Page 39

The carriage appears, and Glinda mutters, “Finally.”

Even from a distance, Cleo can tell the carriage is one of the finest she’s ever seen. It’s painted high gloss pink with gold trim and is drawn by white horses with gold plumes at their crowns. The driver sits on a bench at the front of the carriage, reins firmly in hand while a footman is positioned on a step at the back.

All of this is happening so fast that Cleo hasn’t had a moment to consider the direction of her path. Is she making the right decision? Would she have been better off with the Tinman?

At least with Tin, Cleo knew where she stood.

Here in the Emerald Palace, with a wizard and a witch, she can’t help but feel stuck in a fog, unclear about their intentions.

“Why are you being so kind to me?” she blurts, then immediately regrets it.

Glinda turns to her, clearly taken aback. “What do you mean?”

Courage summoned, she says, “You’re a Cardinal Witch. I’m no one.”

Glinda pats Cleo on the shoulder and smiles. “Everyone is someone in Oz. Do you not deserve kindness?”

But quietly, like a whisper of wind in an evergreen forest, Cleo thinks she hears the word contingency.

This is a foreign word to her. It’s not one Delphine ever used and it wasn’t one Cleo came across in any of her leisurely reading. In fact, she has a hard time imagining how to spell it, even though the pronunciation is sharp in her mind.

Contingency.

Odder still, she thinks she hears the word in Glinda’s voice.

But her lips haven’t moved. And what would the word contingency have to do with anything?

Cleo must be imagining it.

The carriage comes to a stop in front of them and a palace footman dressed in the emerald green livery of the Wizard sets down a stool curbside.

The conversation is swept away and quickly discarded as Glinda turns her attention to the footman. He holds out his hand for her, bowing to avoid looking her directly in the eye.

“Thank you, dear,” Glinda says and takes hold of her large skirt, stepping up into the waiting carriage. “Come along, Cleo.”

The footman eyes Cleo. There is no disdain on his face, but Cleo feels it anyway. Or maybe she’s imagining it because Delphine always looked at her with the kind of regard one should hold only for swamp muck.

He holds out his hand and Cleo shakes her head. “I can manage. Thank you.” She uses the carriage’s handle to hoist herself up. The carriage dips slightly with her weight.

Inside, there are two benches facing each other, both upholstered in a thick brocade with metallic pink embroidery featuring rabbits and swans. Glinda has herself positioned on the rear bench, her skirts already straightened and fluffed, her hands clasped in her lap. Cleo is careful to edge around the skirts, not daring to brush up against them, even though by volume, they take up over half the carriage’s interior.

As soon as she’s sitting, a breath of relief puffs out of her.

The footman closes the carriage door and gives the side a rap, alerting the driver to push off.

The wheels clatter forward, jostling Cleo in her seat.

Glinda smiles at her. “Is it your first time in a carriage?”

“Yes.”

Whenever Delphine left the East Castle, she made Cleo stay behind. The witch had no use for her outside the castle walls.

She adjusts herself on the carriage bench, bracing her feet against the floorboard.

“Well then, here’s to many more firsts to come,” Glinda says.

Cleo turns her attention to the carriage window and the city that passes as they head south.