It was too bad, really, I reflected as I readied myself for my wedding with the Nome King, that I didn’t have any girlfriends. I’d always had Tin and Scare and the Lion before, and of course I missed them and was mostly sorry they were dead, but I longed for the cozy rapport I’d once had with Glinda and Ozma—minus, of course, the backstabbing, betrayal, and secret motives. Even that blissed-out hippie Polychrome had had potential for friendship—after all, she did have an eye for fashion, even if it was outrageous—but of course, she was dead, too.
Ozma and I had once been close, before she’d refused to acknowledge that I’d obviously been brought back to Oz to rule it myself—a refusal that truly hurt me to the core, since I’d thought our friendship would prevent her jealousy. In fact, it was always other girls’ jealousy that had gotten in the way of the kinds of relationships I craved: first, back in Kansas, when none of my so-called friends believed me about Oz (the humiliation of my sixteenth birthday party was a moment I’d never, ever forget—or forgive) and later when it turned out Glinda and Ozma had meant to betray me all along after I’d given them so much of myself. Jellia hadn’t been my friend, exactly, but she’d been very helpful, until it turned out she was actually a spy working for the Order.
And that was it, really. I gazed thoughtfully at my reflection as Bupu brushed my hair. Was Bupu a friend? Could servants really be friends? I mean, they were barely people. But it was true that around Bupu I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time—human emotion, I guess. Which I’d found previously to be a failing in all my doings in Oz, but Bupu didn’t exactly seem like the type to have some evil plan up her sleeve to undo me. I was obviously the only person she’d ever encountered who treated her well and talked to her as if she was intelligent (which, in her own way, she actually was), and she was so grateful for my attention and affection that she lavished all the love and adoration pent up in her small, squat body on me.
And while she wasn’t my equal, not by a long shot, I found myself growing fonder of her by the day.
“I won’t let the Nome King kill you,” Bupu promised me again. “No matter what.”
“That’s very sweet, Bupu,” I said, but my mind was a million miles away. My charm might be working on the Nome King, but even a girl with my skills would have a hard time pushing a cranky old despot to do a complete 180 in just a handful of days. I didn’t have time to convince him I was more use to him alive than dead. I knew I’d managed to get through to him just the teensiest bit, but not enough for him to set aside his murderous plan. He was old, and let’s face it—old people are lazy. I had given this a great deal of thought and I had realized that he would most likely stick with his boring plan of betrayal and carnage rather than open his mind to what I had to bring to the table. I sighed heavily. What a nuisance.
Now I had to kill him instead. At the very least, I had to escape him, but that wasn’t going to be an acceptable long-term solution. He could travel back and forth between Oz and Ev, he wanted my shoes, and he’d stop at nothing to get them. Even if I managed to evade his clutches tomorrow night, he’d never stop until he hunted me down and got what he wanted.
And if Amy didn’t do my dirty work for me the way I’d planned? I’d made sure the Nome King’s secretary sent invitations to every corner of Ev, but with so little time before the wedding, it was possible word wouldn’t reach her until it was too late. I couldn’t depend on her being there to cause the distraction I needed, which meant I needed a backup plan—and fast.
Someone pounded frantically on my bedroom door, and Bupu dropped her hairbrush, rushing to see who wanted me now. It turned out to be the seamstress, her arms piled high with my outfit.
“It took you long enough,” I said irritably. “I gave the orders hours ago. Now I’ll barely have time for the custom fitting. Do you want me to look terrible?”
The seamstress, a pasty, sad-looking Munchkin like Bupu, shook her head. “N-N-No,” she whispered fearfully. I liked her respectful attitude. The Nome King clearly had a lot of problems, but ensuring proper behavior in his servants wasn’t one of them.
“Bring it here,” I said, beckoning. “Ugh, are your fingers bleeding? Disgusting! Clean yourself at once!” Bupu marched the trembling seamstress to the bathroom to clean up and I sighed again. The buffoon couldn’t complete a rush order without making a mess of herself? What was I supposed to do with that? I had a wedding to prepare for, an assassination attempt to thwart, a tyrant to escape, and a kingdom to return to—I did not have time to babysit the help.
When Bupu returned with the seamstress, trembling visibly, to my chamber, her fingertips were bandaged. “Let’s get this thing fitted,” I said. “If you stick me with a pin, I’ll have the Nome King tear your fingers off one by one and make you eat them.” I didn’t think it was possible for her eyes to get any bigger, but at that, they did.
“Y-Y-Y-Yes, Your Majesty,” she babbled, gathering up my costume and advancing toward me. “As you wish.”
I rolled my eyes and stood still as the seamstress arranged drapes and folds of fabric around me, making minute adjustments here and there. Fine, so my costume was taken care of. On closer inspection, her work wasn’t half bad. I’d look amazing, and that was half the battle fought already. Now what I needed was a plan.
“All right, Bupu,” I said after the seamstress left, making a decision. “Come here.” I beckoned her close, and the Munchkin put her ear next to my lips. “Are you ready? Here’s what we’re going to do. . . .”