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But in the years that have stretched between then and now, our relationship has changed. She built who I am, but I’m not sure she’s pleased with the shape that emerged.

“If you so much as speak to her, I will not only never remove Gabriel’s curse, I’ll take his heart too.”

Her cheeks burn. Maybe with anger. Maybe with fear. Maybe a bubbling mixture of both.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Tempt me, Mother.”

Her nostrils flare, teeth gritting. I think she wants to counter me, but the words get lodged behind her teeth.

“Take your ward and return to the south. I no longer need your assistance.”

I turn and continue down the stairs.

“But Gabriel—”

“Gabriel stays with me.”

This time, she doesn’t follow.

When I cross the grand foyer of the palace, I find it bustling with people. Courtiers. Servants. Soldiers. Curious onlookers. The lighting is dim here and the shadows are thick. My power clings to me like a shroud. Most of them will only feel me and see a blur of color and shape where I walk.

They’ve been here long enough to know when the Wizard of Oz enters the room.

As I move, they bend into deep bows. Some of them sink to their knees. A few of them gasp and scurry away.

When I was a teenager, there was nothing I wanted more than respect, maybe even a little fear.

Now it feels stifling.

I am the most powerful person in Oz and yet it’s not enough. It’s not enough to ensure my survival.

I think of Kansas again.

Does she know how powerful she is? Does she stand a chance against me?

I want her to try.

I want to see what she can do.

Bron finds me in the Hall of Glass, a long hallway that runs from the grand foyer to the gallery. It’s constructed entirely of muddled glass, with the Winter Garden outside of it to the left and the Emerald Promenade outside to the right. Golden string lights are in the garden and lit lampposts line the promenade so that walking through the Hall of Glass feels like walking through a glittering dream.

Kansas would love it.

“The ring of fire is burning,” Bron tells me. “And the flock is close.”

“Good.”

“I should tell you,” Bron says. “Bayla downplayed the severity of the fighting trees. They killed two loggers in a fortnight and injured three foragers.”

“Why the fuck is anyone entering the Ancient Forest in the first place? Are there no other trees to cut down? Or berries to pick?”

We enter the gallery. A ripple of supplication flows through the room. I ignore the people on their knees as we pass and head for the arched doorway that will lead us to the observation deck and finally the outdoors.

“As Lacosta reports it, foragers have gotten very little from the other forests as of late. People are desperate, so they’re entering the Ancient Forest.”

I don’t need this kind of distraction right now.