Blood poured down my hands, so dark it was almost black. The heat of my blade cauterized the wound some. Ollie huddled beside me, staunching the blood and suturing where needed.

“I am so sorry. I am so sorry,” I kept repeating. I don’t think she heard me. I didn’t know a spell to numb the pain or I would’ve used it. Maude bore it without a scream or even a whimper, knowing that we needed to keep quiet.

Softly, almost under her breath, she hummed a strange, sad song. It sounded like a children’s song.

“Our parents used to sing that to us,” Ollie whispered. “A nursery rhyme about learning to fly. I don’t even remember the words.”

Maude wasn’t crying, so I held my tears back, too. The least I could do was be as brave as she was.

When the first wing fell to the ground, Maude lost consciousness. I checked her breath, just to make sure she was still alive, but I didn’t try to rouse her.

Ollie cleaned and bandaged the first stump while I moved on to the other. This one took longer, my arms heavy and weak.

When it was done, Ollie lifted her into his arms, cradling her like a baby. She stirred, looked at me blearily.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

I nodded and opened my mouth to say something. Instead, I found myself collapsing onto my knees. Ollie leaned close, his face now level with mine.

“Come with us,” he said urgently, and jerked his chin in the direction of the stone wall that separated the Royal Gardens from the Emerald City. “I can bring you to the Dark Jungle and the other Wingless Ones.”

I trusted the monkeys. But even though I still hadn’t heard from the Order, I knew I had to see this thing through. I shook my head. “No,” I replied, gritting my teeth and trying to pull it together. “My mission is here.”

In the darkness, I couldn’t tell whether the look on Ollie’s face was admiration or pity.

“In that case, Amy of Kansas,” he said. “You need to stand up.”

I struggled to my feet, every muscle sore and aching. I felt like I might crumble back to the ground at any second. When I was finally up, Ollie shifted Maude into one arm and held out his other hand to me.

I reached out to grip it, thinking that he was just saying good-bye. But he pressed something metal into my palm. When I looked down, I saw that it was a tiny silver arrow, no bigger than the needle on an ordinary compass.

“It will lead you to the Wingless Ones,” Ollie said. “Keep it safe. Keep it with you. Use it to find us when you need us most.”

I blinked at him, shocked. He had made no secret of how the Wingless Ones wanted nothing to do with the Wicked. He knew I was loyal to them, and he was trusting me with this anyway.

“We work for no one,” Ollie said, as if he sensed my surprise. “But you have proven yourself. You are our friend, and we will help you however we can.”

“Thank you,” was all I managed to say.

The words were barely out of my mouth and he was already on the move, carrying Maude toward the shadows of the wall. Once there, he didn’t climb over. Instead, he lifted up a flap of grass and disappeared beneath it. A tunnel, I realized. The Wingless Ones had dug a tunnel.

The silver arrow twitched in my fist in the direction of the wall. I now knew there was a way out, but I couldn’t yet take it.

I was lucky to make it back to my room, so weak I was practically crawling the whole way, without drawing any attention. At one point, I had to duck behind a curtain to avoid being spotted by a pair of palace guards. They were chatting about the freak accident in the Scarecrow’s room. Good. I hoped that meant nobody suspected foul play.

Well, at least until the Scarecrow discovered Maude missing and flipped out.

All I wanted to do was collapse into bed and sleep for a million years, but I couldn’t until I got myself cleaned up. As I washed the blood from my hands in the little basin by the cupboard, the sounds of bones cracking and feathers flapping echoed in my head. When I closed my eyes, all I saw were Maude’s twisted, injured wings falling into the grass.

I shuddered. Doing Good had been uglier than I’d expected it to be. And the price . . . the price now was feeling like I needed to always be looking over my shoulder. Maybe I’d taken too many risks.

And now, to get rid of the evidence, I needed to take one more. I felt dizzy, like I was spinning out of control, but I shoved it down, doing what needed to be done.

I pulled off my blood-crusted dress and placed it carefully on my bed. Waving my finger at it, I lit it with a magical flame. It burned quickly and noiselessly, its fabric blackening and smoking, hissing and popping. At least no one in the palace would find the smell of smoke out of place.

Though the fire danced across my sheets and mattress, the spell did its job. They remained unharmed by the flames.

I stood there, practically naked, just watching, my arms crossed across my chest until the evidence was finally disposed of. There wasn’t even a trace of ash left behind. It was as if it had never happened—the room wasn’t even hot.

But I could still see the fire burning on my retinas when I closed my eyes. Much smaller than the one I’d set outside the Scarecrow’s chambers. But with more magic. I felt weakened; an emptiness in my core like a hunger.

If Dorothy had detected my use of magic, I’d be in trouble. I needed some support. I needed someone to tell me what I’d done hadn’t been a total waste—what was one free monkey in the scheme of things? A minor victory at what cost?

Where was the Order? Why had they left me all on my own?