“You can’t think like that,” I said urgently. “You can’t, Nox. It’s not your fault, it’s Dorothy’s. You didn’t kill them. She did. Everyone who trains with the Order knows what they’re getting into. I knew that from the moment I agreed to help Mombi. You’re the one who keeps telling me we’re at war. I don’t understand why you can’t tell yourself the same thing.”
“Because they were my responsibility,” he said roughly. “They were my charges, Amy. I trained them, every one of them. I knew their names, their stories, their hopes and dreams. I might not have believed in the future, but every last one of them did, or they never would’ve joined the Order.”
His pain was so raw and so apparent. I wished more than anything I could take it away from him. But, I realized, that was something I was learning, too. I couldn’t change his feelings. I could tell him what I thought, but he had his own path to work through. All I could do was support him through it and hope that someday he learned to forgive himself, that he realized he was caught in an impossible situation.
“What if you’d run away?” I said. “You’d hate yourself even more. You did the only thing you knew how to do, Nox. You did the only thing you knew how to do. Mombi brought you up to be a fighter, and you passed those skills on to a whole generation of trainees. Not all of us are dead, remember?”
He nodded, bringing my hand to his mouth. “You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for, Amy.”
“Thanks, but I still would’ve died without what you taught me about fighting and magic. ‘Tough’ doesn’t do much against Dorothy, or her armies, or the Lion. Remember? I’m alive because of you, Nox. Not because you saved me, even though you have. We’ve saved each other. I’m alive because you’re the one who taught me the skills I needed to survive. So is Lang. So is Melindra. So maybe you’re doing better than you give yourself credit for, too. Okay?”
He snorted softly. “Amy—”
“Nox, I mean it. I’m not gonna hear any more of this shit about how everyone who died in Oz is your fault. It’s the fault of the person who killed them, Nox. It’s Dorothy’s fault. Deal?”
He opened his mouth and shut it again, then shook his head. “I’m not there yet. I can’t see it that way.”
“I can.”
“I know,” he said. “And that’s one of the things that I love about you. You make me feel like . . . like there’s a reason for me not to give in to death.”
That left me breathless. I didn’t know what to say. What he was telling me now, I understood, was the most important thing another person had ever trusted me with. I felt like if I so much as breathed I’d shatter what was blossoming between us, like the night-blooming tirium he’d showed me what felt like a century ago.
“That’s the thing I want you to know,” he said in a low voice. “At first, when you came to the Order, I wanted to push you out. I wanted to make you leave. Because I could see it in you then, this goodness that you have, and I didn’t want you anywhere near us. I was terrified I’d have to send you to your death before you were ready, too, and one more untrained warrior on my conscience would’ve been too much. But it was more than that. You were different. You saw the world differently. When you looked at Oz, you saw what Dorothy had done—but you saw the beauty in it, too. You knew what it was like to feel wonder. And I hadn’t been around someone like that since I was just a child. Gert and Mombi knew it, too. They thought they could use what I felt for you to control me.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “And now here we are.”
I was so still I realized I’d forgotten to breathe. Silence spread over us like a blanket, sealing us into our own private world in the middle of Lang’s hideout. For this moment, this instant, it was just the two of us and the way we felt about each other, this huge, beautiful thing that I could finally say out loud.
“I love you,” I whispered. No matter how many times I said it, I knew I’d never get used to the feeling of the words in my mouth. The knowledge that it was true. That I’d never feel this way about anyone else again as long as I lived.
And neither would he.
EIGHTEEN
Lang swept back into the room, and she looked unbelievable. Her costume consisted of a closely fitted bodice of glossy black feathers studded with faceted obsidian that caught and held the lantern light. A long, spectacular train of more feathers left most of her black-stockinged legs bare. The final touch: a glorious black-plumed mask that fitted closely over her face and erupted into a headdress of towering feathers that arced behind her back like wings.
“Wow,” I said, and meant it.
“I do enjoy a particularly good disguise,” Lang said modestly. “Are you ready?”
I grabbed Madison from her room and the four of us strapped knives to our thighs and ankles.
“Let’s go,” Lang said. I squared my shoulders, took Nox’s hand, and followed her out of her hideaway and back to the eerie underground lake where the dragon boat was waiting for us.
“We want to be as unrecognizable as possible,” Lang said when we had settled into the boat and it was paddling away from the shore. “The more time we have before the Nome King sees me, the better.” She lifted her hands and closed her eyes. For a moment, nothing happened. And then Madison gasped.
The dragon boat’s wings were unfurling, their surface glistening with an iridescent sheen like oil on water. White feathers sprouted from the dark, leathery skin, and its scaly, stubby neck elongated into an elegant, sinuous curve like a swan’s. Lang’s fingers were moving and I could smell something electric and spicy, like the sky before a thunderstorm.
Magic.
In front of our eyes, the dragon boat was turning into something unrecognizable: a swan.
In Ev, Lang used her magic to become a chameleon. Someone whose very face changed constantly. Her whole life was a disguise.
I wondered what would happen to her if we won. If she didn’t need to hide anymore. Would she be able to ever go back to being normal? Someone who moved through the world as herself and not someone else.
I wondered if she even knew who she was anymore underneath all the masks. My journey down the Road of Yellow Brick had been a clarifying one—I knew myself better now. And I was stronger. Lang was strong, and crafty—and I just hoped she’d been rewarded with the same sense of self.
As the beetle captain navigated us along Ev’s underground waterways, more and more boats packed with people decked out in spectacular finery began to crowd the river. Some boats were living creatures, like ours: huge swans in thread-thin gold bridles; car-size fish that swam half out of the water; even a giant, decidedly evil-looking crocodile. Others were made of wood and metal, some of them so delicate it looked like a single wave might swamp them, others as massive and solid as tanks.
Like us, the other guests were in disguise. I saw exotic birds and reptiles, wild animals I recognized—and plenty I didn’t. One woman was costumed as an owl, in snow-white feathers scattered with diamonds. Another wore the inky-black pelt of some kind of jungle cat like a second skin, cut so low in the bodice that her overabundant assets threatened to spill out of her ensemble altogether. Their escorts were dressed as the Tin Woodman—that was in poor taste, I thought—and the Wizard of Oz, complete with a three-piece suit and a top hat. Unlike the actual Wizard, he was young, handsome, and possessed of a full head of thick, dark hair. Also unlike the actual Wizard, he was alive. My gaze flicked back to the center of the fake Tin Woodman’s chest, and I thought back to when I held his glowing, throbbing heart in my hand. I shuddered.
I wonder how the people of Ev even knew about birds since they spent so much of their lives underground. Maybe they dreamed of faraway places just the way I had back in Kansas.
Even on the way to a party the huge difference between rich and poor in Ev was totally obvious. The wealthier people had elaborate, lavish costumes, studded with gemstones that sent rainbows of light shooting across the lamp-lit canals. The poor people had simpler boats and costumes; some o
f them wore only makeshift masks, carved roughly out of wood, and tied over their eyes with ratty bits of string.
“So many people,” Nox said quietly, watching the throngs. Traffic in the canals had slowed to a crawl. Although our faces were hidden underneath our masks, we were careful not to make eye contact with any of the other guests.
“The invitation didn’t offer an opportunity to decline,” Lang said. “And everyone in Ev is afraid of the Nome King, even if they’ve never heard of Dorothy. He is not . . . kind to people who defy him.”
I thought of the scars on Lang’s back and shivered.
Finally I saw what had to be the entrance to the Nome King’s palace: a huge, vaulted cavern that opened directly onto the water. The walls glittered with raw rubies the size of my head and burst out of the rock everywhere like flowers climbing through soil. Huge red lanterns floated in the air, casting a bloodred light over the hordes of boats that looked both eerie and ominous. Next to me, Madison’s, Nox’s, and Lang’s costumes seemed almost to come alive in the unearthly light, as if the costumes themselves were living creatures.
A massive dock extended out into the canal, where a group of heavily armed, white-skinned creatures impassively watched the guests disembark. They were hideously ugly, heavily muscled and covered with scars and tattoos, and they looked mean as hell. Those had to be the Diggers. Liveried valets parked their boats along an obsidian marina.
I expected to hear excited chatter—the babble of voices, conversations, people gossiping the way people always did on the way to parties. But Dorothy’s guests were eerily silent. Rich or poor, every one of Dorothy’s guests had one thing in common: they looked terrified. Their eyes were wide with fear, their faces haunted. You could have heard the flap of a bird’s wings in the huge cavern. I swallowed hard. I couldn’t let my courage falter. Not now.
“This is it,” Lang whispered. She looked at me, then Nox, and abruptly she threw her arms around us, squeezing us so tightly that she knocked the breath out of my lungs. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I’m . . . glad to have your help.”
The words came out rushed and stilted, as if she wasn’t used to being honest.
“Obviously,” Nox said, taking her hand. And then, “Lang. You have to know—”
But she shook her head, cutting him off. “Save it,” she said. “There will be plenty of time to say everything after we kill Dorothy,” she said. “Together.” He nodded and pulled her close again in a tight embrace. When he released her, I saw tears pooling in her green eyes.
Our boat was drawing close to the dock now. The captain tossed a line to one of the valets, and she pulled us close enough to the black stone that we could get out. All around us, other people were doing the same.
We were here.
Whatever else happened at Dorothy’s wedding, I had to give her credit. It was the most impressive turnout of any party I’d ever seen, and that’s including in my mom’s collector’s issue of People magazine from Princess Diana’s royal wedding.
With all these people, staying hidden in the crowd wasn’t going to be a problem. Again, that nagging worry went off in the back of my mind: something felt wrong here. Something like, this wasn’t Dorothy’s style. She was vain and shallow and careless, at least when it came to certain things, but she wasn’t stupid. She always had a plan.
This many people, left to their own devices—it was too risky for someone as paranoid as she was. Even with the Nome King’s forces, there were so many people filing down the gangway and into the Nome King’s palace that it would be impossible to keep track of them all.
Why would Dorothy leave herself open to that kind of a threat?
I shook off my doubts and climbed out of the boat. There was nothing we could do now except stay alert. Even if I’d wanted to, the endless line of boats still streaming into the cavern would make it impossible to leave.
For better or for worse, we were in this mission all the way. Hopefully, we’d have a little luck—or magic—on our side this time.
We followed the crowds through a set of enormous metal doors studded with more rubies, and down a broad hallway. The walls were made of the same polished stone as the dock. The black surface was mirror smooth and I could see my costume’s shadowy reflection. The air was hot and heavy. I could smell the other guests’ perfume and sweat and fear. From somewhere ahead of us, a deep bass line thudded ominously.
It was like being at the world’s worst rave. If this was really the end of everything I’d come to Oz to do, it was a strange backdrop.
The end. Could this really be it? If we didn’t kill Dorothy, she would kill us. Kill us for real. And even if we did defeat her, we still had to face the Nome King. The odds were some of the worst we’d faced, but I had faith. We had come this far. I had come this far.
But what if we did what we’d come to do? If we won, it would mean I’d find a way to get us back to Oz. Which meant keeping my promise to Madison. But if I found a way back to Kansas, I’d have another choice to make.
Home, or Nox? Home, or Oz?
It dawned on me that, once upon a time, Dorothy’d had to make that choice, too.
We marched along until the hallway ended.
When I stepped into the Nome King’s ballroom, right behind Nox, I gasped out loud. The ballroom was unbelievable. I’d never seen anything like it. And despite the situation, the tension—everything that we were about to do—I couldn’t help one last feeling of reluctant astonishment. After all this, it was one of the most beautiful places I’d ever seen: a vast underground cavern, its high ceiling lit with ruby stalactites that burned with an eerie red light. The shiny floor reflected back up at me as we entered the room. The walls sprouted candelabra like moss; years of use had left twisted, molten sculptures of ancient candlewax collected beneath them. Red moths with wingspans as wide as my arm fluttered through the air, glowing with the same ruby light as the stalactites, shedding shimmering dust with every beat of their lacy wings until the air in the huge cave swirled and eddied with red clouds that pulsed in time with the music.
Despite the cavern’s size, the air was sweltering. Stern-faced sentries ringed the cavern, pale as birds’ eggs and lean as skeletons. Instead of costumes, they wore armor plated together from tarnished steel and patches of leather. Their bare chests were decorated with intricate designs made, Lang had told us, by cutting into their own flesh and packing the wounds with coal dust. They held spears and swords and other, even more sinister weapons that made my skin crawl just to look at: spiky iron balls that dangled from long chains, wooden staves bristling with iron nails, leather whips with steel-barbed tails. I guessed the Nome King liked to remind his guests that they were there thanks to his generosity, and misbehavior was punishable—by death. The Nome King himself was nowhere in sight.
Most of the guests had used the masquerade as an excuse to bare as much skin as possible. They were dressed as old-fashioned courtiers, in elaborate powdered white wigs, velvet suitcoats with tails, and dresses cut dangerously low. Women dripped with jewels, their fingers blazing with golden, gem-studded rings, their exposed skin dusted with glitter and sweat. Even the men wore jewelry in the Nome King’s ballroom: ruby-decorated cuffs and rings, a nod to the Nome King’s favorite stone. I thought of the people we’d seen starving aboveground and how many of them could be fed with what just one of those bracelets cost. Then I put the thought out of my mind. That wasn’t why we were here.
The guests circulated in the immense cave, sipping bloodred liquor from red goblets. The room was as still and quiet as outer space. Half of the attendees were using the opportunity to eat as much as they could.
I snatched a goblet from a passing servant’s tray and took a drink, the heady liquor burning the back of my throat and giving me courage. I noticed that Lang was talking with a man dressed as a fairy. Huge wings of wire and gossamer blossomed from his back, and he wore a crown of onyx and garnet gems. I had no love for the Nome King, but I had to admit, grudgingly, th
at he threw a good party.
I stayed where I was, directly in front of the raised dais where the ceremony was obviously to take place. It was currently empty. That was when I realized: I hadn’t said good-bye to Nox. Which really meant that dying was not an option. He looked at me, and even behind his mask, his gaze said everything it needed to. He took my hand and squeezed it briefly, before he let me go for good and disappeared into the crowd.
I didn’t see Madison. I could only hope that she was doing what she was supposed to—staying out of sight, and out of harm’s way.
A noise like a clap of thunder suddenly shook the cathedral-like room. The music cut out and the guests immediately fell silent, apprehension spreading across their faces. A fissure in the wall on the far side of the room split open, revealing a yawning black doorway through which more guards carried an immense ruby and obsidian throne. The Nome King lounged in the throne, one black-clad leg thrown over the armrest and dangling lazily. He wore a spiky iron crown on his bald head and a black leather suit with no shirt, the jacket unbuttoned and revealing his pale, hairless torso. Around his neck, a single enormous ruby dangled from a thick iron chain. His long silver nails, filed to sharp tips, matched his pointy-toed black boots that were tipped with shining steel. I took special note of the huge, evil-looking knife strapped to his belt, and shuddered.
The guards set his throne down on the raised dais and immediately prostrated themselves, touching their foreheads to the floor. The guests followed suit, throwing themselves to the ground frantically so as not to be the last person left standing. I quickly did the same.