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I know I should feel some level of guilt or shame about sleeping with the Tinman when we barely know each other, when he is Rook’s brother. I know I should feel guilty for sleeping with two men in a short span of time. Society tells me I should. Those voices from above that say men can sow wild oats, but women aren’t even allowed oats. They aren’t even allowed to fucking plant.

My teeth groan as I clench my jaw.

I don’t know why I’m suddenly angry about it all.

I don’t even know if the Land of Oz has similar outdated beliefs about women and their propriety.

I don’t feel guilty about sleeping with Rook or Tin.

Instead, I feel galvanized.

And somehow that feeling scrapes against reality—there is someone waiting for me at home who has asked me to marry him.

Oh Edward.

Sweet, kind, honest Edward. I’ve never been able to give him what he wants. A sweet, kind, honest, committed wife.

All the years we’ve been together in every way but an official one, he waited. And waited. Hoping a day would come when I would become what society told me I should be.

A wife, a mother, a homemaker.

I think deep down I always knew I couldn’t be that person for him.

And now the guilt at not telling him curdles like sour milk in my stomach.

I should have told him.

I should have let him go a long time ago so he could build the life he wanted.

I’ve been selfish. I was so terrified of making the wrong decision that I took Edward’s choice away from him.

I reach behind me and grab Tin’s cigarettes, lighting one with his lighter. When the smoke fills my lungs, I hang my head over the curved back of the chair and then exhale at the ceiling.

Edward also told me I shouldn’t smoke. He said it wasn’t good for me and he wanted me to take care of myself.

But I’m so sick of doing all the things that are expected of me.

I take another drag and the defiance fills me with a burning satisfaction.

Sitting upright, cigarette in my left hand, I hold the book on the Cardinal Gods in my right, flipping through the pages, skimming what I can so I can digest as much as possible while I have the quiet time.

Who knows how long we’ll have before people are pounding at our door.

After the introduction of the gods, the following chapters profile each one with detailed accounts of the author’s meeting with them.

She met with Valon, the God of the North, at the shore of a lake where thunder rumbled overhead. She detailed how massive he was, how intimidating and a bit cantankerous. He did not use words to speak to her, instead, he spoke directly to her mind. She found that part astonishing, if not unsettling.

Next, she met with the God of the South, Crice, in a sunlit glen in the middle of the forest. The author marveled at how the woodland creatures crowded around the god. Spotted deer and furry field mice and squirrels of every color. Crice had names for all of them, even the mice.

The meeting with the God of the West, Rotho, was jovial, though the author was reluctant to admit he was a bit cocky and proud of his ability to pull coins from thin air.

Last, she met with Metnua, the God of the East, at the edge of a cornfield. The author seemed most enamored with the East, with her kindness and warmth, and her steely strength. They ended their meeting breaking bread together. The author’s final note on the meeting was It was the best bread I’ve ever tasted.

I find I enjoy the author’s style because of her ability to make the gods feel almost touchable.

What did Henrietta want me to read in this book? Why did she risk her life to get this message to me?

The chapters that follow the gods’ profiles cover the many myths associated with them. There’s a story of how the gods were created from a single bolt of lightning that struck the river that ran through Oz. It was that river that eventually carried magic to each cardinal direction, and judging by the map included, it later became the Yellow Brick Road.