Wildcard

DISCLAIMER: I know and understand nothing about poker or cards, so take none of this as true lol 

The Queen of Hearts is losing. As she loses, she is dying. And even in death, she has her signature glare and red lipstick, never missing a beat no matter the circumstances.  

The glare is on me now as I scurry round the table to add hot water to the waiting china cup, carefully plopping in two spoons of sugar and, as discreetly as I can, the powdered medication. I don’t stir, she hates for me to do that. I lift the tray cautiously and lay it gently on her lap.  

Her unsteady hands stir as precisely as she can, then raise the cup to her aquiline nose to assess the aroma before she sips.  

I hold my breath as I wait. I usually have to make the drink again if it’s not satisfactory, which is quite often, and harrowing enough for a lowly nurse, especially on the receiving end of those eagle eyes. Today, though, my anxiety is even more pronounced.  

Because if she detects the extra ounce of medication I slipped into the tea, she won’t drink it. That’s the last of the drug, Corbeau said. She won’t get well if she doesn’t take it. And she has to get well. She just has to. Not just because she’s Queen of our crazy world, Deck, though that certainly has a lot to do with it.  

Her sickness has made the other kingdoms brave enough to lash out and disregard the rules, eliciting their own reign of terror in their dominions, which have eventually spilt into the other areas, causing so much simmering turmoil, ready to boil over with the last puff of breath from the Queen. Her loss would not only mean the collapse of Deck like a house of cards, but it meant the loss of stability, a home, a purpose for me. Of kindness and care within these grounds, the only place where I knew any harsh words weren’t based off the thing I can’t change about me. 

That isn’t to say Her Majesty Pallas was perfect in any way, oh no. Her rise to power was as red as the hearts that line the walls of the palace. But the aftermath and her reign have been pale yellow – not quite as cruel, but large improvements towards peace and harmony. Just never as white, as pure it could be. Actually, much like the colour of her cheeks right now, washed out and sallow as she moves the cup down to her lips and takes a sip, having deemed it fit for consumption.  

I heave a tiny sigh and wring my hands with nerves as I watch her reaction. An eyebrow rises, the softened glare comes back in full force, and she sets it down onto the tray, gesturing to me to take it away. I whisk it off the covers and ask quietly, my face turned away, as I place it on the bedside table: “You sure that’s enough, Your Majesty? The doctor said-” 

“The doctor can take what he said and shove it up his behind,” she forces out hoarsely through her sore throat. I have to hide my surprised laugh. 

“But, Your-” 

“I told you, Polla-” 

“Majesty-” I blurt it out anyway, a force of habit. She rolls her eyes.  

I try again. “Polla. My apologies. But you need at least two sips for it to work. He said the potency would only be as strong as two mouthfuls once it’s diluted.” 

“It’s hardly working now, is it?” 

“Please?” I try for plaintive, if not pleading. The Queen is strong, but I’m desperate. Corbeau had better be right about this drug. 

“I’m not in the mood for tea, or drugs, or those puppy eyes of yours. If they truly are effective, then I still have till tomorrow.” She runs a hand over her thick, jet-black, dyed locks, now greying at the edges under the fever, though she would never own up to it. “Go fetch the sugar cookies, and grab the book and the cards.” 

I slump my shoulders in defeat. There goes my home. “As you wish.” 

The door opens suddenly, and a guard stumbles in in his red and white uniform, his flushed-pink face making the entire image a fetching color palette. “Your Majesty, I’m so sorry, I tried my hardest to stop him but-” 

Pushing aside the wound-up guard, the Queen’s son, Milo, storms in, his posse trailing behind. He turns his glare, same as his mother’s to the guard, then turns back to a bodyguard, dressed in deep blue. He mutters, “Off with his head,” to him, callously. 

Poor pinkface cowers, but he cannot escape as he’s hauled out of the room in the arms of two blues.  

Polla sighs in exasperation. “Really, Milo?” 

Milo scowls and shuts the door, locks slipping into place. “Don’t act like you’re innocent, Mother. You would do it too.” 

“Used to, Milo. It’s a new era. Chopping off heads for minor inconveniences hardly gives power anymore. And it’s so bothersome to deal with people sobbing over headless bodies.” 

Milo rolls his eyes. “It’s a new era, all right. One that’ll be mine to preside over real soon, Mom, so why don’t you drink your tea and get the last days of your run over with?” 

Polla is silent, papery eyelids suddenly fluttering shut. My hearts leaps in my chest – is that it? She's gone, just like that, left me to the mercy of Milo and the other kingdoms? 

But they open up just as quick, and she turns her head back to me. “Jill, please. The story.” 

Grabbing the tin of cookies and the book from where they lay on the dresser, I hold them to my side in a death grip and make my way to the head of the bed, where I sit and curl up on the floor right next to her, facing her directly.  

Milo sniffs at me from the other side of the room, where he’s settled into an armchair, playing with a deck of cards. “I don’t understand why you keep her here. Of what use is she?” 

“Just because she was born without a suit? She sees colours beyond our spectrum, Milo. You don’t even know the shade of blue your uniform is, and you expect that to be a crime?” She bites into a cookie, flicking the crumbs daintily in his direction as she says this. 

I cough and duck my head. It is something of a shame here to be considered different, but that was what I was – a wildcard in the perfectly divided Deck of Cards. Someone who could belong everywhere and anywhere, so long the cards were right. But they never had been, and no one was willing to put up with such a peculiarity, except Polla. Queen of Hearts. She did have a heart, despite popular belief, and because of it I’m here now, nurse to the richest, sharpest queen. 

The cards are being shuffled now, whizzing with dexterity through Milo’s fingers. “It will be, once I have my reign. The Spades are the finest, highest army, and we will not stand for anyone who belongs nowhere. Everyone will know their place. I’ll make sure of it.” 

The Queen says nothing, only fixes her death stare on me. I clear my throat and start reading. “The days grew cold, the lights went out, and in the box, the cards came to life. In each of the four kingdoms, all was not well. There was war because each kingdom wanted absolute power, to harness the strengths of each suit under their hand. The Queen of Hearts was the only one who fought her way to the top and founded and brought stability to Deck. But, the prophesy... a prophesy... etched in stone on the highest of the border mountains held a secret, likely placed by the one who caused the havoc in the first place: when the time comes for the Queen to go, power must be handed over to a blood, or the most eligible kin within the kingdom. If not, a hand must be won before the crown is handed over.” 

“And I am all of them.” Milo stands, cards away now. “Mom. It's time to give up. You're never going to beat the King of Spades.” 

Polla growls, and drags the tablet resting on the quilt to her again. She’d thrown it aside in annoyance earlier, asking me to get her tea so she could refocus. It was through the tablet that the final game that would allow her to choose an heir (who was not Milo) and have things her way. Except she’d been losing, badly, her scores deteriorating along with her health. Trying to beat the Spade level was exhausting her even more. “Get out, Milo. I will beat this level. There has to be some sort of clue in the book. I refuse to just- forfeit at this stage.”  

Milo has to have something up his sleeve, from his sinister smile as he walks over to the bed and glances at the tablet. I, too, sit up and peer from my perch on the ground. I haven’t a clue about cards or what they mean, but on the screen there’s a hand of cards: a 7, 6, 3, 2, and 1, all hearts. 

Milo leans away, tutting. “Not great, Ma. You’re going to need a real ace up your sleeve for this one. Might be a good time to-” 

Her Majesty glares hard at him, and he blanches, some of his bravado leaving him. “Jill, hand me the book.” I do so.   

It’s a flat, aged but sturdy thing, in existence since whatever came before this epoch, wrapped in a tight dust jacket. It contains only two pages – the story serving as the guidelines for passing on the crown, with a painting opposite. The words are printed on plain white paper, and the painting is a simple, water colour rendering of the flat-topped mountains that surround Deck. She squints hard at it now, desperately trying to find something to help her crack the level.  

I wish I could help, but I truly haven’t a clue about the cards. It's funny, because everyone here knows about cards, how to play ’em. An official form of barter or payment, almost: anything and everything was and could be settled over a game, hence the monarchy was also held by cards, at the hardest level against the hardest player. Another reason I’d been cast out: my lack of skills. With one gift takes away another, but seeing random, different colours that no one else could, that served as pretty distractions at best, wasn’t much of a gift. 

I try to reassure her now, despite the tensioning stakes. “Your- Polla. You’re going to get better soon anyway! Here,” I grab the cup from the table. It’s still warm. I hold it up to her mouth “You still have a mouthful to drink! And if you get better you won’t need to finish the game. Or you’ll have more time to finish it, at least...” 

She keeps her glare on me, but takes a small sip from the cup. Some colour returns to her face. I sigh. “There. Good, see? Corbeau swore it would work.” 

She frowns, red lips turning down. “Corbeau?” 

“Yeah, the herbalist recommended by the palace doctor. He gave me special boosted meds for you.” 

“I never trusted that man. He was always too easily swayed by flattery.” She looks with renewed suspicion at the cup. “What’s in there?” 

“Powdered aspirin and a special drug from Diamond. You know, ’cause they have the best health people over there.” 

She remains silent, cutting her eyes from me and over to the dresser, where Milo is balancing her crown on his dark head of hair. It’s ornate and intricately made, coloured black, gold and red, with the crest of all the kingdoms carved into the centre.  

“Put that down! I’m not quite dead yet.” 

Milo groans like a little boy, taking the crown off his head and fiddling with it in his hands. “I’m done with waiting. I’ve been waiting since I was eighteen, Mom. Since you stopped doing things the old way-” 

“Because the old ways were wrong-” 

“The new ways made you weak!” 

“They made the people respect me again, no matter what you have to say. So the other nobles hated me, so what? They always did. I had my people’s trust once I stopped ruling absolute.” 

“I’m. Done. Waiting.” He enunciates. “There is no way you’re going to beat the level. No one had ever beat it, and with the hand you have the only way you could, is with an ace. Of Spades, and there’s no way you can get it. I’m going to get that crown no matter what. You might as well give up.” 

I’ve shrunk quietly into the corner, tears pooling in my eyes as I watch my home crumble from red to blue. Polla is quiet, face pale. She glances at me. “I’m getting better. I have the med-” 

Milo laughs, deep and hacking. “Ah, first thing you got right! You are on meds, yes, but whose meds? Corbeau’s? Who happily agreed to slip slow acting poison from the mountains into the drug? Two sips were all it took, Mom.” 

I gasp. How stupid of me. I made her drink the second one. 

“Remember, you were the one who taught me how to play cards. How so many people think it’s based on luck, but the truth is it’s based off strategy as much as chess is?”  

Polla is sitting back in bed, her gaze weakening, hands stiffening. I make it out of my stupor somehow and rush to her side, moving her into a more comfortable position, fluffing the pillows, forcing a drip of water down her (still) bright-red lips.  

Milo laughs, the crown back on his head. “Not so much as strategy as it is about creating your own success, just like you did. Shame about that ace, huh?” 

I stare angrily at Milo’s back. Just an ace. I pick up the tablet and gaze at the spread – all hearts. Then I pick up the book, open to the painting and hold them next to each other. Side by side, I notice how the arrangement of flat-tops surrounding the sketch of our world had an awful resemblance to … a spade? I trace the outline, my finger touching the edge of the dust jacket, pushing 

Looking back to the tablet, I search the screen for something, anything spade-like or hidden. Maybe my colours would be handy... and sure enough, there’s a tiny purple spade in the corner of the screen. I tap it, holding my breath. Nothing. 

My tears blur my vision and I raise a hand to wipe them away. Better for me to give my Queen a nice send off before I don’t ever see her again.  

I drop the tablet and turn to her, half expecting to see her eyes closed. But they’re wide open, mouth open and barely making any coherent sounds, hands jabbing stiffly at the air.  

I hold back a sob. “It’s okay, it’s okay! Oh, Polla, I’m so sorry. What is it? What?” I follow her gaze to the tablet, which has turned white, clearing the card display.  

“Wildcard...” the Queen whispers hoarsely, a soft expression coming over her face as she falls back on the pillows. I turn back to her in confusion, then to Milo, who holds the crown in his hand, wearing an expression of horror as he looks at the tablet.  

“What? What’s going on, I don’t...”  

“Wildcard. You were a wildcard, so somehow, you found the card needed to win the game. You found the Ace of Spades... an ace up her sleeve... YOU RIGGED THIS!”  

“I DIDN’T? How could I? You were the one who rigged it! I didn’t even know, or know anything at all about cards? I just found the Ace and clicked it!” 

Milo drops the crown in dejection. It clatters to the ground and rolls to my feet. “It won’t accept me anymore. Take it. I guess a... wildcard was the thing needed to complete the Deck.” 

He stalks out, the door wide open, the sunlight streaming through. I look to my Queen, no longer in this realm, a serene smile upon her red lips, eyes shut. No death glare now.  

I pick up the crown. The jewels glitter in purple, red, blue and green, for each suit. I belonged nowhere. But that also meant I could belong everywhere. Maybe it was enough to bring together an entire house of cards, aligned within their suits, and make peace withing the kings, queens, jacks, aces and numbers.  

I step toward the door and walk toward the main doors, placing the crown on my head as I go. Time to re-shuffle the cards for the better. There’d be a way to fix it, no matter. I’m a wildcard, after all.