Chapter 1

Trespassing

Art thou pale for weariness

Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,

Wandering companionless

Among the stars that have a different birth,

And ever changing, like a joyless eye

That finds no object worth its constancy?

~Percy Bysshe Shelley

Years now she had been part of Mirana's retinue at Marmoreal. Years in which she had explored the castle from basement to battlement, watched the distant mountains reflect every hue of light and storm, wandered the grounds astride her white mare beneath the perfectly manicured trees. It was a beautiful place, no question, if a bit stark. And the other members of the retinue were somewhat the same, polite but distant, eloquent but lacking a bit of passion.

She had tried to learn cooking and spellcraft, but as the March Hare was prone to throwing sugar cubes (if she was lucky) and tureens (if she was not) at her head every time she went into the kitchens, that ambition didn't last long. Painting and music had become tiresome, and she had read every book of interest in the castle at least twice. In short, life in Marmoreal during time of exile had all become rather limiting, and Casiphia was in need of a diversion.

That was really the essence of the problem, wasn't it? Casiphia was bored. That was why she was doing something that could charitably be thought of as mad, making her way astride her horse, Quinn, through the vales and forests and gardens of Underland, stopping of course to exchange pleasantries with that cordial, unsettling cat with the evaporative tendencies, approaching--of all places--the Red Queen's castle. Through the mushroom forest she rode, through the dead trees that bordered the Red Queen's lands, and into the blasted plains of Saluzen Grum.

If she had been more clever, Casiphia thought, she would have thrown a drab-colored cloak over her riding habit. White brocade and satin were not just impractical, but visible for perhaps miles. At least she wasn't wearing her ringleted white court wig, she snickered to herself. Long brown hair was at least somewhat less striking from a distance.

And there was the Red Queen's castle, beautiful and imposing in the sunlight, with its white and red walls and battlements. Closer she rode, gazing in delight at its architecture. More intimidating was the squadron of Red Guards marching over the drawbridge and back into the castle, the voice of their leader ringing out through the motionless air.

What came over her then she was never able to articulate, save that the joy of a possible adventure suddenly overcame her. And here was an opportunity to see the castle grounds, which would certainly never happen in under normal circumstances, and avoid the moat with its bobbing heads (she shuddered at the thought).

Growing up in a castle had, among other things, taught her ways to sneak over a drawbridge without being caught. If one couldn't pass as part of the entourage entering (which Casiphia certainly could not), then avoiding entry into the castle grounds behind them was wise. Diverting from their ranks immediately would be the best plan of action.

So she tethered her horse to a stunted bush, in as much shade as she could find, and left her with her feed bag and a promise to return soon. Knowing the drawbridge would be raised quickly once the Guards had entered the courtyard, she sprinted across it with quiet steps, far enough back from the Guards so as not to attract their attention. She veered off the drawbridge and ducked immediately down beside the circling wall, and then stopped, heart pounding, to take note of her surroundings.

Where she crouched now was a cobbled courtyard, with a large kennel in the center and some topiary shrubs in planters scattered about. But there, beyond a hedge, was the Queen's garden. Casiphia was a creature of the White Court, and as such, could not resist growing things. The Queen's roses were famous for color and fragrance, and she wanted badly to see them for herself.

It was only a few yards to the hedge, and not difficult to squeeze through a gap in it, to reach the garden and its pointed cedars, the lush, manicured grass lawns, and rosebushes. She stopped to breathe in the scent of one particularly beautiful crimson rose, then reached to break it off its stem, when suddenly she caught a glimpse from the corner of her eye of a tall figure in the near distance.

It was the forbidding, if somehow compelling, Ilosovic Stayne, Knave of Hearts and protector of the Queen. And this time it was clear he had seen her from the way he suddenly stood at attention and then began striding across the castle grounds. Stifling a squeak of fright, Casiphia gathered her skirts in her hand and began to run towards the gap in the wall--only to be stopped when a trailing rosebush bramble clutched at the hem of her gown and held her tight.

And then the Knave was upon her, and Casiphia's heart froze in her chest as she anticipated the trouble she must now be in. Only to hear in a mild tone, "Milady, might you require some assistance with that?" Casiphia looked around slowly, discovering that Stayne was a bit less intimidating when he was kneeling beside her, beginning the process of untangling her gown from the rose thorns.

"Er, thank you, milord," she mumbled, now meeting his gaze. "I'm sorry I was trespassing, I only--"

"I've seen you before, outside these walls," he said, now getting to his feet and forcing her to crane her neck upwards to see his face, despite the fact that she was taller than most women of Underland.

"Yes," she said simply, as there was no point in denying the obvious.

"And you would be?"

"Casiphia, from Mirana's retinue."

"You court danger, then, you realize," he said, and she nodded.

"Well, milady, as you've come this far, would you care to go somewhere where no one has preceded you?"

Casiphia wasn't certain she had heard him correctly (she would have been less surprised if he had shouted "Off with her head!"), but this wasn't an opportunity she could see herself denying. So she followed the Knave across the topiary-studded grounds and to the castle, gleaming white and red in the afternoon sun, and through a shadowed door.