Page 27

If Delphine were still alive, I’d make her grow some fucking berries. She were good for so very little, but she could occasionally be counted on for crops.

“Send word ahead to Lacosta. I’ll open the palace’s stores for the north while we attend to the forest.”

The fighting trees have been a problem since the war, but they haven’t been this active in a while.

I can’t ignore the timing.

“And make sure Bayla is careful. I know how she gets.”

Bayla is fearless, sometimes to her own detriment.

Bron snorts. “I can tell her. That doesn’t mean she’ll listen to me.”

We reach the doors to the outside and the two guards hurry to pull them open for us. Cool air sweeps in, smelling of smoke and charred wood. Beyond the palace grounds, the fire burns, giving Faos and his flock somewhere to aim for their descent and landing.

A crowd has gathered on the low, rolling hills that spread beyond the palace, their gazes trained on the sky. The shadows of the flying monkeys have started to pass overhead.

Bron and I follow the cobbled path through the grounds to the outer gate, then through the small copse of south ash trees and finally to the field.

Out here, away from the noise of the palace, the beating of wings is near deafening. I’m not swayed much by mythological creatures, but there is power in commanding the flock. I can’t deny it. It’s why the West was successful for so long despite having no allies to count on.

Several monkeys set down and form a circle around the ring of fire. Bron and I are standing in the center, with ten of the best soldiers from my personal guard behind us.

I’m not afraid of Faos or the flock. Not really. They are vicious and fast fighters, yes, but I am the Wizard of Oz.

Faos finally touches down in front of me. Two more monkeys land behind him. The snap of their wings is loud and the fire gusts.

“I’m glad you found the place,” I say.

Faos takes a step forward. I sense my guards shifting to the ready behind me. I lift my hand, holding them steady.

Faos and his soldiers eye the line, assessing.

“He who holds the mask commands the flock,” Faos says, but he’s not happy about it.

“Or she?” I say.

He chuffs out a breath. “You have three demands. You’ve used one to silence us. Two remain. Once the demands are met, the mask is mine and the flock will be free.”

The West and I were not the best of friends, and she would never share the details of the mask or its contract with me. But I always suspected she crafted it with an expiration date. The fact she commanded the flock for years speaks to either her restraint or her sway over Faos.

Or maybe it was nothing more than enemies of enemies becoming allies.

“Did the West use all three demands?”

“What is your second?” Faos asks, ignoring me.

To business then.

“The dog,” I say.

He tilts his head. “The dog?” The deep, rich sound of his voice turns the consonants ragged.

“The little furry thing that the girl brought with her. He ran off when you attacked us in the woods. I need you to retrieve him.”

“That is your demand?”

“That is my demand.”