The End of Oz
Page 33

And that, I understood. Because at the end of the day, while I’d had armies at my disposal, Oz was all about me. It was exhilarating, having that kind of power. But it was also isolating. A huge responsibility.
The more time I spent with him, the more I realized how much alike we were. But the Nome King could have learned a thing or two from me—I had kept Tin, Scare, and the Lion around for a reason. Not just because they were useful. They were also company.
“But you must be bored with all of this,” he said suddenly, as if he’d read my mind. “Tell me about the history of Dorothy Gale.”
“You mean, how I came to rule Oz?” I asked, blinking up at him.
“No,” he said. “Your history before.”
“I prefer not to talk about that.”
I never talked about the Other Place. I had had people’s fingers cut off at the mere mention.
“But, darling, how are we ever going to know each other if we don’t . . . share?” he asked.
I hesitated. I needed him to trust me. Was this the price of admission?
“Dorothy . . . ?”
I took a deep breath and told him about Kansas. At first, I told him everything I’d hated about growing up there. The miserable winters that lasted for months. The miserable summers the rest of the time. Working like a serf on Aunt Em and Uncle Henry’s farm. My so-called friends who’d turned on me after my first visit to Oz.
But then I started thinking about the good things. About the parts I hadn’t even realized I missed: the first big snowfall of the year, when the prairie turned into a sea of white that stretched all the way to the horizon. The happy cluck-cluck of the chickens every morning when I brought them their feed. The warmth of the egg-laying shed in winter. Aunt Em’s apple pies. The way the prairie grass smelled in summer before the heat settled in to make us all miserable.
I’d never told anyone as much as I told the Nome King. Not Ozma, back when I thought we were friends. Not even Scare and Tin and the Lion the first time I traveled with them in Oz.
Back then, I’d spent the whole trip to the Emerald City chanting “home” like a mantra.
I stopped talking. Something unfamiliar was happening.
A lump. In my throat. It hurt terribly. Was I dying?
“Dorothy, you’re crying,” the Nome King said quietly. He brushed a tear from the corner of my eye with a long, silvery finger.
“Certainly not,” I said quickly, clearing my throat around the unfamiliar sensation. “I don’t know why I went on so. I don’t miss the Other Place for a minute. It was barren and boring.”
“Coming to Oz must have been very strange for you,” the Nome King said, drawing me forward again. I hadn’t realized we’d stopped walking.
“It was wonderful,” I said decidedly.
“I’m sure it was,” he agreed. “But to be separated from your family so young, orphaned like that, forced to make decisions as a ruler of a nation . . .”
I’d loved my family. That is why I’d brought them with me to Oz. But they were gone. I was here, and that was all that mattered. “I’m perfectly capable of handling pressure, if that’s what you mean,” I said coolly. This was going all wrong. I was supposed to be pretending to be vulnerable, not actually vulnerable. What on earth was wrong with me?
“I don’t doubt that,” he said with a smile.
He had led me to another hallway, this one much wider than the rest. The ceiling towered above us. The hall ended in a huge set of iron-bound wooden doors.
“Welcome to Major Hall, my ballroom,” he said, flinging the doors open.
I couldn’t help it. I gasped. Ballrooms were the cure for almost anything.
The Nome King’s ballroom was more than beautiful. It was magnificent. The ceiling was so far overhead it was lost in darkness. Massive ruby chandeliers, dark now, floated overhead, glittering redly in the scant light from the hallway. The floor was made of polished red stone.
I took a few steps into the enormous room. The click of my heels echoed eerily through the darkness. I was reminded of a Halloween haunted house Aunt Em had taken me to once long ago in the Other Place. There had been a room that felt like this. Vast. Empty.
But not entirely empty.
Haunted.
I was suddenly very aware of the fact that the Nome King and I were deep within the bowels of his palace.
And we were entirely alone.
A shiver ran through me.
Not fear.
Something else entirely.
I turned to him. “It’s perfect,” I said, and I meant it. I had no intention of dying here, of course, but he didn’t need to know that.
“I thought you might like it,” he said.
And, I realized, he meant it, too. For once we weren’t playing a game. We were standing in this enormous room, surrounded by darkness, two of the most powerful people in the world. Alone. Together. I stepped forward and let my hand slide down his arm. My fingers twined with his. He didn’t resist.
And so I kissed him.
His cool lips parted in surprise—and then he leaned into me and returned the kiss. His arms wrapped around me, his fingers tangled in my hair.
And I knew in that moment, whatever else was to come, whatever we might do to each other in the end, this moment was real. Neither one of us was pretending to be anything other than what we were.
But I couldn’t lose control. Because no matter what, I had to remember that this man intended to kill me. There was nothing about him I could trust.
Reluctantly, I broke away from him. I lowered my eyelashes, giving me time to recover my racing thoughts. I couldn’t let him see he’d caught me off guard.
“You are full of surprises, Dorothy Gale,” he murmured.
There was a shift in his tone. I could see in his eyes that he, too, had forgotten the game for a moment. So it was my turn to take advantage.
“I’d like our wedding to be very grand,” I said in the same hushed tone he’d just used. “Hundreds of guests.”
“Of course,” he said, his eyes a little glazed. But then his gaze sharpened. “Hundreds? I was thinking a more intimate affair.”
I’ll bet you were, I thought. Perhaps even his subjects drew the line at human sacrifice. If he was still planning on killing me, he wouldn’t want an audience.
But I needed Amy in the palace when I made my move. If I knew she was coming, I could defend myself against her. But with any luck, the Nome King wouldn’t. She was my backup plan: if Amy didn’t kill him, she could distract him long enough to give me a chance to escape. It was a risky plan, but I didn’t have a lot of options.
“I insist,” I said, my tone flirtatious. “I want a celebration that shows off your riches, my treasured love. I want your subjects to be able to appreciate your magnanimity and your largesse. My love, your kingdom is ever so much older and finer than Oz. Surely you have nobility . . . princes and princesses—dukes and duchesses—all sorts of important persons whom you wish to witness our union?”
“Why?” he asked.
I concealed my irritation with considerable effort. “Because that’s how it’s done, my darling,” I said. “In royal circles, anyway. The citizens of Ev don’t even know their future queen is among them.”
“You want a party?” I was getting used to his hairless eyebrow-arching, and recognized it as what he intended it to be.