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“So we have a deal?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Fine. But if I’m doing this, I am the commander. You obey me. You might have magic, but I know Oz and I know the Wizard. Do we understand one another?”

My belly dips at the authority ringing through his gruff voice. He’s a mess—heartless, cursed, and probably a drunk—but there is no denying his competency. There’s a reason he was one of the first people the Enders warned me about, and a reason the Witch of the West hired him to kidnap me.

And I do believe there is a very good reason I’m with him now: I think he might be one of the few people unafraid of the Wizard and not at all deceived by his facade.

“I understand,” I say.

“Good. We start now.” He breezes past me.

“What do you mean? We’re leaving?”

“No. You’re putting on armor and you will not take it off.”

“Why?”

“Because if I know my brother, he will make a game out of hunting you down.”

“He doesn’t even know I’m alive.”

“Maybe not, but he will know soon enough.”

“How?”

“He has his ways.”

My heart thumps a little harder as I follow the Tinman down the stairs. He seems to know exactly where he’s going and I’m entirely at his mercy.

“Won’t armor slow me down? And aren’t people afraid of you and your axe? Maybe if you just leer and growl, they’ll back off. It seems to work for Toto.”

“Who?”

“My dog?”

He comes to a sudden stop at the end of a hallway, and I nearly crash into him. We’re deep in the castle now, nowhere near an exit. How does one get out of the castle and to the surrounding woods anyway? I’m not worried about Toto, yet, but he’ll be looking for me soon enough, and I could help him along if I shouted his name or let the wind carry my scent to him.

“You should really consider switching out those shoes,” Tin says.

“What?”

“Your shoes. They aren’t meant for long bouts of travel.” He points at the silver slippers in question, currently on my feet. The fact that I’m still in possession of them proves that Gabriel’s theory was right: They have to be given. They cannot be taken. Just like the Tinman’s axe.

“Is that a command?” I ask and look up at him. We’re just inches apart, but he towers over me so that I have to crane my neck to meet his eyes. Rook was much taller than me too, and while I did feel small next to him, I did not feel imperiled by him. The Tinman practically smells of danger and violence.

But Rook is the most powerful person in all of Oz. I should have felt something.

Was that on purpose? Did he bend and contort his presence so that I always felt comfortable around him? Just the thought brings on a new flare of anger.

“No,” the Tinman answers. “A suggestion.”

“Then I’ll keep them on.”

I don’t entirely know what kind of magic the slippers are capable of, but I know I won’t find out if I leave them behind.

“Suit yourself.” He makes a sharp turn to the left and walks down another hall until we finally come to a stone archway that leads into what appears to be a closet the size of our farmhouse.

But this is no ordinary closet. Running the perimeter of the room are a dozen recessed alcoves in the stone walls with light that glitters in their depths, highlighting several different outfits fitted onto dress forms.