Dorothy Must Die Novella #7 (3 page)

“Hall” was definitely the wrong word for the cavern Nox led her to. “Cathedral” was more like it. The cave was practically the size of her old village. The ceiling was so far overhead that it was lost in darkness, but long stalactites of glittering crystal reached downward out of the shadows, reflecting the light of dozens of chandeliers that floated over a single long oak table that stretched the entire length of the cavern. More glowing veins of the same crystal that lit the hallways streaked across the floor and up the walls; combined with the chandeliers, the effect was almost dazzling despite the fact that they were underground. A fire the size of a small house burned in a vast hearth at the far end of the cavern. Behind it, a foaming lavender waterfall descended from an opening in the ceiling, sending out clouds of jasmine-scented mist. Naked, chubby winged Pixies capered in and out of the water, giggling and splashing each other with tufts of foam.

Best of all, a small army of Flutterbudgets darted back and forth, setting the table with gleaming silverware and starched white napkins, filling cut-glass goblets with sparkling water, and bearing huge platters of more kinds of food than Lanadel had ever seen in one place in her life: singing jamfruits that periodically burst with a noisy squelch, sending sugary paste everywhere; piping-hot portlepastries baked into the shapes of flowers and trees; fizzgiggles that poured themselves into silver bowls, arguing fiercely with each other about who should get eaten first—Oz delicacies that Lanadel had only heard of but never imagined actually existed. She gasped out loud.

“Glamora really missed the banquet hall in the Emerald Palace,” Nox said at her side, slightly amused by her wonder. “She's the only one of us who really cares about all this stuff, to be honest. So we let her do whatever she wants, even though it takes a lot of her energy to keep up appearances. It means a lot to her.”

“Appearances?” Lanadel asked. But as she looked more closely at the dazzling spectacle of the dining hall, she suddenly understood what Nox meant. The Flutterbudgets were setting the same places at the table over and over again. If she stared long enough at the chandeliers, their outlines blurred and she could see through them to the walls of the cave beyond them. The firelight flickered in the same repeating patterns. The fizzgiggles climbed into their bowls in the same endless order. The jamfruits' song was stuck in a loop.

And although the long table was polished to a blinding glow and set with dozens of places, only a handful of people sat at
the end closest to Nox and Lanadel—Gert, Glamora, Melindra, Mombi, and a boy and a girl Lanadel didn't recognize. The boy had long white-blond hair that he kept pushing out of his eyes and a pale, serious face. The girl was a Munchkin; her muscular blue-skinned arms were decorated with delicate, pale tattoos of vines and flowers, and her blue-black hair was shaved at the sides so that only a long lock remained on top of her head. All of them were dressed in training clothes, but the Munchkin's and the pale boy's looked somehow more expensive and carefully tailored than Melindra's torn and patched clothes, as if they'd never actually worn them to train in. All of them were ignoring the darting Flutterbudgets, hovering dishes of food, and exploding pastries.

“It's fake,” Lanadel said as understanding dawned.

Nox shrugged. “It's an illusion,” he said, low enough so Glamora couldn't hear him. “Not exactly the same thing. It's real magic. You just can't eat the food.”

“Is it like this all the time?”

“She changes it up. Last winter it got so cold we couldn't train outside for a while, so she turned it into a big sunny outdoor picnic in here. Blue sky overhead, sunshine and all. For a while it looked exactly like Rainbow Falls. That was my favorite. You could even feel the mist on your face if you got close to the waterfall. But Mombi complained the water noises made her have to pee at every meal.”

“But why?” Lanadel asked. “Why go to all the trouble?”

“It's a good reminder of what we're fighting for,” Gert said
from across the table. How had she heard what Nox was saying? Lanadel wondered if she could read lips—or minds. “Not just freedom, but the way things are supposed to be. Oz is meant to be a place of joy and delight for everyone who lives here.”

“If Dorothy has her way, all that will change,” Nox added. He had a far-off look in his eyes.
Everyone who joins the Wicked has lost something,
he'd told her when she'd first arrived. Had his life been all about banquet halls and magical pastries before he learned how to fight? Well, he wasn't the only one who had lost his entire family.

“And what do you think?”

“I don't need illusions,” he said flatly, looking away.

“My life was never like this,” Lanadel said frankly, and Nox's gaze focused on her again. “Not before Dorothy, I mean. I lived in a tiny village. My family was poor. We didn't have banquets and picnics; there was always too much work to do. I've never eaten any of this stuff or been waited on or been to Rainbow Falls or—”

“You know what I mean,” Nox said tiredly. “Can we not argue about Oz's economic conditions right now?” She was about to snap back a retort, but she swallowed it. For the first time, she felt almost sorry for Nox. Sometimes it seemed like he was carrying the entire weight of the Order on his—admittedly muscular—shoulders.

“Sure,” she said quietly. “Sorry.” Something like gratitude flashed across his face and was gone. So even the high-and-mighty Nox had regular emotions every now and then. Lanadel
filed that piece of information for later.

“What are you doing, standing there like a monkey just flew off with your dinner?” someone was yelling from the table, and Lanadel immediately recognized Melindra's raspy voice. “Sit down, you idiots. The food's getting cold.”

Nox shook his head as if he was trying to push out unwelcome thoughts and slid into an empty place next to Melindra. Lanadel sat down across from them. She couldn't help noticing that Melindra didn't quite make enough room for Nox, so that he couldn't avoid touching her as he took his seat, but he didn't seem to mind. She remembered what Melindra had said about flirting with him and almost rolled her eyes before she caught herself. And then Nox put his arm around her, and she leaned into him briefly before turning to her food. Okay, so Melindra was doing more than just flirting with him, apparently. Melindra and Nox?
Anyone
and Nox? It was hard to imagine the effusive, confident girl going for a riddle-spouting jerkwad, but love was weird. Not that she would know. She tried as hard as she could not to stare, but when Nox wasn't looking, Melindra winked at her, and she burst into laughter.

“What?” Nox asked in irritation, and Melindra started laughing, too.
“What?”

“No-thing,” Melindra sang out innocently. “Lanadel, glad this jackfruit finally showed you where we eat. This is Larkin”—she gestured to the serious-looking boy—“and Holly.” The Munchkin girl inclined her head. “And obviously you already know Gert and Glamora. And Mombi.” The old witch grunted
rudely. She was shoving bread and cheese into her mouth as though it was her last meal. And, as it turned out, she chewed with her mouth open. Lanadel averted her eyes.

As if in deliberate contrast to the magical, illusory banquet happening behind them, the food was almost aggressively ordinary: bread and cheese, some kind of bland, flavorless porridge, and a few (thankfully silent) apples. Lanadel wondered why Glamora didn't spend more time magicking up some food that actually tasted good instead of wasting all her energy on a dinner party no one could enjoy, but by now she knew better than to ask questions. Maybe Nox was right, and the pretense was what was important. Acting as though things were normal, trying to keep their lives as close to what they'd been before as possible. Except that to Lanadel, none of it made sense. Their lives
weren't
what they'd been before. That was the point. That was why they were all here. Pretending wasn't going to get them anywhere. It wouldn't bring back her family or change the past. The only way to return to the way things had been before Dorothy came back to Oz was to get rid of Dorothy. And that wasn't going to happen without a fight.

Lanadel was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she didn't realize Larkin was asking her a question until he repeated it twice. “Where did you learn to fight before here?”

She blinked. “Oh, sorry. I—well, I didn't.” Larkin and Holly exchanged glances. They reminded her of the head councilman's kids from her village. They had the same faintly arrogant air, as if they knew something nobody else in the room did.

“You've never trained before?” Holly's voice dripped disbelief—and scorn. “At all?”

“No,” Lanadel said, bewildered. There'd never been a reason to learn how to fight in Oz before. Sure, there had once been wicked witches, but Dorothy had taken care of that long ago, when she first came to Oz and liberated the Munchkins and the Winkies.

Larkin made a soft snorting noise. “Then what are you doing here?”

“Can you even use magic?” Holly asked in a tone that clearly suggested that if she couldn't, she was of less use than the dirt on the cavern floor.

“Leave her alone,” Melindra said sharply, sitting up. “We're all here for a reason. Let's not be twits about it.”

Lanadel shot the other girl a grateful look, but Holly wasn't done.

“If we let just
anybody
join the Order—” she began with a sneer, but Mombi cut her off.

“Are you questioning my judgment, girl?” the witch barked. “Think I'm letting in riffraff? Is there something you'd like to say to me directly?”

“No,” Holly mumbled, looking down at the table, but her face was defiant and her scornful sneer didn't relent.

“Mombi and Melindra are right,” Nox added severely. “You two might be more experienced fighters, but Lanadel can hold her own. She wouldn't be here if she couldn't.”

To her mortification, Lanadel actually flushed. Was Nox
complimenting
her? “I'm here,” she said pointedly. “You don't have to talk about me like I can't hear you.” Larkin snorted again and Mombi brought her fist down on the table with a thump.

“That's enough,” she said sharply. “Nox is right. And there are few enough of us as it is. We don't need to be squabbling with each other. Is that clear?”

“Of course, Mombi,” Holly said in a syrupy voice. “We're sorry. Aren't we?” she added, elbowing Larkin.

“Oh, very sorry,” he echoed in the same insincere, singsongy voice. It was obvious neither one of them meant a word of it, but Mombi seemed satisfied by their apology.

After they finished eating, Nox pulled her aside as the others wandered out of the dining room. “Things will be different for you,” he said seriously. “Your training will get harder than anything you've done before. We may need to move against Dorothy soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“A member of the Order is . . . collecting information,” he said vaguely, a troubled look passing across his face. “We haven't heard from her in some time. If she's been killed—well, it might mean Dorothy's reach is farther than we think.” He had to be talking about the same girl Melindra had been referring to in the healing pool. But as usual, nobody was going to tell her anything else. Like what kind of danger this girl was in—or whether she herself would have to do the same thing soon. Melindra had tried to pretend that there was nothing to worry about, but Nox was obviously concerned. And if Nox was worried—well, that was
a bad sign.

Lanadel could tell him that something was already on the move. Something that Dorothy had probably sent—something that matched up with the rumors about crazy experiments and a creepy secret army. If Nox thought Dorothy was just sitting around in the Emerald Palace, he was wrong. But the thought of talking about what had happened to her was still too raw. Once again, she felt herself being pulled in too many directions. If only she could make a different Lanadel—one that could carry the pain for her, so her real self could keep fighting without having to think about it.

Nox gave her a searching look. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said. “It's all right. I understand.”

“I thought you would.” He nodded. “You're doing well. Better than I'd expected considering the state you were in when you got here and your lack of any kind of training.”

“Better than Holly and Larkin expected, I guess,” she said.

He sighed and pushed his dark hair out of his face. “Holly and Larkin can be difficult, but they're good fighters, and we need them. It's better to just ignore some of their . . . quirks.”

Is that what they are,
Lanadel thought sourly. Where she was from, treating other people like garbage was more than just a “quirk.” It was a crappy thing to do. But Nox was right. If she'd just met the entire Order—well, it was hardly an intimidating army, even if Mombi, Gert, and Glamora were witches and Melindra was the best fighter in Oz. It was hard to imagine the ragtag bunch defeating Dorothy's forces and restoring peace
to Oz. But as far as she knew, the Order was the only game in town—and going up against Dorothy alone would be suicide.

Training with the Order was the only chance she had to avenge her family. She didn't care if she died trying, but the more fighters she had at her back, the further she would get. Besides, she wasn't here to make friends. She was here to learn how to become a killing machine, and Nox and Melindra were the only people she'd met who seemed like they could teach her. She'd seen way worse than anything Holly and Larkin could do, she reminded herself. They were just minor distractions.

“What are
you
doing here?” she asked suddenly. “Leading the Order, I mean.”