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Chapter Text

"So," Zero said, his voice raspy with disuse after Ozma only knew how long in that iron suit. He drew his gaze away from the dancing flames of the small fire his men had built in a secluded forest clearing, clutching his cloak tighter around his shoulders, and took stock of the small group of Longcoats who'd come to release him from Wyatt Cain's idea of justice. "Report."

They were a pitiful bunch to his worn and jaded eye: a bare handful of men, still bloodstained, dirty, and downcast after the many days that must have passed since Cain's son and his men had ambushed Zero's convoy. Zero had guessed that events hadn't gone exactly according to plan when the round window of the suit had lit up again with sunlight after the extended darkness of the double eclipse, but the 'mechanical failure' he'd half-expected after telling Cain about the Tower's intended purpose wouldn't have explained the obvious lapses in discipline and morale among his troops-- or the way they'd all been studiously avoiding answering any of his questions about the Sorceress since they'd freed him. More than just the machine must have been destroyed while he'd been penned up out of action.

Captain Jinjur swallowed, a flash of dismay twisting her features. Then she nodded and thrust a hand into the pocket of her long leather coat.

"None of us were with the Sorceress' home guard when the rebels attacked," she said, clutching something small in her gloved fist. "The only news we've had of her since the battle has all come second or third hand. There were more of the Resistance than General Lonot's scouts had projected, and the forces at the Tower were nearly evenly matched until our Lady activated the machine. I don't know what was supposed to happen next; the whole sky lit up and the air buzzed like a swarm of bees, but it shut down before anything else could happen, and then the eclipse was over. And after that...." Her voice trailed off, and she opened her hand slowly, exposing a wafer-thin disc in the center of her palm. "She was just-- gone. The Queen appeared, as though she hadn't been missing for more than nine annuals, and ordered everyone to stop fighting."

"Gone as in...?" Zero prompted her sharply, frowning at the artifact she held. His stomach had immediately sunk at the sight of it; he recognized the poisonously green color of an activated memory recording, and was coming to some pretty grave suspicions about what it contained.

The captain tipped her palm above his cupped hands, dropping the disc into them with a grimace. "They started distributing these in Central City the day before yesterday. She--" Jinjur broke off, shaking her head, lips pressed into an unhappy line. Then she turned to her pack and retrieved the doubled-cylinder shape of a portable viewing device. "You'd better see for yourself, sir."

Zero waited a moment before reaching for the device, irritated by her incomplete explanation. She didn't wilt under his glare, though; she just stared back, straightening her back to a more rigidly military posture as she waited.

"That bad, then," he said, frowning. He took the viewer from her, then slid the disc into its intake slot and raised the binocular device to his face. Inside, the trapped memory played itself out for his private edification, in all its stomach-turning glory: the truth of what had happened during the Eclipse.

After the first run through Zero gave himself a moment to digest, then restarted the recording, tasting bile at the back of his throat. The memory was prefixed with a brief, colorless speech from the Queen, still dressed as she'd been during her long annuals of imprisonment by the Sorceress... but that introduction was quickly followed by a much more dramatic dialogue, captured on an all too familiar balcony under the dim greenish light of the occluded suns. It had only been a few days-- when the recording had been taken, at least; he still didn't know how many hours or cycles his imprisonment had added-- since the Sorceress had reprimanded Zero for threatening her baby sister and escorted the girl out to that very railing, claiming that she wanted to try a softer method of interrogation.

Zero hadn't so much been threatening the suddenly returned junior princess as hoping to get a few answers out of her without Azkadellia overhearing his choice of questions and jumping to unfortunate conclusions, actually. Still, knowing what he did now, he doubted his approach would have been any more fruitful than the ones his mistress had chosen. Neither her appeal to Princess Deegee's forgotten family loyalties, nor the Viewer's attempt to probe her mind after that, had yielded the Emerald's exact location. Deegee had been so young when she'd disappeared... but only five annuals old or not, she'd apparently had even better reasons to forget her past while living in seclusion on the Other Side.

Zero sat riveted as the confrontation between the sisters played out for the second time, a rising tide of anger building inside him as he watched. It had become clear over the last few annuals of the Sorceress' reign that Princess Azkadellia's early promises to her followers had been more sales pitch than substance. Even so, those who held to the old ways had stuck with her, certain that she was the only possible fulfillment of their long-cherished prophecies. The proof that they'd been wrong about that was almost more galling than the memory of the triumph on Wyatt Cain's face as he'd spared Zero's life.

He'd seen the Sorceress' behavior grow more and more erratic as the Eclipse approached, and had even speculated that whatever bargain she'd made to gain her power was weighing more heavily on her as its resolution drew near. Still, the truth of her situation came as an unpleasant shock. He'd been so sure that everything would improve once the event had passed; that, at long last, the Zone would surpass even the 'piece of heaven' it had been before the Queen had begun withholding her Light from her subjects.

Before the younger princess' unexplained death. Before the drought and the spread of the Vapors. Before her elder daughter's emergence as a serious young woman, curious about the forgotten legends of the OZ and the ways that new technologies could combine with the lingering traces of wild magic in the land to make things better for all of its peoples.

Princess Azkadellia's combination of youth, intelligence, and magical strength had seemed tailor made for the hopes and dreams of those the Tin Men called the Unwanted, back then. When she'd removed her faded and ineffectual mother from the throne, they'd believed that the restoration of the Zone's ancient glories was finally on the horizon.

None of them had suspected that Princess Deegee might have survived. None of them had so much as guessed that the Queen's decline might have been kindled by something more substantial than grief, or that the Sorceress hadn't voluntarily sought her increased powers. If they had…

If they'd known, so many things might have been different.

The Queen's brief appearance on the viewing disc had obviously been intended to verify the second memory capture; to offer proof that the true oppressor of the Zone for the previous nine annuals had not actually been her daughter. She'd claimed that the ancient evil Witch defeated by their ancestresses had used the innocent elder princess as her instrument of revenge and destruction. It seemed too easy, too neatly tied-up to be true, but if it was… if he'd really spent the last several annuals helping the Sorceress ride roughshod over his homeland for nothing….

Zero swallowed thickly as he put the device down. "Where are they now?" he asked, staring into the fire as he drove his fingernails into the flesh of his palms.

It stung; but the tactile sensation also helped ground him, reminding him that he wasn't hallucinating in the suit anymore. Though he might have been better off if he had been. They had so many strikes against them after the recent losses, it would take a lot of work to scrape any kind of success from the collapse of the Sorceress' regime. "The royal family. Where are they?"

"Still at the Tower, from all reports," Jinjur said somberly. "They released all the Viewers and the dissidents we were holding, and they've been using the cells to house the Longcoats they've captured. The Queen's made a few appearances in Central City to confirm that she's taken the throne back, but she and her family have mostly stayed holed up in the Sorceress' chambers while the Army of the Resistance finishes sweeping the Zone. There haven't even been any public executions; we think they're waiting for the Court to be restored so they can make a production out of the trials."

"The Queen's playing to public opinion," Zero nodded, a sour twist to his mouth. "She'll look for any chance she can get to contrast herself to the Witch; if she hopes to keep the throne this time, she'll have to ride the wave of backlash against Azkadellia's policies and portray herself as the generous and forgiving all-mother of the Zone. Just like every other Gale Queen since the Good Sorceress destroyed every possible challenger to their authority."

"She'll put things back exactly the way they were before," one of the other soldiers spoke up, a conflicted tone to his words.

"Maybe not," Zero shook his head, still mulling over what he'd seen, taking in more of the details as his mood slowly cooled. There was something about the way the younger princess had taken charge of the encounter with her sister-- something about the way Azkadellia had reacted that gave him a thread of hope. "Not if we get to Princess Deegee before they finish filling her head with all their justifications."

The young soldier-- Ervic, Zero thought his name was, a recent recruit still all blond curls and earnestness for the cause-- frowned at him across the small fire. "But-- she's the one who defeated the Sorceress. You saw it, same as we have; she'll never listen to us."

"Maybe," Zero drawled, thinking aloud. "And... maybe not. She was travelling with Wyatt Cain, and the Sorceress-- the Witch-- sent me after her, so you're right, she'll never listen to me. But the rest of you-- she's the soft-hearted type, and hasn't been indoctrinated with the Gale view of history yet. She might decide you were just... misguided." He made a disgruntled face. "Remember, she grew up on the Other Side; and if you say nothing else about that place, you have to admit it has a way of producing people with strong ideas about freedom and fairness."

The original Slipper would never have been able to destroy the Witches of her time, wed the lost heir to the throne, and claim the Good Sorceress' patronage if she hadn't had an unusually strong will. Dorothy may have started the Zone on its long path to stagnation and decline, but even her detractors had to admit that probably hadn't been her intention.

In fact, if Dorothy hadn't brought her brand of plucky heroism to the OZ, their world might have been drowned in darkness and decay five hundred annuals before. Queen Lavender's consort, Ahamo, had been stamped from the same mold; he might be an artist, not a warrior, but he'd won the crown princess' hand out from under several noble aspirants and successfully defended his claim to her parents, a feat that had caused a great scandal at the time.

If Zero was right about his suspicions, that stubbornness would work for them now. If Princess Deegee could be persuaded of the strength of their original cause, see it as something separate from the destruction the Sorceress had wrought from their support, the prophecy might yet be fulfilled in their favor. And if not-- they could hardly fall any further than they already had. He had nothing left to lose.

"Think about it," he added, glancing away from Ervic to briefly match gazes with each of the other soldiers around the fire, willing strength back into them. "On the disc, Princess Deegee said that she was the one who got her sister into trouble."

He held up the shimmering chip of moritanium-infused glass, tilting it so that it caught and scattered the light from the flames. "Why would she say that, when she was only five annuals old when she died? I was brand new to the bodyguard detail at the Northern Palace back then, but I met her a few times; she was a willful little thing, but she wasn't cruel, and she was hardly old enough to be held responsible for her actions. If she was the one who freed the Witch, it would have been because she was drawn to her presence somehow, not because she meant her sister any harm."

"Drawn?" Ervic blinked, starting a little as Zero's meaning dawned on him. "Wait. As in, 'one to darkness'?" he quoted in wondering tones.

Zero nodded solemnly. "And given what happened to Princess Azkadellia, up there…." He gestured in the general direction of the Tower, deliberately referring to her by the title she'd inherited, rather than the one she'd claimed by right of a power he now knew had never truly been hers.

"One to light, she be shown," Jinjur added breathlessly, reciting the next line of the old nursery rhyme.

"Exactly," Zero concluded. "Looks like we've been supporting the wrong princess all this time."

Silence settled heavily around the fire. Then Jinjur nodded. "So there might still be a chance," she agreed, frowning. "But how? The Queen's keeping both of them close after everything that's happened; Princess Deegee hasn't appeared in public since the Eclipse without at least a four-man escort of Resistance soldiers. They'll never let her out of their sight long enough for us to speak to her."

Zero tucked the recording disc away in his pocket and idly picked up a loose stick to nudge at the fire as he considered the problem. The tip smoldered greenly, gradually charring as he nudged sparks free from slowly burning logs. The sight reminded him of the way Finaqua had looked after the Sorceress' first visit there as an adult, and he narrowed his eyes in speculation.

"They'll have to tear down the Tower soon," he thought aloud. "It'll remind people of the Sorceress every time they see it, and the Queen won't like that. The Northern Palace is still mostly frozen over from the magics fading there, and the Old Residence in Central City was partitioned off for Longcoat barracks annuals ago. That just leaves Finaqua. It'll be a lot easier to access the princesses there; Princess Deegee magically restored it exactly the way it was fifteen annuals ago, so the entrances and exits should all be the same, and I remember most of those."

"But what if they go somewhere else?" one of the soldiers who'd not yet spoken raised his voice.

"And what are we going to do with her once we've found her?" Ervic wanted to know. "How are we supposed to convince her?"

"They won't," Zero said, projecting more confidence than he felt as he answered the first question. "For the same reason the Queen won't stay in the Tower in the first place. Appearances. She'll want to reconvene the court in a place the Sorceress never used, a place with positive associations."

"Which leaves out most of Central City," the soldier agreed, grimacing.

Zero nodded. "And where else would they go?" he asked. "What inn or manor could be found that wouldn't be even more difficult to secure, or else make her look like a petitioner in her own lands?"

That settled, he looked up from the fire again to match gazes with Ervic. "As for how we're going to approach Princess Deegee...."

The boy had been right; the princess would take a lot of convincing. Coercion wouldn't work; not after what he'd seen of her during the quest for the Emerald. So he'd have to send someone the Gales had no reason to distrust to draw her away; someone neutral, who'd never worn the coat of Azkadellia's service, yet was also a convincing representative of the older traditions Zero's people supported.

The man Zero was thinking of had not traveled in generations, and had repeatedly refused to be introduced to the Sorceress. But for Deegee-- born Dorothea Glinda of the House of Gale, bearer of the power of the Lurline fairy bloodline, raised in the Other Side homeland of her namesake--

"We need to find Nick Chopper," he said.

Chapter Text

DG frowned at the green-clad doll clasped in her hand, its little thread mouth frowning blandly back up at her. "Let the Light flow through me, he says," she muttered, then opened her hand and focused, trying to coax the brilliant energy of her magic back to the surface.

It worked, for one exhilarating moment: the hem of the doll's dress flew outward, belling out as it began to spin, floating in the air just above her widespread left hand. Its tiny dark braids, probably modeled after the way she'd worn her own hair in the year it was made, whipped gently at her fingers as they whirled. She held her breath, trying to feel what was going on under her skin as she lifted it, hoping that it would last longer than the other attempts she'd made that morning.

So of course it didn't. The doll sank in the air again, gradually slowing despite her concentration, and she hastily snatched it from the air before it could fall. Whatever the 'Light' was, exactly, it sputtered and faded too quickly for her to get a good mental grasp of exactly what she was doing to summon it. Just as it always did when Az wasn't right there, helping her focus.

DG could unscrew bolts when she was afraid for her life; or accidentally draw life back into withered branches; or hold out her hand and compel her sister to take it; but in a non-life-threatening situation, it appeared she was sunk. At the rate she was going, she'd never learn to master her magic in time for-- well. Whatever it was she was going to need it for next. Probably sooner rather than later.

She shuffled her feet a little in the damp grass of the garden path, curling her toes in her slippers, and tried to shut out the chill seeping through the stiff fabric. She'd refused to let them take her leather jacket away from her, and she'd insisted on wearing trousers rather than dresses or skirts for anything other than formal events, but her mother and the householdful of servants she'd quickly reassembled had had their way with almost everything else. Between the fine fabrics, embroidery, gems, beadwork, jewelry, and other fancy changes to DG's wardrobe, she looked nothing like the Kansas farm girl she'd been only a month before. Her new clothes had seemed pretty at first, if a little impractical, but after two weeks of them she was really starting to miss her blue jeans and sneakers.

Her father had advised her to be patient; that she'd adjust to being a princess again, and to the differences between the other world and her native one, before she knew it. He'd made that transition himself, after all, so he should know whereof he spoke. He'd also talked about how her mother, and their people, needed something normal to fixate on after breaking free of the fear and oppression they'd been living under for the last fifteen annuals... and that if making sure their heroic princess looked like a princess helped with that, she owed it to them to let them.

But what about a little normality for me? she'd wanted to ask.

She might have been born in the OZ-- maybe even right there at Finaqua, for all she knew-- but she barely remembered those early years, and most of the memories she had recovered were kind of traumatic. She'd had friends in Kansas; not many, but a few. She'd had a job there, even if it didn't pay well, and she'd had her community college courses. She'd had Momsy and Popsicle and her attic room in the old farmhouse, even if it had never really felt like home. She'd had her machines, her motorcycle, and the freedom to do all kinds of things that didn't even seem to cross the minds of the proper, well-raised Ozian girls she'd met since her parents started pulling the Court back together. All of that was gone now, vanished in the travel storm that had brought her over.

And what had she received in return? New friends and family mostly too busy to spend time with her, and a bunch of responsibilities she knew she wasn't ready for.

DG felt the warmth of tears pricking at the back of her eyes again, and shook her head hastily, dragging her wandering thoughts back to her magic practice. Someone would come looking for her soon. It would be time for lunch shortly, and after that she'd be back in 'princess lessons' until late in the day. The Queen had let her have a couple of days off to adjust at first, when they'd all been so relieved to have survived and reunited the family, but it had pretty much all been politics and history and watching her mother make decrees ever since.

At least she'd already known how to draw, ride, and write her name in fancy calligraphy thanks to her-- well, thanks to her 'nurture units', so she had a minimum of the skills 'appropriate to her station' covered. She'd also insisted on going out under guard to directly help with the rebuilding at least once a week. That had kept her from going completely insane due to the rest of her new schedule.

The one area she didn't have covered was practical magic, since Tutor had said he he'd be teaching only background concepts until she mastered 'letting the Light flow'. As far as DG was concerned, though, that old saw was about as useful an instruction as 'clear your mind, Mister Potter'. Still, she'd been trying to work on it whenever she could catch a moment alone.

She might as well have been the star of that Other Side book series, though, for all the good the visualization was doing her. DG focused on the miniature figure one last time, willing it to lift out of her hand yet again, and felt nothing different than she had any of the rest of the times she'd tried that day. Or the day before, or the day before that. Concentrating on her magic brought a spark of warmth traveling down her arm; from there it spread through her hand and sank into the doll as she concentrated, giving off a faint, brilliant glow. But even just noticing it seemed to be enough to make it sputter and stop again; no matter what she did, the effect only lasted a few seconds. She had no idea how she was supposed to let anything 'flow'; it wasn't as though her magic actually came with any literal valves or handles to open.

Maybe there was something wrong with her. Maybe it was one of those skills that you just couldn't pick up past a certain age. Maybe she would always have to have her sister around to help her take care of any serious magical workings.

And maybe the people wouldn't have a problem with that, when it came time for DG to take the throne? Yeah, right.

Since her mother had harvested her memories of the showdown on the balcony to create viewing discs and hand them out across the OZ, the petitions for Azkadellia's immediate execution had dropped off, but they hadn't completely stopped, and her sister still wasn't able to go out in public without at least a dozen guards. That probably wasn't going to change anytime soon, either. There were plenty of people who weren't happy that the Lavender Queen was back in power, and not all of them were Longcoats. It was only a matter of time before the rumblings turned into another resistance movement.

Put all that together? DG was pretty sure she was going to end up on the throne sooner rather than later. Her mother might not think she'd connected the dots yet, but she could count. Cain had been locked up in his suit eight annuals ago, when Az was twenty, less than a year after Az had imprisoned the Queen; Glitch had been Glitch instead of Ambrose for about the same amount of time. But the Sorceress had tried to kill DG with Az's hands fifteen annuals ago, and the Fields of the Papay had started failing long before Cain had joined the Resistance. She'd learned that much before she'd even been back in the Zone for a week.

So why the gap before her sister put together her coup? It couldn't all have been waiting for her to grow up. DG was pretty sure the answer was... that it took that long for people to notice the Queen wasn't using her 'Light' to fix things anymore, and had voluntarily started backing the Heir Presumptive, who still had her magic. That problem, unfortunately, hadn't gone away when the Witch melted.

What would happen when the euphoria wore off and everyone realized that the Queen still didn't have any magic? They'd look for another savior, that was what. And who had she given her power to? Who had healed that tree in the Fields? Who had officially been named Heir Apparent in the introduction on the viewing disc? DG!

Nevermind that she hadn't known at the time that the reason the Catacombs were so well hidden, and that her mother had been so vague with her directions, was that the journey to earn a token from the Grey Gale was part of a magical quest to confirm a Queen's successor-- one that Lavender had intentionally withheld from Azkadellia after DG's death. The only unusual part had been the nature of the token; people had been waiting for the reappearance of the Emerald for nearly five hundred years. Azkadellia may have technically 'held' it during the eclipse, but DG was the one who'd found it, and their mother had made sure everyone was aware of the distinction.

Because of that, she was the one the people would turn to when magic was needed again, whether she-- or her mother-- was ready for it or not. So she'd better be able to do more than just defend herself when that happened.

It made her feel sick to her stomach, thinking about it. And a little cheated, too. She got that her nurture units had more or less been ordered to raise her safely on the Other Side, and to make sure she was prepared to return. But why had they decided that a handful of old stories qualified as preparation? She didn't know anything about ruling a country. Either their programming-- or her mother's orders-- had been seriously ill thought out. It was her life, and she was totally unprepared to live it, thanks to a bunch of people who should have known better.

DG stuck the doll back in her pocket and dashed frustrated tears out of her eyes when she heard soft rustling noises approaching through the flowering shrubs behind her. It was time to put her princess face back on; the last thing she wanted was for someone to catch her crying. She took a deep breath, plastered on a smile, and turned around... only to meet the dark, knowing gaze of her sister.

"DG," Azkadellia said softly, studying her with a sympathetic twist at the corner of her mouth.

"Az." She took a deep breath, letting her smile fade, and stepped forward to take her sister's hands.

Az allowed it without hesitation. The connection sprang up between them the way it always had, alive and constant the way DG's magic never managed to flow on its own. "Good afternoon, little sister," she said. "How are you feeling today?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" she replied, remembering the news that had arrived at the palace the evening before.

Az glanced away, the shadows in her eyes deepening. "You've heard, then."

"Yep. I was there when Jeb's message came. He said they found Zero's suit empty, and that there was evidence a bunch of Longcoats crossed the Crack from there into Winkie country several days ago."

Heck, the news had creeped her out, and she'd barely met the ruthless Longcoat general; Az had known him a lot longer. She could still feel his grip on her shoulders, if she thought about it, and see the knowing smirk he'd shot at her sister when Az had ordered DG taken away for interrogation.

A shiver passed through Az's silk-clad shoulders. She was wearing a simply styled white dress that covered practically every inch of skin from neck to toe, drastically unlike anything the Sorceress would have chosen. The deliberate contrast gave a little color to her face, but she still looked unhealthily pale at the topic of conversation. "Not all of them were evil, you know," she said, quietly. "Most of them were decent men when I gave them-- when the Sorceress first swore them to her service."

"Even Zero?" DG had to ask.

"Even Zero," Az said, meeting gazes with her again. "He was-- I think Father would have called him a 'patriot'. As was General Lonot; he was one of mother's closest allies before I-- before the Sorceress suborned him to lead her Longcoats."

DG wrinkled her nose at even that much of a sympathetic presentation of the man who'd been responsible for so much pain in Cain's life, though it agreed pretty well with what she'd been thinking about the consequences of her mother's loss of magic. She didn't feel quite as guilty about that as she had back in the Resistance cabin when Raw had shown them Glitch's memories of the takeover, but it still depressed her as few other subjects could.

If her mother hadn't chosen to spend all her magic saving DG, Az could never have won... and maybe all her Longcoats would have become Tin Men, instead. They'd never know, now, all because a five year old girl had insisted on going looking for trouble. She was sick of dwelling on that, though; and there was something else she'd been meaning to talk to her sister about.

"It's okay, you know. You can say 'I' to me; I'm not going to hate you for it."

Az flinched, her eyes widening as she tried to pull back from DG's grip on her hands. DG refused to let go, though; that little verbal tick of her sister's was only going to get worse if someone didn't woman up and address it, and it wasn't likely to be their mother, much less any of the new Court advisors or their ex-Resistance guards. Or even their father, who seemed to totally inhabit the role of the passive Royal Consort. She didn't entirely buy that; but whatever Ahamo actually did-- whatever he'd done besides wait for her and drink the last fifteen years away-- definitely didn't involve open action.

"How can you say that, after everything I-- that she--" Azkadellia replied, face tightening with dismay.

DG shook her head. "You had the Witch in your head for how long?" she asked. "You were only what, thirteen when she took you? That's more than half your life. It's not like our parents were there for you much after it happened, either; from what I saw in the mirror, it looked like Mother had figured out something was wrong with you even before you killed me, but after she saved me it was too late for her to do anything about it."

She paused and squeezed Az's hands again. It was still difficult for her to think about that that-- the killed thing. Dead. Zombie DG. Welcome to the nightmare.

"I don't blame you for listening to her," she continued. "Blame me for dropping your hand in the first place, or Mother for not making sure someone had an eye on us every second we were out of the palace, if you have to blame someone. Or even Father, for not sticking up for either of us when Mother decided to send him away to set up the Quest."

Az swallowed. "They both act as though I stopped aging when it happened," she said. "That I don't remember most of what happened in the last fifteen annuals; that the Witch was in full control of my thoughts and actions all that time."

DG blew out a breath. "But she wasn't," she replied, carefully. "I know she wasn't; otherwise you wouldn't have been able to fight her, at the end, to take my hand."

A pained line formed between her sister's elegant brows. "It took time for me to learn how, and for my magic to mature enough to make it possible," she admitted, quietly. "But after a time, I found that when I felt strongly enough about something she wanted to do, I could stop her, or at least-- encourage her to do something slightly less awful instead. I think it makes it easier for Mother, though, to pretend I never had a choice. And I-- it's easier for me, too, to let her. I can't-- I don't know how to tell her that--"

"It really was you she was talking to, some of the time," DG finished the sentence for her when it looked as though Az wouldn't be able to.

Az looked wonderingly at her, then nodded in comprehension. "On the balcony, before we discovered your memories were blocked--"

"I didn't understand it then, but I wondered later, after Finaqua," DG confirmed. "I remembered how your voice changed afterward, when you said it was the wrong answer."

"DG, I let her torture you," Az whispered, pained.

DG's lip wobbled a little, and she waited a moment to reply, to be sure of her answer. It was true; DG would have nightmares for years featuring that evil little smirk on her sister's face, of the moments of pain and terror and weakness she'd experienced that long week at the hands of the Sorceress and her minions. But she would also always remember the lost look in Az's eyes as the Emerald's green light had streamed up around them, and the sound of her sister's voice begging DG not to let go. Either neither of them was innocent-- or they both were.

"Ditto, sister mine," she said thickly, "and for a whole lot longer than that."

Az started, and looked as though she wanted to object; but DG just shook her head and pulled her into a brief, tight hug. "It's okay," she repeated. "Water under the bridge. I just wanted you to know, you don't need to lie to me about it. About any of it. Even if you, you know." She blushed against her sister's shoulder. "With this Zero guy. I don't want anything to ever come between us again."

Az stiffened, then relaxed enough to chuckle darkly against her. "No, though not for lack of interest on his part. I caught him staring at me sometimes, as though I fascinated him." She shivered. "The Witch said it made him more loyal, and I-- I used that against him more than once."

"I'm sure he deserved it," DG replied, kind of relieved about her sister's answer. It wasn't that Zero was bad looking, or anything; he had that blond-haired blue-eyed thing going on, like Cain only sharper featured, and wore all that leather pretty well. The vicious creepster part, though; her sister deserved better than that. "I hope they catch him soon. So. Have you had lunch yet?"

Az pulled back, blinking moisture out of her eyes. "No," she said. "I wanted to tell you-- your friend Raw is here; he has returned from the Viewers with an ambassadorial party, and Mother's invited him to join the family for the midday meal."

"Raw's here?" DG exclaimed, startled out of her melancholy mood. Her smile brightened as she began mentally penciling him into her day; surely she'd be able to relax her schedule a little with him at the palace. "Why didn't you say that in the first place? C'mon, let's go pry Glitch out of the library before they start without us! We haven't all shared a meal together since we left the Tower."

Az shook her head as DG took her elbow and began pulling her toward the nearest palace entrance. "Why don't I meet you in the Family Dining Room? I doubt Ambrose wants to see any more of me than duty requires of him."

Best begun was half done, Popsicle would have told her. DG snorted and fixed her sister with a stern look. "Nonsense. He was telling me just yesterday that you were always his best student, even after I died; he was never afraid of you 'til you started taking over the Zone. He's been remembering more since Raw helped him, you know; and he says he misses those lessons a lot."

"Truly?" Az asked, a hesitant note in her voice.

"Truly," DG assured her, and opened the door with a smile.

She'd just have to sneak back out again later to practice her magic some more.

Chapter Text

Zero opened his fist as the group of Longcoats crossed into the heart of Winkie country, staring down at the silver locket he'd retrieved when the old Viewer, Lylo, had collapsed in the Tower. He'd taken the princess' image tucked inside to the printers for use on the Wanted posters, but he'd retrieved it after they were done copying it, intrigued by the Sorceress' reactions to her suddenly returned younger sister.

She was young, there was no question about it; maybe a little more than half his age, with dark hair, eyes as blue as the lake at Finaqua, and a persistent air of earnestness that made her seem too innocent for the number of annuals she claimed. But as bred to power as her sister, projecting defiance and the expectation that her orders be followed whenever she forgot to be afraid.

That couldn't have been taught to her on the Other Side; he'd seen the nurture units when they were brought in to the Tower. They'd spent the better part of fifteen annuals trying to soothe and suppress their princess, not train her for her position at Court. Probably smart; if the Sorceress had noticed her Light shining through from the Other Side any sooner, the Resistance would never have stood any real chance of success. But it also made her vulnerable to the right combination of sentiment and leverage-- something the Queen had clearly expected when she'd planned Princess Deegee's Quest, but which less scrupulous parties could also use to their advantage.

Zero closed the locket again with a snap, then tucked it away in the breast pocket of his jacket as he turned his attention to the tin palace looming on the horizon.

According to OZ legend, Nick Chopper had been born completely human. Zero wasn't sure how much stock to put in that; the story sounded bizarre even considering the magic that had reportedly flowed through every breeze, stream, and root in the ancient days, waiting to use or be used by any or all of the Outer Zone's residents. The famous Tin Woodman was neither robot nor cyborg, like the residents of Milltown; he had no mechanized moving parts. He'd simply had his organic body parts replaced by a gifted tinsmith as he'd lost them one by one to cursed accidents, until he was entirely made of tin, his spirit magically anchored to a frame more durable than blood and bone.

He'd remained nothing more than a slightly unusual resident of the OZ, though, until the first Dorothy had found him-- as every child who'd ever heard the story of the Wizard and the First Slipper could tell. He'd helped her along the Route to Central City, back in the days when its streets had been paved with green stones and most of its buildings painted to match by royal decree, and by the time Dorothy was crowned Queen he'd become one of the royal family's most trusted advisors.

As a result, he'd been given charge of the provinces to the west, just as a succession of Mystic Men had watched over Central City, the Nunkie line of Munchkins had held the Guild chair in the east, and the Gale Queens' superfluous family members had been sent to Finaqua and the Northern Island to administer local governance under the umbrella of the Crown. That pattern had held for nearly five hundred annuals… until Azkadellia had sent Longcoats to take those lesser rulers into 'protective custody' early in her reign. Unfortunately-- or fortunately, from Zero's perspective-- the self-titled Emperor of the Winkies had disappeared before her men could reach him. The Brick Route had never run west past where the Tower now stood, a logistical quirk that had slowed the troops' progress, and that meant word of the Longcoats' advance had arrived before they did.

Whatever his origins, there was something about the Tin Woodman that had always inspired devotion in his subjects. More than Zoroaster, the latest Mystic Man, who for all his Great and Terrible title had been after all just a man; or the Katt brothers, who with their warpaint and love of rhyme were a little too ridiculous to venerate; or Ambrose, who despite being cousin to the Queen and the smartest man in the Realms had been too in love with his own mind to see the potential consequences of his work. It wasn't due to the Woodman's vast age, either; or if it was, it was because despite all he'd seen over the years he still retained the kindness and wisdom he'd been known for since the beginning.

Zero was no exception to the rule. His previous plans may have gone straight to the Wheelers, but the boy who'd soaked up every famous story at his Winkie grandmother's knee was still there under all the layers of blood and rue. If he could just get the Woodman on his side, Zero couldn't help but believe that his odds of success would increase exponentially.

But he had to find him first. As tarnished as the palace looked even from a distance, it wasn't likely its owner had returned since Azkadellia's men had retreated empty-handed; the tin edifice had always shone brightly when its Emperor had been in residence. The royal polishing crew would never have tolerated its current condition.

If they were lucky, Chopper had hidden himself nearby rather than flee to one of the remote regions of the Zone where ambient magic still clung tightly to the land. Most of the Zone's pocket civilizations had faded to cautionary tales by the time Zero was a child, but he'd seen a few still marked on the Sorceress' maps, such as Oogaboo up in the northwest corner of Winkieland, hemmed in by a range of mountains on one side and the Deadly Desert on the other. She'd generally left places like that alone, saving her 'history cleansing' purges for intrusions of modern technological culture like Milltown. Wherever he was, the sooner they started following his trail, the better.

The sun was just starting to set as Zero finally rode up the avenue leading to the palace, its last rays gilding the dull, pewter-hued domes and towers with warmth. The streets of the surrounding town were full of people going about their usual business and side-eyeing Zero's men with a wary air, but the palace grounds themselves were quiet and still. Only one man was visible as they approached, kneeling among the shrubs bracketing the entrance with a can of polish and a stained rag. A pair of tin rose bushes, already scrubbed spotless, reflected the sunset from their leaves and blossoms like a blaze of tiny mirrors; Zero smiled grimly at the sight and held up a hand to signal his men to halt.

"I have an urgent message for the Emperor," he said, dismounting to address the servant.

The middle-aged Winkie in silver livery looked up in startlement, his eyes widening as he took in the cluster of men and horses. Zero had ordered all of his men to remove the insignia signifying their ranks, but there was no hiding the cut of their jackets or their general air of well-fed muscle.

"I fear you have made your journey for no purpose," the Winkie replied as he stood to face them, wariness in every line of his expression. "The Emperor is not in residence today; he has not been in residence for many annuals."

"So you're telling me you're polishing those flowers just for the hell of it?" Zero replied dryly, gesturing toward the gleaming roses. Trying not to alarm the people they questioned into reporting them to the Crown was one thing; rolling over for obvious lies would be something else altogether.

The Winkie clenched his hand around the can of polish, glancing between Zero and his still-mounted lieutenants. "It's for... the wedding! The wedding next weekend," he covered, hastily. "Two of the local residents intend to wed in this garden, but the flowers must be polished first."

Zero snorted. "Full points for quick thinking, but you might want to try sounding a little surer of your answer next time. Why don't you just send word for the seneschal? You have to know we're not here for the Sorceress; the messengers should have made it here days ago with the news of her defeat."

The Winkie swallowed, a sheen of sweat popping up on his forehead, but tipped his chin up in defiance even as he began backing slowly toward the doors. "I know no such thing," he pointed out, dropping the pitiful attempt at subterfuge. "You might have torn the chains and badges off of those jackets, but not even a one of you is wearing a Resistance fighter's kilt. The seneschal doesn't need to be bothered with a bunch of Longcoats only looking to bring their mistress back to power."

Zero didn't know what the man thought he was doing; he couldn't possibly block all of them from accessing the Palace, even if the door behind him was the only one currently functional, and he doubted there were enough guards inside to make more than a token gesture at defying them, either-- if Zero's people had really been a threat to him. He supposed he respected the Winkie's determination, though; it was that sort of obstinacy that had kept the OZ's native traditions alive over the annuals, despite everything. In his own way, the tin gardener was performing the same function for his Emperor that Zero and his folk had set out to do for the whole of the Outer Zone.

"Most Longcoats were something else once, you know," he said, not unkindly, gesturing back at his troops. "Before Her. And some of us hope to one day be so again, if we're given the chance. All of us here bleed yellow and green, just like you; we mean the Emperor no harm."

The Winkie narrowed his eyes a little, scanning his eyes over the whole group as if he could visually test the truth of Zero's words. After a long moment, he seemed to come to a decision, and tilted his head, meeting gazes with Zero again. "Yellow, perhaps. The land's still not fully healed," he said, obliquely.

Ahhh. Not a royalist either, then, exactly. Interesting, Zero thought, favoring the man with a sharp smile. "No, it isn't. But with the Emperor's help-- it could be."

The Winkie pressed his lips together, his expression still cautious, then raised a hand to point toward the west. "It'll do you no good to see the seneschal, then; he's new here, and a Queen's man. But if you can reach the house on Mount Munch, you might learn something worth your time."

Zero considered that, holding up a hand to halt his little troupe's objections. The instructions had the feeling of a test; either that or a wild goose chase, but given that he had no other clues to go on, and that Mount Munch was close enough to reach by mid-day if they started the next morning, the detour seemed worth taking. If the Winkie had misled them, they'd be back by the next nightfall, and the man had to know the consequences of lying to them wouldn't be worth the momentary satisfaction.

"All right," he said, then drew a dagger from his belt. "I'll give your regards to the Emperor when I see him then, shall I?" The Winkie flinched, but didn't cower; Zero smirked, then bent to the tin rose bush, carefully parting one thin stem. He threaded the polished flower through the top buttonhole of his coat over the man's choked objection, then swung back up onto his horse. The flower would serve as a warning and a bona fide all in one; anyone who saw Zero now would know where he'd been, and where to direct their questions if anything... unexpected... were to happen.

His men exchanged glances at the gesture, but didn't grumble; not even when he ordered them to camp half an hour's ride outside the town walls rather than rest in comfort that night. They'd never been the most arrogant of the Sorceress' guard, the most eager to act, or the most creative; only the most self-effacingly competent. That was, after all, why they'd still been free to find him.

That far into Winkie country, the hills and rolling plains were dressed in checkerboards of worked fields and gently waving expanses of the native blue grasses. Zero's men pitched their tents in a fairly sheltered hollow, as if it were any other night since the Eclipse, with one difference: Zero had detached a man or two in the town to purchase prepared food. It was one thing to secure a safe camp, but another altogether to cook over an outdoor fire with a source of luxury and improved morale so easily available. And if it encouraged the Winkie residents to remember them as guests contributing to their town's economy more than a band of shady criminals when the Queen's men next came through? All the better. They had a different audience to appeal to now, and if they couldn't adapt, they'd probably wish they had gone down with the Sorceress.

The stars were out by the time Zero had finished eating, set the watch, and took off his boots to lie on his bedroll, and he fixed his eyes on the patch of sky visible through the gap in the tent flaps as he set his mind for sleep. He'd always been one to look up at the stars, when he was little; before he'd had cause to fear the movements of the heavens. Before he'd started wondering whether Princess Azkedellia had been behind the drought in the Fields of the Papay too, fiddling with the seasons the way she'd fiddled with the suns-- the failure of the crops there had been one of the major points behind the army's support of her over her mother. And yet, over all the eight years of the Sorceress' reign... the first sign of life in that place, according to that pernicious little viewing disc, had been engendered by her sister.

It was an important distinction. Zero hadn't seen much of Princess Deegee's magic yet, but he'd seen enough, and heard enough from the Sorceress, to come to a few interesting conclusions. The Sorceress' magic had largely been magic of binding: the shaping and bending of things to her will. But the spells the younger princess had been successful with so far had mostly been magic of unbinding: of loosing and encouraging things to return to their truest form.

Maker and Unmaker; Jailor and Emancipator. Former Sorceress and Future Queen. Only time would tell if Deegee would succeed in bringing strength back to the OZ, but Zero was sure he was right, this time, about the prophecy.

He fell into a restless sleep eventually, and dreamed of green light and endless, empty, rusting corridors.

Chapter Text

DG and Az found Glitch exactly where they'd expected to: bent over a desk covered with journals and correspondence in the vaulted central room of the Royal Library. Most of the journals were marked with the mobat symbol Az's aide, VySor, had stamped all over his records, especially lists of executions, imprisonments, and decrees from the Sorceress' reign. Though his memories were still fragmented, Glitch was the last survivor of the Queen's old Cabinet, and she'd tasked him to search out the fates of the lower-tier members of the court. It wasn't enough to overthrow the usurper; now they had to rebuild the government, and only a handful of those who'd already returned had any experience worth mentioning.

VySor himself would probably have been a lot of help, one way or another, but he'd vanished sometime between the Eclipse and when the Resistance had finished sweeping the Tower. The alchemist Raynz had, too-- and the other half of Ambrose's brain had disappeared with them, taking that avenue of knowledge away from them as well. But as worrying as that was, unless Jeb or one of the other captains in the Army of the Resistance got lucky and tripped across them, it might be awhile before the Crown could spare anyone for a search. Things were still too unsettled.

...Or maybe not, DG thought, struck by an idea. Maybe the Viewers could help? She'd have to ask Raw if any of his people would be willing. Not one of those Az had forced to work for her, DG wouldn't ask that of them; but maybe one of the group who'd traveled back with him would volunteer? She didn't think they had anything of Raynz's, not since she and Az had linked hands to bring down the Tower and everything left inside a few weeks before when they'd moved the court back to Finaqua, but the journals might have enough association with their author for a Viewer to track VySor with them, and Glitch himself should be a suitable link to his missing marbles.

Glitch looked up just as that thought passed through her mind, and tilted his head a little. "Hey, doll," he said. "I hope that smile's not for me; you look a little sad. Oh, hey!" He perked up, smiling at her sister beside her. "Azkadee! Isn't this a great day? Isn't this a great day? Isn't this... oh, any day I see you two lovely ladies would be."

DG shrugged as he corrected his own glitch, mentally filing the idea for another time. Ambrose's missing brain was not something she wanted to bring up in front of two of the people hurt worst by the situation. "It's nothing. I do know what you mean, though. Az says Raw's back." She elbowed her sister, trying to draw a responding smile.

"Really?" Glitch's eyes widened, and his grin widened with them. "That was quick. But then, they had good weather for the trip!"

He was still the most cheerful person DG knew; it was always refreshing to spend time with him after hours and hours of dutiful princessing. She wanted to live up to the challenges of her birthright, despite all the difficulties, but sometimes she really missed the days she'd spent traveling the brick route with her new friends. She was safer now, but the stress level really hadn't decreased any. And considering the quest she'd been on? That was saying a lot.

"Yeah, so you gonna come eat with us? Az says Mother invited his party to join us."

"I would be honored to escort the two of you to midday meal," Glitch beamed, then stood, stumbling slightly as he knocked one knee against the desk. He frowned a little at his ink-spotted hands, ineffectually brushed them against each other for a moment, then shook his head and smiled again, looking back up to offering each princess a crooked elbow.

Az smiled faintly at him as she slipped an arm through his. "Thank you, Ambrose."

"Not at all, sweetness. Say, have you heard the about the envoy from Ev? I think he might be a cousin of mine, on my father's side...."

DG grinned to herself as she took his other arm, and bit her lip, determined to let them carry the conversation on the way to the private dining room. Az might not talk much, but Glitch could say enough for both of them when he got going, and she was awfully pleased to see at least one of her friends treating her sister like a normal human being. Cain tried for her sake, but his wary body language said more than a few friendly words; he'd never known Azkadellia as more than a distant royal figure before the Sorceress, so he had no previous relationship with her to fall back on. And Raw had left to return Kalm to his people almost as soon as the Eclipse had faded, so DG hadn't been able to rely on his warm, empathic clear-sightedness, either.

She was very relieved that he'd returned. She'd feel a lot more at home with another of her "Quest Companions" back in the fold. There were so few people she could just be herself with anymore, she felt a little less lost when they were around.

A good talk was going to have to wait for later, though; her mother's definition of "family dining room", even at the smaller summer palace, meant dozens of ornate chairs spaced around a grand, gilded table. Between their actual family, Glitch included, the Viewer party, the other handful of ambassadors who'd made their way to Finaqua from isolated communities around the OZ since the Eclipse, and the bevy of servants bustling around with the dishes, it didn't quite fall under DG's definition of "private". She sighed to herself as she came into the room, her smile slipping a little, then shook it off as Raw noticed them and greeted them with open arms.

She let go of Glitch to wrap her friend up in a hug, ignoring the glances, raised eyebrows, and sighs exchanged among the less familiar faces just taking their seats, and buried her face in his soft, furry coat and familiar scent for a minute. "Hello old friend."

"Good to see DG, too," Raw replied, carefully hugging her back as though she had turned into something breakable. Though she supposed with all the new finery she was wearing, he did have an excuse.

He seemed to guess what she was thinking, because he pulled back again with an affectionately chiding look. "Don't worry; good things will happen now. Not always easy. But DG has courage."

She remembered talking to him about the definition of courage, before confronting the sorceress; about the fact that it didn't mean not being afraid, it meant standing up in spite of your fear. It wasn't terribly comforting to hear him reference that now, given his people's gifts-- but his equal assurance that good things would happen did soothe the rawest edges of her nerves a little.

She gave him a wry smile, and nodded to him as they parted to take their places at the table. "I remember. Thank you, Raw."

"Welcome," he replied gruffly, pleased, and went to sit on the other side of Glitch.

DG herself was placed next to her mother, as usual; and today, several of the ambassadors had been seated around them, including a rather attractive young man her mother introduced as Evring. Of Ev. Given the Outer Zone naming logic she'd been exposed to so far, she wasn't terribly surprised... or terribly anything about him, really. He monopolized her conversation during the meal, but every time she thought she saw a glimpse of personality or brilliance that might confirm Glitch's suspicion that they were cousins, he would squash it down quick, like he thought she'd be offended if he dared to laugh at her or express some opinion or knowledge he didn't think she had the background to understand.

Come to think of it... all of the ambassadors seated nearest her were hot guys ranging in age from those she might have grown up with to Cain's contemporaries, and from the few things they'd each said to her, equally unconcerned with saying anything interesting at all. They lobbed her soft questions, managed to agree with everything she said despite looking uncomfortable at every reference she made to the Other Side, and shot covert glances at her mother when they thought she wasn't looking; it wasn't exactly a stretch to guess what Lavender had had in mind with the seating arrangements.

Seriously, already? Just because she'd been having thoughts that she might not be the best possible heir, didn't mean she was ready to think about producing another for the Queen to train! DG lost what little interest she'd had in the fancy food in front of her-- she was still getting used to the OZ's version of haut cuisine, which varied a lot more widely and weirdly than anything she'd eaten in Kansas-- and spent the rest of the drawn-out meal murmuring bland answers to her mother's attempts to drag her into conversation and fuming behind a blank, plastic smile.

Finally, though, Lavender said something she had to react to. "As Prince Evring has only just arrived, and has never visited Finaqua before, I believe he would appreciate you showing him the grounds this afternoon? She restored it all with her own magic, you know."

That last was addressed to the prince, not to her, and DG felt her cheeks flush with irritation. "Or perhaps he'd like to visit with his cousin instead? I wouldn't like to get in the way of a family reunion," she said from between tightly-clenched teeth. "I can always show him around another time."

The Prince looked taken aback, though his glance toward Glitch at least proved her friend had remembered that relationship rightly. The Queen's reaction was milder, but the slight frown between her brows told DG she'd puzzled and wrong-footed her mother, yet again.

"But surely...." Lavender began.

"My dear, I had promised our daughter a lesson about her family history this afternoon," Ahamo interrupted with perfect timing, smiling at them both from across the table. His expression was pleasant, but DG didn't think she was imagining the sheathed steel in his tone; the Consort showing briefly from behind the artist's mask. "And apart from the family connection, you know that Ev has the most experience with the type of magic that is used in the Zipper process; the Prince may have suggestions to help in his recovery."

"That is true. Very well," Lavender replied, with a gracious, though unenthusiastic nod. "If you would, Prince Evring?"

"Of course," the prince recovered, with a seated bow and a hopeful look toward DG. "As the third son, I had some tuition from the Langwidere School; and my tutor was an expert in the variant of our magic that is used to create the so-called Headcases. I would be pleased to be of help to our mutual cousin, the Princess' friend."

DG was glad Glitch wasn't seated near enough to have overheard that; did that mean someone could have helped him years ago, if Ev and all the other little countries around the fringes of the Zone hadn't decided the Sorceress' rise was an internal matter and pulled away to avoid her attention?

Though really, considering how the Sorceress had dealt even with her friends, could she blame them? DG took a deep breath, instinctively drawing herself up both mentally and physically in an attempt to release her irritation-- and was surprised to feel a surge of energy like a jolt of adrenaline or a good caffeine rush, sweeping outward from her core to her fingertips and brightening her mood noticeably in its wake. Along with all the rest of her; it looked for a moment as though she'd applied some kind of incandescent skin cream.

She quickly dropped her hands to her lap and hid them in the folds of her napkin, using it to dab at her face as cover. Of course her magic had decided to help now, when she wasn't even trying. If only she could make it flow like that when she wasn't attempting to let something go, she'd be....

She'd be....

DG blinked, then mentally filed that thought for later examination as the energy rush faded back down to something less glowstick worthy; she had the sense that she'd just stumbled on something important. But she didn't have time to run down the full implications just now. The servants were removing the current course in favor of something dessert-like, the Queen's mouth was set in a firm line, and she was pretty sure her father had made up that stuff about a lesson on the spot.

What exactly was Ahamo's official role, other than Consort? She had yet to get a straight answer, and doubted she would today either, but he was pretty damn knowledgeable and perceptive for someone who hadn't grown up in the OZ. She had no doubt that improvised or not, his 'family history' would turn out to be important to know.

DG exchanged bemused glances with Az down the length of the table, then did her best to be pleasant for the remainder of the meal. It wasn't the guys' fault that this princess gig came with certain realities and expectations that she wasn't prepared for. She'd adjust eventually.

...She hoped.

+

After the meal, everyone broke up for audiences or preparation for the pending Longcoat trials or what have you, going about the business of getting things done. That meant back to the library for Az and Glitch, and she thought she saw one of the Resistance-turned-Royal Army's healers approaching Raw; just because the Sorceress' Longcoats had been officially disbanded, didn't mean some of them weren't still fighting back, and Raw's people could heal wounds that non-magical medicine couldn't. She hoped he didn't have too difficult an afternoon; she didn't have too high of hopes for her own, even with her father's intervention. And with Cain out on patrol with his son this week, she couldn't even entertain herself by making faces during the boring parts at her favorite Tin Man while he took a turn at guard.

Of course, he might or might not have been encouraged to join Jeb's company because she tended to go to him more for reassurance and advice about what was important than her parents. Maybe they were right and the sink-or-swim method of princessing was the best way to get her up to speed before there were negative political consequences for the whole OZ, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

The other alternative, it belatedly occurred to her, was that they'd thought he might be competition, given the demographics of today's lunch guests... and she didn't know what she thought of that. It wasn't that he was too old, or not attractive enough, or not full of excellent qualities that any woman would be blessed to have in a husband; it was just... he was Cain.

She made a face at the incoherence of that thought as she followed her father into his study slash artist's studio, then shook her head and smoothed out her expression.

"So. Family history today, huh?" she asked, pausing in front of a high arched window where an easel had been positioned to catch the best light. A watercolor portrait of the royal family as they currently were was taking shape on it; the little painted people all had on their best smiling faces, but Ahamo had sketched the glint of the Emerald in DG's hand and subtly positioned Azkadellia behind her. It would be pretty when it was done... but it was also at least as much propaganda as art. She wondered where he planned to display it when it was done.

"More or less," Ahamo said, moving behind the ornate desk at the 'business' end of the room. "What have you been told about the Gale dynasty so far?"

He had a few scrolls and an ancient-looking book laid out on the usually-clear surface; DG sighed and abandoned the art to take a seat across from him, eyeing the documents.

"Not a whole hell of a lot; basically, just what you told me when we went to the Catacombs. The original Dorothy Gale was the first Gale Queen, and she's also known as the First Slipper. There's some magical weirdness to do with her tomb that keeps her spirit around, which is more than a little creepy, if you ask me-- though I guess it's a pretty effective way to hide a magical superweapon. Somehow she was also from Kansas, even though five hundred annuals have passed on this side, and there's no way she could be from earlier than the late 1800's judging by what I saw. Oh, and every new Heir has to take a quest to meet her. The rest of it...." She shrugged. "Current events have been kinda the priority."

Ahamo gave a crooked smile, wry and maybe a little sad, at her tart tone. "I wish you'd had all your life to learn these things; that we'd been better parents to you when it really mattered. That we could just be a family, now, instead of having to spend all our time trying to put the realm back together. But you're doing great, just so you know; sticking up for yourself, asking insightful questions. You're going to be a great queen when the time comes."

DG sat back in her seat, taken a little by surprise. She'd got so used to bouncing off her mother's Queen Face, she'd thought both her parents were disappointed in her. "You really think so?"

The question came out in a little-girl quaver; it made her flush with embarrassment and irritation at herself for being so needy, but-- Ahamo's smile got wider, and sadder, and he came back around the desk to wrap his arms around her shoulders in a hug.

"Of course, DG," he said. "I know your mother seems distant right now-- but she fell in love with me for a reason, and it upsets her that you're going to have to be so much tougher than she was. We both just want what's best for you, my dear."

She let herself lean against his chest and sniffle for a minute, then pulled back and wiped at her nose. "Um. Thank you? That's... I felt like such a failure. I mean, I know everyone keeps talking about how I got the Sorceress out of my sister, but then they look at me and make these condescending remarks about my quaint upbringing and how surely I'll be able to make up for all the things I was deprived of on the Other Side with the right guiding hand...."

Ahamo heaved a sigh. "I told Lavender it was too soon; but she said we might as well not waste the opportunity, since the envoys were already here. DG, I wasn't planning on getting into this today-- but you might as well know, even if everything had gone according to plan, I would have taken you and Azkadellia to the Other Side for a time anyway. Once I repaired my balloon, and your mother gave me a way to call her for a return travel storm, I went back a couple of times: once to look up the law firm that had been left to manage the Gale inheritance and find my own things, and again to arrange for birth certificates and get the farm back in working order. I wanted you to know my world as well as your mother's; I thought it would give you a more well-rounded education, and a different insight on the issues of the realm. Your mother wasn't sure, but... the rumors of discontent were growing even before she gave you her light, so she agreed to let me try. We never intended to put the setup to use the way we did, but I will always be grateful it was there when we needed it."

DG's eyes widened, and she remembered that heart-shaped sign she'd seen swinging on the fence in the Gray Gale's washed-out world. She'd thought Dorothy must have been pulling from her, DG's, memories to project a place for them to meet, not that she'd grown up on Dorothy Gale's actual farm. Wow. "Well, I think you overshot the mark on the outsider perspective, just a little."

"Just a little. But remember that, when someone makes one of those remarks." He grinned at her again, then turned back to the desk to pick up one of the books.

"You're right about time passing differently on both sides, by the way. Though not at a constant rate. One of the OZ's most persistent legends says that magic was so pervasive here when Dorothy Gale fell out of that first travel storm that people aged inconsistently, and they didn't really keep track of the annuals. That's why so many of the ancients' records are difficult to decipher. But it was hard for them not to notice Dorothy growing up between visits. And the more often she visited, the more other Slippers followed, sometimes to the OZ's benefit and more often, more disruptively. Finally, the foremost witch of the time cast a spell to wall the OZ away from our world, to truly make it the outer zone. After that, another four hundred or so annuals passed before another Slipper made it through. That one was from the nineteen-twenties, barely a handful of years after one Dorothy Gale, along with her aunt and uncle, disappeared from Kansas for the last time. As far as I can tell, the years and the annuals have run in parallel ever since."

DG realized she was being drawn into the story almost despite herself; this wasn't anything like the boring recitation of family trees she'd been expecting. "Almost as if... the wall weakened over time, and finally cracked," she said, putting two and two together. "I've heard people talk about there being less magic now than there used to be. And you say people weren't aging then, but they have since... and maybe Az didn't cause the drought in the fields of the Papay after all... oh, my God." She put a hand to her mouth, swallowing. "What happens if the magic fades completely?"

Ahamo laughed, ruefully. "Like I said; you're already asking the important questions. People have been asking that particular one since your great-grandmother's reign, when the Slippers began to reappear, and no one has yet come up with an answer. It's one of the reasons formerly loyal men like General Lonot defected to Azkadellia's side when she showed more magical strength than your mother, and defer to you so easily now. Because unfortunately, the barrier around the OZ wasn't the only one that had weakened with time... and the rest of that story, you know."

DG winced. "That's why I was able to hear the witch calling to me. Az tried to stop me, you know-- she kept saying, your adventures have a way of getting me into trouble. I should have listened."

"DG, you were a child. And for all she liked to complain, Azkadellia enjoyed the fact that you dragged her out of her prim and proper princess mold from time to time. The only one truly to blame for what happened is the witch. And possibly whatever's behind the weakening of the magic."

DG bit her lip, turning that thought over in her mind. Somehow, hearing that there might be another capital-D Doom on the horizon put some of her frustrations into perspective. It wasn't just that she was the only possible person left to take the throne; it was that she was still needed for something besides being A Symbol For Her People. It wasn't an issue she could tackle immediately, though-- not until she had the tools to tackle it with. But....

"Sounds like whatever happened is tied into Dorothy's story, somehow. Guess that'll be my next magical quest-- once I figure out how to consistently use mine. How did Dorothy end up the Queen of the OZ in the first place, though, if she was born on the Other Side? What made people bend the knee to an actual Kansas farm girl?"

"The histories aren't actually very clear on that point, which makes me think it was probably an important detail. Even your mother isn't sure; it was never written down in the royal library. And if it was written down anywhere else, no one was willing to admit as much to a mysterious stranger calling himself the Seeker."

"Hah! I knew it!" DG had to interrupt there, pointing an imperious finger at her father. "You weren't just pretending to look for yourself and waiting for me. You were investigating!"

Ahamo laughed at that. "To satisfy your curiosity, then... the two most popular stories in the Realm of the Unwanted were that she married a lost heir to the throne; and that she befriended and was named co-Queen with the fairy princess, Ozma, due to popular acclaim for her many services to the realm."

"The Ozma?" DG's eyes widened again. "The one everybody, you know, swears by?"

"Yes, that Ozma. We know she did actually exist at some point, and ruled before the Gale Queens, but like I said, the ancients' records are a little byzantine. But however it actually happened-- Dorothy's daughter, and her daughters' daughters, have sat on the throne ever since. All the way down to you. It's going to be up to you and your friends-- and your sister-- to figure out where the story goes from here."

"Still the OZ's only hope, huh," she whistled, shaking her head.

"At least you don't have to do it all alone this time," Ahamo said, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile. "Which brings me to these, actually," he gestured with the book. "All the old stories and legends; a little bedtime reading to help you fill in the blanks. I also have some maps here, and the genealogies, both ours and those of our closest neighboring countries; I thought they might help you with the envoys."

Now there was the boring fact-filled stuff she'd been expecting. "Did they help you?" DG asked plaintively. "Fairy tales, I can do; but memorizing random facts was never my strong suit."

"They did, actually. The key is to make them not seem so random. Find a way to relate the facts to the fairy tales, if that helps. Like the Langwidere School Prince Evring mentioned... Do you like horror stories?"

DG's eyebrows flew up. "Horror stories...? Never mind, I think I'll wait to read it for myself," she shuddered. Then she stood, moved by sudden impulse, and wrapped her arms around Ahamo in a more deliberate hug. "Thanks, by the way."

She was still getting used to her new parents, and they were still getting used to her... but it felt right to do it. Maybe she really could fit here, after all.

"You're welcome, DG," her father replied, gruffly. "Remember, no matter what happens; your mother and I love you."

In a minute, she'd take those books back to her room, and get started on the next step of her royal education.

...In a minute.

She tightened her arms around him and smiled against his shoulder. "I love you too."