Page 24

“Like the bird?”

My back to her, I close my eyes and in the darkness behind my lids, I see Kansas. I see the cornfield parting for her, the rustle of the dry leaves, the huff of her breath, the sweat collecting on her brow.

I didn’t intend any of this. My goal was simple: use the girl to get to the Witch of the West, get the mask, get Gabriel.

Kansas was a surprise. And now I can’t seem to shake her. She coats my skin, my brain, like a film.

When I played the affable fool around her in the Hollow, I barely had to try because I was foolishly delighted by her.

Very early in life, I had a reputation for being handsome and powerful and different. I didn’t have to try for anyone’s attention. I didn’t have to earn it.

With Kansas, every look, every touch was hard-won. There is an almost impenetrable wall around her, studded with sharp thorns. For a brief moment in that tunnel, her breath in my ear, her skin against mine, the wall cracked open and she let me in.

“Why are you always punishing me?” Glinda is still talking.

The thought of Kansas is ripped away from me and rage bristles inside me.

“If you knew what I sacrificed for you—”

I turn to my mother. “Sacrifices I never asked for.”

“You know I only want what’s best for my boys.”

“Even the heartless Tinman?”

“Yes. Even Silas.” She softens, crosses her arms over her chest. “Did you see him?”

The question is simple and straightforward, but each syllable bleeds with desperation.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And he’s an addict, and he’s got an attitude that could rust steel. Same as last time I checked on him.”

I test the mead. This particular blend is from an apiary in the south with hibiscus and hops added. It’s sweet and light, a little reminiscent of beer. I could go for something stronger right now, but I have too much to do and so little time to do it.

“Did he ask about me?”

I turn back to Glinda. “No.”

Her face falls.

Our entire lives, everything revolved around our mother. She wanted admiration and adoration from anyone who crossed her path. She wanted people to like her, even the people she hated. She wanted to be thanked for her good deeds and to be acknowledged for her accomplishments.

And her greatest accomplishment was always her children.

Until they grew up. Until they formed their own opinions.

She never wanted me to go to the royal palace to study, but once I was here, she was happy to claim her prodigy of a son, installed beside the queen and king.

Now she lives on a knife’s edge. She wants to take credit for the accomplishments of her children, but if her children detest her?

What does that say about Glinda the Good?

We have become a narrative she can no longer control. Her worst fucking nightmare.

“When will you fix Gabriel?” she asks, changing the subject.