittiore, with her long blond hair and cornflower-blue eyes. Dinah raked long furrows into the damp earth. She vowed to herself that she would never befriend Vittiore. NEVER. She would not speak to her unless forced, and she would not see her perfectly formed face if she could avoid it. It would never be. Speaking to Vittiore would be a betrayal to her mother. Her mother. . . .
Great heaving sobs escaped her lips, and she was grateful, for once, to have no servants nearby. Here, it was just her and the dirt. She gradually calmed, the darkness like a heavy blanket draped across her wide shoulders. Dinah wiped her eyes and looked around. All was silent. She decided to wander farther. The tunnel grew colder as it went deeper—the air blowing around her had a bitter bite to it. Thick black roots, twisting like snakes, grew overhead. They reminded her of witch’s bones, and more than once, she swore she could see them moving and reaching toward her when she looked away. This was a place of dark things.
Dinah stopped a minute to catch her breath. A single lantern lit a passageway in front of her, the flame sputtering in the darkness. She walked through the opening, and in a few steps she came to a round patch of dirt framed by three archways. Each led into a tunnel, and standing in the middle of the circle, Dinah couldn’t remember out of which one she had just come. They all looked the same, each lit by a single pink torch. There were symbols etched into the keystone above each opening: a heart, a tree, and one that she didn’t recognize—a triangle with a wavy bottom. The sea? She peered at it again. It must be a mountain, she thought. The Yurkei Mountains.
Dinah ran her fingers over the symbols. They were thinly raised up from the stone, almost invisible to the naked eye. Her heart pounded in her chest, and the thought of her father discovering her decomposed body when she couldn’t find her way back brought Dinah a surprising rush of joy. She furrowed her brow and stared back at the carvings. After a moment, she bent down and peered into the heart tunnel.
Yes—she could see her footprints in the dirt. She let out a sigh of relief. That was the way she had come. It made sense, after all; she was the Princess of Hearts. Dinah ventured into the archway that featured the tree symbol. It was even more crooked than the way she had come, and the tunnel kept shrinking, until Dinah had to crouch to fit into it, her head brushing the dirty ceiling. It compressed again, and she found herself crawling. The tunnel wound down in a seemingly never-ending curve. White moss began creeping across the walls, and all sounds of palace life ceased overhead. Then, when Dinah felt she could possibly crawl no further, it opened up into a thick stone wall, held in place by bolts as thick as her arm. A dead end.
Dinah stood and wrapped her arms around herself, attempting to halt the shivers that shook her shoulders. How long had she been in these tunnels? Time had somehow become irrelevant. Days? Hours? Cold air wafted around her, twisting down from above and shifting the dirt under her feet. She raised her hands above her head and felt fresh air kiss her fingertips. Dinah’s eyes followed the bolts upward until they rested on a faintly outlined circle far above her head, its dusty handle barely visible.
A door. Her eyes widened. Those weren’t bolts, they were a ladder! Dinah climbed six bolts before her feet caught on her dress and she tumbled violently to the tunnel floor, scraping her knees and palms.