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“What about it?” Tin sits back and lights a cigarette.

“The West said in her letter … let me get it.” I lean back and dig into my pocket, pulling out the letter. I unfold it and spread it out on the table next to the stack of books. “‘Take my golden mask. Use it to protect the flock and use it to find the truth.’”

Tin has the cigarette pinched between thumb and forefinger as he takes a long drag from it. The ribbon of smoke curls around his face, stretching toward the high ceiling.

“The mask will be harder to locate and we already have too much to accomplish. I say we save that for a much later date.”

“Fine. I suppose you’re right. Though I do wonder what she meant by using it to find out the truth.”

“Memories,” Tin guesses.

“What do you mean?”

“Memories can be stored in crystal, glass, or metal. Crystal holds them the best, but crystal is easy to break.”

“So not only did Rook take command of the flock, but he took my access to any potential illumination of my past.” I drop against the back of the chair, feeling defeated all over again.

“We’ll get it back,” Tin promises. “One way or another. I made Faos a promise and I intend to keep it. But first things first.”

I nod. “Okay. I suppose I can be patient. So when do we leave?”

Tin finishes the cigarette and drops it into the cider bottle, where an inch of liquid remains. When the ember hits the bottom, it hisses and goes dark.

“Within the hour.”

I push back my chair and grab my empty plate. “Then let’s get ready, shall we?”

THIRTY-THREEDorothy

With Tin’s help, we pick a location to aim for that will be mostly hidden from crowds and watching eyes tucked in an alley between a jeweler and a bakery. Thankfully, there was a rudimentary drawing in one of the books in a section called “The In-Between Places of the Emerald Palace and Beyond.” Finding it almost felt like striking gold, and when I clack the slippers together and we leave the West’s castle behind, I almost shriek with joy when not only do I transport us to exactly that alley but we stick the landing too.

“Holy shit. I did it.”

Tin rustles my hair. “Good job.”

I bat him away. “You’ll mess up my hair. I worked hard on these storm-the-castle braids.”

I smooth it back, only half joking.

I did work hard on the braids. They’re Dutch braids and it’s how I used to wear my hair as a kid. It’s the origin of how Edward started calling me Dutchie.

Tin found an old cloak in one of the West’s storage rooms and he’s wearing it to cover his axe and his face. We were less worried about me being recognized, since not many people in Oz have met me, especially those in the Emerald Palace.

Except, when we step out of the alley, I realize we have grossly underestimated Rook’s pettiness.

There are banners hanging from every available balcony and roofline with my face rendered on them, along with the words THE TRAITOR—DOROTHY GALE—SEIZE HER IF SPOTTED.

I rush back into the shadows, heart racing in my ears.

“Now what?”

Tin stands at the mouth of the alley, scanning the square. “Crice,” he says beneath his breath, then slinks back to me.

“Maybe I go back to the castle and look for a cloak?”

“I’m not sure we’ll have time. They’ve already set up a stage. Music is playing. What about your magic?”

“What about it?”