The End of Oz
Page 42

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, that 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.