“Who else?”
“The West is… well, her story is complicated.” She leans over and lowers her voice. “The Enders don’t call herwickedfor nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was a sister to the queen.”
My mouth drops open. “The West helped overthrow her sister? Why would she do that?”
Ana shakes her head. “Revenge? Jealousy? The West is the eldest daughter. She was supposed to inherit the throne, but they bypassed her for reasons we will never know.”
We make another turn. We seem to be leaving the city proper. There are fewer buildings and more palatial houses with vast, manicured grounds. The streets aren’t as bumpy, but there are twice as many pedestrians. Everyone on their way to the ball, I’m guessing.
“What about the wizard?” I ask.
Ana shifts her attention back to me. “What about him?”
“Has he exploited his position? Used his power against others?”
Rook shifts next to me. He’s been quiet this entire time, taking it all in. I have to wonder if any of this sounds familiar to him, or if he’s learning it again along with me. I must admit, there is a comfort in him being as clueless as he is. I feel so out of my depth, but with him beside me, with no more knowledge about Oz than me, I don’t feel so alone.
Ana squints as she thinks. “The wizard is… harder to pin down. He is far more powerful than the witches.”
“Really?”
She nods. “Truly an enigma. I suppose that’s part of his allure.” She winks. “But to answer your question, has he exploited his position? I think the wizard is so powerful that if he did, we’d never know it.”
I shiver at her words.
The carriage bumps over a rounded stone seam between the street and the long driveway of East Manor.
I crane my neck so I can see better as we follow the winding curve of the drive.
The grounds are massive. There must be ten acres between the street and the house where it sits back like a king draped in white amongst a dark sky and dark oak trees.
Decorative lampposts dot the grounds, each topped with three frosted globes. Moths and beetles swoop in and around the globes as if they’re starving for light.
Though there’s a line of carriages winding down the hillfrom the front door, we bypass all of them, going straight to the half-moon drive in front of the house. There, a woman dressed in an aubergine long coat pulls open the carriage door. Humid night air swirls in smelling faintly of smoked meat and baked goods.
Ana is the first one out, then Rook. Rook offers me his hand again and I take it, using my other to hold up my skirt. The steps out of the carriage are tiny and I don’t want to make my entrance into this celebration as the girl who fell on her face.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“Always my pleasure, Kansas.”
He waits until I’m steady on solid ground and then lets me go.
I immediately miss his nearness.
There’s something about Rook that reminds me vaguely of Toto. Toto’s love is fickle, there one minute, gone the next. Sometimes he’ll curl up beside me in the afternoon sun and we’ll doze the day away. Other times I can’t coax him into cuddling with anything less than a bloody steak.
Not that Rook has withheld any kind of affection. Not that I’m owed any kind of affection.
It’s just that… his attention is selective, and I find myself desiring more drops of it.
When I shouldn’t. Absolutely should not desire any drops.
I slip out of his suit jacket and hand it back, then straighten my dress.
