Ruler of Beasts (Dorothy Must Die, #0.6)(8)
“I haven’t spoken to Glinda since the coronation,” he said carefully. “Did you quarrel?”
Ozma looked at her hands. “I thought it best if both of them leave the Emerald City for a while. It took some persuading, but they finally agreed.” A note of determination entered her voice, and for the first time since he had seen her he realized what a formidable opponent she must be underneath the sweet, girlish surface. If Glinda had had her own ideas about how to govern Oz, she must have been unpleasantly surprised to realize how stubborn its new queen was.
“I see,” the Lion replied. Ozma looked as though she was about to say something else, but at that moment the door opened and a procession of servants bearing trays of food entered the room. The Lion sniffed greedily, immediately distracted from his interrogation of Ozma. The Emerald Palace didn’t skimp when it came to meals. The servants’ trays were piled high with sweet pastries and pies, tureens of soup and baskets of steaming, freshly baked bread, a roasted piglet with an apple in its mouth, and all kinds of hors d’oeuvres. A steward poured champagne into an emerald goblet for Ozma and a green bowl for the Lion, who didn’t waste any time before diving into the feast. Ozma, who picked daintily at her food, could only laugh at the Lion’s dubious table manners.
At last, when he was full, he ordered another bowl of champagne and settled back on a pile of green cushions. He and Ozma had been discussing something important before dinner arrived, and he cast about for a way to pick up the thread again. As if reading his mind, Ozma sighed and looked into her glass. She seemed distant and sad, as if the true Ozma was slowly being revealed to him.
“It’s good to have a friend nearby again,” she said quietly. “The palace staff is wonderful, of course, but I haven’t really been able to talk to anyone in ages.”
“Ruling is lonely business,” the Lion agreed, and she brightened.
“Isn’t it? I knew you’d understand. I’m honored to be the Queen of Oz, and it is my birthright, after all. But so few people understand what it’s like to have this much power. I’m responsible for the well-being of everyone in Oz, and I worry about failing my subjects or making some terrible mistake that will send the country into ruin.”
The Lion had never worried all that much about the welfare of his subjects, but he made a sympathetic noise. He’d had no idea Ozma took ruling so seriously. Little word of the Emerald City reached the Forest of the Beasts. No wonder she was sad, if she fretted this much. He patted her on the arm with a reassuring paw. “Perhaps in that way we are the same. We have to figure it out as we go along,” she said with a smile. He felt some comfort that she didn’t know everything instinctively. He certainly had spent the last few months wondering how to be a king. But his concern had been for himself and not others. Ozma had heaped the welfare of the whole kingdom atop her delicate shoulders.
“I think we’re supposed to serve, not just rule,” she continued.
Lion shook his head. “The other beasts used to delight in scaring me. And I don’t forgive and forget. I usually just eat those who cross me.”
She laughed. “In that we differ. I forgive, but I never forget.”
“What you need is to lighten up a little,” he suggested. “Take a vacation. Or if you can’t get away from the palace, at least take some time off to have fun.”
Ozma smiled wearily. “Oh, Lion. Maybe it’s that easy in the Kingdom of the Beasts, but for me, it’s not so simple. The whole country of Oz depends on me. I can’t just take a vacation from being queen.”
“Can’t you at least go stay in Glinda’s summer palace for a while?” he prompted. He was determined to get to the bottom of whatever had come between the witch and the fairy. But Ozma only shook her head. “That time is past now,” she said quietly, and he saw that he wouldn’t get anything else out of her on the subject of Glinda.
Ozma pushed her plate away, and a servant immediately appeared to clear the remains of their meal. The vulnerability vanished from her expression, and she smiled brightly at the Lion. “How long will you be staying with us, dear Lion?”
The Lion’s mind raced as he tried to decide how to answer her question. Glinda hadn’t said how long it would take to find this mysterious necklace, and the palace was huge. Ozma laughed again at his consternation. “Of course, you can stay as long as you like!” she exclaimed. “As long as you really can leave the forest to itself, I’ll be glad of the company. You mustn’t think I’m trying to get rid of you.”
“That’s very generous, Your Highness,” the Lion said.
“But only if you promise to call me Ozma,” she added in a mock-serious tone. “We’re friends, after all. And we’re practically equals. Now, I’m sure you must be tired after your journey. I’ll see you in the morning?”
The Lion knew a dismissal when he heard one, but at least Ozma hadn’t realized his motives for visiting her weren’t entirely selfless. He bowed deeply, stifling a burp, and returned to his chambers, leaving Ozma sitting alone in her enormous room like a lost, lonely doll.
SIX
The Lion quickly found that he did not miss the Forest of the Beasts—or being a king—at all. Despite all the servants and palace staff, Ozma was strangely alone in the Emerald Palace. The Lion was the closest thing she had to a friend, and soon Ozma was spending all her free time with him. Ozma loved to stroll through the palace gardens, and never grew tired of pointing out new plantings of flowers or trees. She braided flowers into the Lion’s mane and tail while he napped idly in the soft grass of the palace lawns. Occasionally, if she had a free day, the queen would disguise herself in a shabby old dress and cloak, and she and the Lion would wander through the streets of the Emerald City. The Lion had never spent much time in the city itself, and he grew to love its mysterious back alleyways and odd little shops where Ozma bought exotic herbs and spices, rich fabrics from the farthest corners of Oz, and rare old books in languages the Lion didn’t know. He suspected that the shopkeepers often recognized the queen but respected her attempt at hiding her identity, and always pretended not to know her.