Bupu looked thoughtful. “Vows?” she offered.

I reminded myself to be patient.

“Yes, dear, I understand that. But what do the vows say? What about the ceremony? What else happens?”

Realization dawned in her eyes. “Oh! You want to know about the magic.”

“Yes, Bupu,” I said, excitement flooding through my veins. I knew it. There was something about the wedding itself. Something important that the Nome King wanted. Some part of the ceremony. “Is it something to do with my shoes?”

Bupu nodded eagerly. “Yes, the shoes! They are bound to you, mistress.”

“I know that, Bupu,” I said through gritted teeth. “But the Nome King doesn’t want me to use them. Do you know why?”

“He wants their magic back?”

“I need to know why he wants to kill me!” I shrieked, unable to control myself any longer.

“Oh,” Bupu said. “You should have said that to begin with, mistress. The shoes are bound to you, but Ev’s wedding vows are magical. All magic is shared between the spouses.”

“So I can siphon off the Nome King’s magic?” I asked. That didn’t make sense at all. Why would he risk making himself vulnerable? Bupu was already shaking her head.

“That’s not his plan, mistress. He doesn’t like to share anything. Magic can be stolen once it is bound. With blood.”

It took a second for her words to sink in. “With blood?”

She nodded, her lower lip quivering. “The king will bind his magic to yours. And then use your blood to steal it. All of it. That’s why he will try to kill you.”

A wedding followed by the traditional bloodletting reception. And I’d had my heart set on a multitiered wedding cake.

She puffed out her little chest. “But I will protect you!”

In spite of myself, I smiled. “I’m sure that will be very helpful,” I said. She beamed. “Hmmm,” I said, thinking out loud. “That’s awfully nasty magic, really. But that’s not a huge surprise either. Ev seems to be a fairly nasty place. All this slavery and cave dwelling and bad fashion.”

Bupu nodded. “Very nasty. You will take me back to Oz when you defeat the Nome King, won’t you? I could help you there, too.”

And there it was. My little seed of friendship had grown into a full bloom. The little creature wasn’t quite as stupid as she looked—and her motives weren’t entirely altruistic. Her eyes were wide and pleading, but I caught a spark of cunning, too. I wasn’t angry; I was pleased. At last there was something to this sad, shabby Munchkin.

“Is that why you’re helping me, Bupu?” I asked sweetly.

“No!” she said hastily. I raised an eyebrow. “Maybe a little,” she admitted.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” I told her. “Helping yourself is the most important thing of all—unless you work for me, in which case it’s helping me. But I think I can make this work out for both of us. And yes, Bupu, I’ll bring you back to Oz.”

“So I can help you there?” She brightened.

“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “If—when—we both make it back to Oz in one piece, I’ll set you free.”

She stared at me with her mouth hanging open.

“Free?” she whispered. “Free?” Her eyes filled with tears. It was a word that she clearly hadn’t let herself even dream of in a long time.

I put out my hand. A moment later, she took it, gazing up at me in bewilderment. “We’re shaking on it,” I explained, gravely shaking her wrinkly hand. “It’s a deal.”

“A deal,” she echoed. And then she squared her shoulders and stood proud and tall. “If you help me escape I will lay down my life for you, Dorothy Gale,” she said.

And do you know what? I was almost moved.

Ev was making me soft. But I couldn’t help it. I knew what it was like to be stuck in an awful place with no hope of ever getting free again—and I knew how much worse it was when you knew how beautiful the alternative could be. When I’d been stuck in Kansas a second time, with no way back to Oz . . . Well, it didn’t bear thinking about. But I knew exactly what Bupu was going through. I’d been tortured in Kansas, too. I’d suffered terrible privation. I’d wept into my pillow every night, desperate to regain what I’d lost.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t literal torture. But the mind is the most sensitive organ. What I’d gone through in Kansas was just as bad as whipping and imprisonment.

I clapped my hands, and Bupu jumped. “Let’s get down to business,” I said. “If I’m going to thwart my own murder and get us out of here, I need to come up with a plan.”

I thought for a while.

I couldn’t deny that I was intrigued by the Nome King—even now that I knew he wanted to kill me. He just wanted his power back—and that much I could understand. It wasn’t his fault I stood in his way, although I was a little miffed he hadn’t even asked me to share. I was clever, rich, and beautiful; what ruler wouldn’t want me at his side? But the Nome King was ancient; it was no wonder his power had run down dark and ugly paths in the centuries he’d been holed up underground, hating the outside world. And from the look of things, he and I had very different approaches to the way we cared for our kingdoms. Queendoms. Whatever.

I know a few malcontents have had complaints about the way I did things in Oz, but I’ve only ever wanted for my subjects to be happy. I’d never have enslaved any of them if they would only do what they were told. Plus, when they were miserable, I’d ordered them to follow the Happiness Decree. And when that failed to cheer them up, I’d insisted on PermaSmile. Aunt Em always used to say that no one could stay under the weather as long as they had a smile on their face.

I would never let my subjects suffer the way the Nome King did. Why, he didn’t even insist they look happy when he was around them.

I mulled over what to do next as Bupu brushed out my hair.

I didn’t want to die, obviously. Who would? But I couldn’t let go of the idea that the Nome King was missing out. On me. We were two of the most powerful people in the world, whichever world you picked. We balanced each other out perfectly: he was grumpy, mean, and lived in a cave, and I was beautiful and all my subjects loved me. Or else.

Together, the two of us would make a formidable team.

To be honest, I’d never been one of those little girls who’d fantasized about my wedding. But now that the possibility was in front of me, I was starting to have ideas. A whole entire day that was basically a holiday for me? A party where I was the star? An event that involved hundreds of people coming from all over the world to bring me presents and tell me how beautiful I looked? Who could possibly resist? And realistically, the Nome King was the most eligible bachelor I was likely to run across in Oz or Ev. There were about a million single, powerful witches running around, but the last gentleman caller I’d had was Tin.

Ugh.

No, I was simply going to have to convince the Nome King that I was more use to him alive than dead. I’d have to use every ounce of power I had to charm his pants off. (Figuratively speaking! I would never sacrifice my precious chastity before marriage, of course.)