At least I know I still don't have to question his loyalty.
“Do you think this is poisoned?” I ask, pointing at the tray and knowing full-well that I'm only talking to myself. “Because in any of Norman's D&D campaigns, it would've been. In any of the books he read. The video games he played.”
But then I figure, if these people wanted me dead, they've had plenty of opportunities.
The image of Stryker's head exploding fills my mind's eye against my own will, and I shiver.
“Well, it was pleasant while it lasted. Farewell, Oz, the Great—”
Bile comes up in my mouth. You'd think I'd be used to death, considering my entire family drowned in an ice-cold lake during a family vacation. At some point, when Taavi was propelling me to the surface, when he was letting me cling to him like a life raft, my brothers and sisters, my parents and grandparents … they were all dying around me.
I grab the tray of food and head back to the bed with it, pretending like my hands aren't shaking as I slather a cracker with jam and shove it in my mouth.
If it is poison, then fine. I don't care. Let it take me.
But that's just a lie I'm telling to make myself feel better. If I didn't care about dying, I wouldn't be shaking so hard, I wouldn't be eating this food and trying to figure out how to wake Taavi up from whatever spell or curse or enchantment he might be under.
My family died, but Taavi saved me.
The question now is … why?
And what the hell does Dorothy, the Small and Meek, want with me?The next morning, after breakfast, the green maiden comes to fetch me, begging my permission to dress me in one of the prettiest gowns, made of green brocaded satin.
“I can dress myself, thank you,” I say, crossing my arms under my breasts as I study the glasses locked onto the girl's petite face. Even Dorothy's guardian, Tuala, was wearing them. “Can't you come back in twenty minutes or so?”
I'm not happy. Sometime last night, after Taavi and I finished off the tray of food, I fell asleep. I didn't mean to, but I was beyond exhausted, with the same sort of heavy melancholy that I haven't felt since the accident. It was the green serving girl who woke me up, placing a tray of fresh fruit, boiled eggs, and pastries at the foot of the bed.
As soon as she'd left, I scrambled out from under the covers and over to one of the windows flanking my bed. Last night, it'd been too dark to see anything, but today …
Even with eyes protected by green spectacles, I was dazzled by the brilliance of the city. The streets were lined with beautiful houses, all built of green marble and studded everywhere with sparkling emeralds. The streets were paved with the same marble, and where the blocks were joined together, there were rows of stones, set closely, and glittering in the brightness of the sun. The windowpanes were of green glass; even the sky above the city had a green tint, and the rays of the sun were also green.
It's all a bunch of bullshit.
Clearly, the 'Emerald City' is only green because every fucking person in it is wearing these damn glasses. I could see it, even from all the way up here: every citizen has the same glasses locked onto their head, just like Tuala said.
As far as for where here is, I'm not sure. It's clear the building we're in is situated on a hill, overlooking the city. It's vast, stretching for miles in every direction and surrounded by a massive wall covered in the tiny shapes of guards, their armor catching the light as they move along them.
Now, serving girl is back, and she's trying to convince me to let her dress me. The thing is, I thought I was a prisoner, but she's kowtowing and groveling to me like I'm some sort of god.
“Oh, gracious sorceress,” she whispers, bowing low again, her green hair (which is probably blonde, sans these stupid glasses) coiled up on her head and fastened into place with a metal clip in the shape of a winged monkey. “I've been instructed by Dorothy herself to make certain you look presentable, and getting into a dress such as this on one's own is no easy feat.”
There's a quiver of fear in her voice, but since I'm the prisoner here, I just assume it must be because of Dorothy.
“I thought Dorothy was a good wizard?” I bite out, my tone caustic. I'm being facetious here: if Dorothy were as good as she pretends to be, she wouldn't have sent her tin-armed General Mannix out to kill Stryker and imprison me.
“So she is,” says the green girl, raising her head just slightly to look at me. “And she rules the Emerald City wisely and well. But to those who are not honest, or who approach her from curiosity, she is most terrible, and few have ever dared ask to see her in person.”
