Lang might be used to the unending, unrelenting darkness, but I ached for open air and sunlight, the smell of flowers and growing things. Anything but cold stone and blackness and dark, cold water full of unseen, terrifying creatures.

Lang brushed past us and was gone, her footsteps swallowed up by the stone as she walked down the hall.

“Okay then, good night, I guess,” Madison said.

Her voice sounded small and sad. But I knew there was nothing I could say or do to make it better. I’d check in with her in the morning, but it wasn’t like I could reunite her with her kid or send her back to Kansas with a snap of my fingers. She disappeared into one of the bedrooms, closing the door behind her with an unmistakably firm snick. She didn’t want to talk, and I wasn’t going to push her.

“I’m going to look for some tea or something,” I said. I was exhausted, but too jittery to sleep. I had suddenly realized that I was alone with Nox for the first time in a very long while and I was nervous. Despite all the drama with witches trying to separate us and pit us against each other, and then dying and not-dying, Nox and I were getting closer.

The truth was, I didn’t have much—okay, any—experience with guys, aside from fending off my mom’s creepy ex-boyfriends and their super-inappropriate interest in her teenage daughter. When it came to someone like Nox, I still had no idea what I was doing.

“Tea sounds good,” he said.

I poked through Lang’s pantry until I found something that looked vaguely tealike—a jar of small, dried gray-brown twigs that smelled like the green tea my mom drank by the bucketful when she got clean—and hoped I wasn’t accidentally brewing up a potion that would turn us into frogs, or beetles, or something even worse.

While I heated water on the stove, Nox threw together some odd-looking green batter and poured it into a pan.

“Who are you and what did you do with Nox?” I joked.

He smiled. “Mombi never stopped being a witch, even when I was a little kid. She kept odd hours and was sometimes gone all night—but whenever she came home, she would make these.” He plated two green pancakes and handed one to me.

“Her Mombi way of taking care of you?” I quipped as I took the tea to the table. Nox sat next to me on the wooden bench, so close our thighs touched, and my heart skipped a beat.

“I should tell you about Melindra,” he said quietly, and my thoughts screeched to a halt.

“Okay,” I said neutrally.

He licked his lips and pressed them together, staring off into space as though he couldn’t figure out how to start. I took a deep breath.

“You’re in love with her?” I offered.

He looked startled. “What? No! Is that what you—no, Amy, that’s not it at all. Lang was in love with her.”

I stared at him. “Wait, what?”

“When Lang came to train with the Order, she had no one. Her family had been killed in one of Dorothy’s early raids. This was a long time before you came, before we understood just how bad Dorothy was going to be. All we had were rumors at that point—we just knew we had to be prepared to fight if it came to that.” He laughed softly, bitterly. “Which, as you know, it did. Anyway, Lanadel journeyed through the mountains alone, on foot, starving. For weeks after her family was murdered. Trying to find the Order based on stories she’d heard that we existed. She almost died, but Gert found her. She started training with us. She was good. Very good, actually. One of the better fighters I’d ever worked with, even though she had no training, no experience. She was driven. All she had left to keep her going was the idea of avenging her family. And then she got close to Melindra.”

He took a deep, ragged breath. I didn’t say anything. The pain in his face was awful. Without thinking, I put one hand on his knee and he took it, lacing his cool, dry fingers through my own. “You never met Melindra before she went through . . .” He cleared his throat and continued more strongly. “Before she went through the Scarecrow’s . . . workshop. She was the most gifted fighter I’d ever seen. But it was something more than that. She had this warmth, this kindness, this generosity. Other people with her strength could’ve turned into a bully, but not her.”

Melindra? Warm and kind? That didn’t sound anything like the bitter, scarred warrior I knew, the half-tin, half-human girl the Scarecrow had turned into the Order’s resident mean girl. But I might not have much kindness left in me either, if I’d been through his torture.

“Lang—Lanadel—hadn’t had much friendship in her life, I don’t think, even before her family was killed. And Melindra took her under her wing. For Melindra, it was just the way she was. But for Lanadel—I couldn’t see it then, but I think it was much, much more. And then Melindra—” He stopped. His fingers were squeezing mine so tightly that my hand was losing sensation. I held my breath, not wanting him to stop. “This is the hard part,” he said. “The part where I—where I made a mistake.”

I’d never heard him admit anything like this. That he could be wrong. That something he’d done for the Order was a bad decision. My heart ached for him. But at the same time, I couldn’t help feeling an admittedly selfish sense of relief. He wasn’t in love with Melindra—or Lang. I knew that should have been the least of my concerns, but my feelings about Nox didn’t obey rational rules.

“Melindra didn’t feel the same way about Lang, but she did feel that way about me,” he said uncomfortably. “I . . . I cared about her, of course. I think if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in the Order, in trying to take care of all the trainees while keeping the witches happy, I might have been able to love her, too. But it wasn’t the right time. She wasn’t the right person. I didn’t have anything to give someone else then. I could have handled it better. She—we—had an awful fight about it, and Lanadel overheard. The next day, I sent Melindra to spy on the Scarecrow. She went because I’d told her I could never return her feelings. Lanadel thought I’d sent her away because I couldn’t stand what she’d said to me, that I didn’t know how to think for myself, that I was just Gert and Mombi’s puppet.”

“But you didn’t,” I said.

“I don’t know, Amy,” he said, looking me in the eyes. “That’s what I’m telling you. I sent one of our best fighters into a situation she couldn’t possibly survive. She knew it. I knew it. Lanadel certainly knew it. And I didn’t know why. I told myself it was because we needed the information. But for all I know, Lang was right. And she’s right to hate me for what I did. Gert and Mombi sent Lanadel to Ev to spy on the Nome King right after Melindra left for the Emerald City. They worked up some kind of spell to get her across the Deadly Desert. She was supposed to send back reports but we never heard from her again. I thought—we all thought—she was dead. When we started hearing rumors about Princess Langwidere, some crazy tyrant who worked for the Nome King and who cut off her subjects’ heads and wore them as her own . . . well, none of us even thought of connecting her to Lanadel.”

“Can we trust her?”

“Lanadel?” He sighed, running his hands through his blue-black hair. “I don’t know. Probably not. Although now that she knows Melindra is alive, she doesn’t have the same reasons for revenge. But the road brought us here for a reason, and the road always does what it does for the good of Oz. It comes from Lurline; its magic is older than anything else in Oz except for the Great Clock. I think there’s something much, much bigger going on here than just Dorothy and the Nome King. And maybe that’s ultimately what we have to find out if we want to end all of this.”