Her dedication to saving me is amusing. Again and again, she’s shown loyalty that I have not earned.
We race through the rest of the garden. Brutus and his men spill out through the archway behind us, but we’re already in the light, already on the mansion’s front lawn.
But we find all the carriages gone.
TWENTY-NINE
Dorothy
When I see the empty driveway in front of the provost’s mansion, my heart sinks. Where did everyone go so quickly? They clearly have experience with disappearing when the alarm goes off. They are a well-oiled machine.
With Rook wounded,again, and me in a giant ball gown, neither of us is in any shape to escape on foot. And I can’t imagine the guards who attacked us in the garden are going to give up so easily.
If only I knew why they were after me in the first place. Is it because I killed the witch? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to hear there are people in Oz who are on the witch’s side.
“Did you hear that, Kansas?”
I come to a stop with Rook still draped over my shoulders. “Hear what?”
“It sounds like horses.” Rook juts his chin to the left of the mansion. “I bet there’s a stable back there.”
I catch the faint sound of a whinny and relief floods my veins.
It’s a way out. And even better, I know how to ride a horse.
“Come on.” Rook pulls away from me, setting his hand on the small of my back, steering me toward the stables. There’s blood on his face, and more of it pooling in a cut on his bottomlip. He was just beat up for trying to save me and yet he seems unfazed by it.
Who is this man?
It strikes me out of nowhere how strange he is and yet how comfortable I am around him, how comforted I am by his protection.
I’m not sure I’d be able to navigate any of this without him.
“Thank you,” I blurt.
“What?” His attention is distant as he checks behind us for the guards.
“Thank you for helping me.”
He finally looks at me, a furrow appearing between his brows. “You helpedme, Kansas. It’s the least I can do.”
“But I didn’t get beat up for it.”
The furrow disappears and his expression turns distant again.
Sometimes he is impossible to read. The mystery of him frustrates and excites me in equal measure. He is a language I can’t quite decode.
“We should hurry,” he tells me and pushes me forward.
We make our way across the driveway and from there we find a gravel drive, tucked behind a row of evergreen trees, that winds its way to the back of the provost’s property to a gravel holding area. And there, just beyond in a halo of lamplight, are the stables.
No one is around, not even a stable hand, and the large bay doors are unlatched and propped open. We make our way in without any difficulty at all.
“Which one of you is friendly and fast?” I ask.
There are six stalls on either side, but only half of them are occupied.
I find a bay mare at the end of the aisle with her snoutout the half door of her stall. She snuffles when I pause and watches us with wide, dark eyes.
