“It's all part of the game,” Bain says, running his finger along the brim of his white witch hat. It lilts slightly to one side, like it's as lazy and bored as he is. “Emerald eyes for an emerald city. Everything is green here, while in the country of the Munchkins, blue is the favorite color. It's all an illusion, Oz, as is much of Dorothy's rule. The people believe they trod over emeralds instead of river rocks, that they sup rare delicacies, and drink rare wine.” I lift up on my knees and move over to push back the lacy curtains next to the bed. As Bain said, the rocks embedded in the road are gray, the ones on the walls of the city as dull as cement.
Wow.
I sit back down, leaning my suddenly heavy body into the pillows. It isn't just the color either, is it? When I looked out the window before, the stones seemed to glow, to reflect back the light of the sun as if they really were emeralds instead of useless fucking rocks.
“Dorothy drains the blood of the fae and uses it to make her goggles,” Bain says, frowning for the first time since he started his story. He smells like sugared-plums and coconut, like gardenias and honey. I bury my face in my teacup to distract myself from it. “It's an elaborate glamour, built into the lenses of those fucking glasses. The citizens outside the Emerald Spire—this lovely castle turned prison you're now sitting in—eat plain corn cakes and drink dirty water yet taste strawberries and fine wine. They all truly believe they live in luxury, the same way they all truly believe in Dorothy: because the magic tells them so. Inside the Spire, Dorothy keeps things luxe; she finds plainness distasteful.”
“Dorothy's guardian, Tuala, said that I wasn't charmed, and they thought it was because of the shoes.” I point down at the silvery Vans on my feet, and Bain smiles. It's not a pretty smile either; it's dripping with self-satisfaction. “You seem to be in a chatty mood. Want to tell me what that’s all about?”
“Every wizard has a specialty, just as they have a weakness. Mannix, the Strong and Heartless, can command metal. Stryker, the Vain and Arrogant”—if Bain notices the way I stiffen up at the mention of Stryker’s name, he doesn’t let on—”commands light. And you, my dear, you seem to have an affinity for storms.” Bain turns toward me, his teacup levitating off his palm to set itself back on the nightstand. The china doesn’t even clink as it settles into place. “Dorothy’s specialty is charisma. She tells the people they love her; they believe it with their whole hearts. She says she is a just ruler; they bow low and thank her for the honor of it.”
My brows go up, and I think back on Norm’s games of Dungeons and Dragons, played in the attic of our house in Seattle. Each character in the game has special traits; charisma is one of them. The more charisma the character has, the more easily they can influence others.
This thing with Dorothy, it doesn’t sound dissimilar.
“That’s why she asked me to give her the shoes,” I muse aloud, absently stroking Taavi’s pricked ears back from his face. I’m surprised by how much I miss his human form, considering I knew him that way for all of a couple of days—several of which I spent truly and utterly believing I was trapped in a delusion of my own making. At least I don’t have to feel like a creep for checking him out. The guy has perfect abs, even if his personality’s a bit prickly. “She thought I’d hand them over if she asked.”
“Why else would Mannix follow a wizard who, in many regards, is the weaker of the two parties? He’s always been called the Heartless, but now that title is literal. She keeps his heart, you know, under a glass dome in the ballroom, just because she can. As far as anyone knows, he gave it willingly to her.”
“She has his heart?” I ask, wondering what, exactly, that means. Under a glass dome implies there’s something physical that Dorothy might’ve taken. How can I be surprised though? Sure, she could take his physical heart from his chest and put it on display. Why not? It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve seen since I’ve been here. Bain doesn’t answer, assuming it’s a rhetorical question. “What does she want with me?”
“She wants you to fight in the Trials, to win, to kill Thyer.” Bain turns lavender eyes toward me, studying me carefully. “Or, at least, that’s what she wanted. Now that she knows you can’t be charmed, I’m sure her plans have changed. That’s why I’m here. You can’t do this alone.”
