Lion (Faeries of Oz) Read online

  Lion

  Amber R. Duell & Candace Robinson

  Copyright ©2020 by Amber R. Duell & Candace Robinson

  Cover Design by Candace Robinson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This book may not be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  For anyone who ever wanted to visit Oz

  Chapter One

  Lion

  Green light coated everything in the Emerald City twice a day—once at dawn and again at dusk. Lion avoided stepping out during those times if he could help it. He hated that it made everything look sickly, but a summons from the Wizard of Oz was never optional. Though, if Lion were being honest, a gnarled troll banging on his door when it was nearly dark was intriguing. He rarely had visitors, and if he did, they were never from Oz’s personal guard. Things had become far too monotonous since the Wizard marred Tin’s face with iron—even the cursed pixies that tortured the residents calmed down after that stunt—but perhaps that was about to change.

  Lion had his courage.

  What he needed was something to do with it.

  The troll led him through freezing green glass corridors. His footsteps echoed through the dim hall, then again off the impossibly high ceiling, as they made straight for Oz’s private chambers. Two expressionless elves guarded a massive, scrolled doorway. When the troll approached, the elves swung the doors open without a word. The moment Lion was inside—they slammed the entrance shut again. With a scowl, Lion tucked his long blond hair behind his ears and scanned the seemingly empty bedroom. His top lip lifted in disgust as the putrid smell hit him like a stone wall.

  The bed was bare, a single blanket and stained pillow tossed haphazardly onto the mattress. Feathers spilled from a few holes and garbage littered the floor. The room itself was opulent—hanging crystal lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows, hand-crafted furniture. The emeralds and diamonds embedded in the headboard had to cost more than Lion’s entire home. Dark curtains hung crookedly from their rods. The embroidery was stitched with mermaid hair and embellished with crystallized nixie tears, but the sparkle of both was hidden beneath a thick layer of dust.

  Lion’s boot crunched over a slice of moldy, stale bread, but that was the least of the food problems. Rotting fruit cores were scattered around the room, the sickly scent permeating the air. What the hell happened in here? Surely there was a mistake. Oz couldn’t have gotten this bad with his faerie fruit addiction without someone interfering on his behalf…

  “Wizard?” Lion called, his tail flicking nervously behind him.

  Something banged on the other side of the bed followed by a soft oof. “Lion!” Oz’s head popped up over the far side of the bed, scratching his scabbed scalp. The unmistakable gleam of red faerie fruit juice glistened on his lips when he gave a smile full of blackened teeth. His thinning white hair stuck up at different angles as if he hadn’t brushed it in days, and his wrinkled skin had taken on a yellow hue. “You made good time getting here.”

  Lion ventured farther into the room with a cocked eyebrow. “Is everything okay?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Have you fired the maids?” Lion asked carefully.

  “Those spies! Good riddance. Always poking through my things.” He flung a small suitcase onto his mattress. “Hand me that map, would you?”

  Lion glanced at the partially unfolded paper Oz pointed at on the end table. Circles with symbols he didn’t know how to read dotted the fae countries north of the Land of Oz. “Are you going to a diplomatic meeting?”

  Oz snapped his fingers anxiously until Lion handed the map to him. “Just a trip. Nothing to worry about.”

  Lion shifted suspiciously. “Am I to come along?”

  “What? No. I’m going on my own. Guards would only get in the way.” Oz shot him a withering look. “Why would I bring you with me, of all people?”

  “Why would you summon me?” Lion asked. Oz hadn’t bothered him since Dorothy returned to Kansas. Lion was gifted a cozy cottage inside the city and a small stipend for his part in killing the Wicked Witch, Reva, but that was the last personal interaction they had. “It’s been years since we’ve seen each other.”

  Oz’s hands shook as he stared into his closet where his clothes were stuffed haphazardly. He murmured under his breath about foreign weather and something called galoshes. Lion scowled. How much fruit had he eaten today?

  “Wizard,” he said in a stern voice. “Why am I here?”

  Oz blinked and looked at Lion as if he’d forgotten he had company. “Right. Yes. I have a quest for you, but the walls have ears.”

  Lion looked around at the glimmering green wallpaper with its swirling pattern of leaves. That was either another strange human saying—because there were no ears—or Oz’s addiction to faerie fruit was worse than anyone feared.

  “Go to Langwidere. Tell her I’ll legitimize her rule of the West now that Reva’s dead, if she…” Oz jerked into a crouch as if something had flown at his head. “I’ve written it all down. Names and locations. Everything you’ll need, it’s there … in the top drawer.”

  Lion moved slowly as he tugged on the round knob and picked up an envelope with his name on it. Part of him wanted to put it back and leave, but he couldn’t help being curious. If the letter contained the ramblings of a madman, perhaps he could use it to blackmail the Wizard into taking him on the trip. An adventure would do him some good and Oz clearly needed someone to go with him for his own safety.

  “It’s vital you finish this before I return,” Oz said.

  Lion cracked the wax seal and scanned the letter with a pounding heart. “You’re not serious?”

  “Completely.”

  Lion licked his lips. Tin was the killer—not him. Not to mention that the people Tin assassinated were much less important than the name on this paper, and their deaths had earned the woodsman an iron scar. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

  “I am!” Spittle rained from Oz’s mouth. “Oz is changing. If we don’t remold it to our advantage then our enemies will.”

  Our. Lion bristled. There was no our. Oz had no use for him before today, and now he wanted him to act as a hired gun. Lion hadn’t worked so hard for his courage to waste it on a good for nothing addict. If he was going to kill an important figure, it would be because he got something out of it. Something he’d been searching for since Dorothy, Tin, and Crow left him alone in the Emerald City: a person to need him. And not only because he was convenient at the moment, but really and truly needed him. The only way for Lion to secure that kind of devotion was to give something no one else could give.

  Lion smiled to himself as he slipped the envelope into the back pocket of his tan pants. “Consider it taken care of.”

  Chapter Two

  Langwidere

  Langwidere cherished her heads more than anything. Heads. Heads. Heads. She loved them blonde, loved them even more brunette, loved them red, loved them with perky noses, rosebud lips, arched eyebrows. She switched them out like she did her frilly white dresses. And when she grew tired and bored of them, Langwidere buried the heads beneath the dirt, burned them to ashes, or sank them to the bottom of the ocean.

  The Wicked Witch of the West—Reva—was dead. The Wicked Witch of the East—Inora—was dead. Both had died at the hands of the same human girl—one melted by magic, the other crushed by the girl’s house. The witches got what they’d deserved because neither one was ever fit to rule, just as Glinda—the Good Witch of the South—wasn’t. She’d loathed Glinda and her insufferably deluded optimism for as long as she could remember.

  Langwidere had made a visit to see Locasta, the “Good” Witch of the North, to make a deal to divide the territories between the two of them once she’d discovered the intruder—Dorothy—had melted Reva. The truth was, Locasta was never good—she had secrets of her own locked and buried away. Locasta was just as bad as Langwidere, and if Langwidere didn’t respect the witch for her secretly wicked ways, she would’ve swiped her head. But Locasta’s head didn’t have the sort of beauty that Langwidere yearned for.

  Now, her fingers twitched at the thought of collecting even more faces. She craved the feel of cleaning them up, wiping the blood away from their delicate skin, twisting their features into an expression that she wanted them to hold as they sat in their boxes and waited their turn to be worn.

  As Langwidere gazed at her blonde wavy hair and pouty lips in the golden full-length mirror, she imagined the crown that would be atop her different hairstyles each day. But there was one problem still to solve. A nuisance. Glinda. Langwidere would need to get rid of the dopey witch so she could take over the South territory. And to achieve this, what she needed was a helper… Someone who would follow her lead…

  She tapped several times at her dimpled chin then ran her hands down the lace of her dress. Oz would’ve been a good tool, but his body had grown too old and frail over the years. Besides, who knew how much longer he had to live. His mind was growing too forgetful from his addiction to faerie fruit, along with age. But alas, he wa
s human after all—they all died in the end. Oz had been the perfect lover for a time—brainless, a follower, one who would eat the faerie fruit right out of her hand, lapping up each speck of juice from her palm, as she moved her naked hips against his.

  Dropping her fingers from the front button of her dress, Langwidere focused on what needed to be done, and she removed her head from atop her neck. Holding it in between her fingers, she could still see by maintaining skin contact. She gazed up at the row of silver and ivory cabinets with clear glass displaying her collection. Even without her head attached, she was still beautiful with a willowy body, luscious breasts, a narrow waist, and soft pale skin. Every single inch of her was perfect in every single way—she knew this because she explored it with her hands each chance she got.

  Opening an empty glass case in the middle, Langwidere placed her spent head inside, the world growing dark as she released her touch on it. She shut the glass and felt around for the case beside it, turning the bumpy knob. Langwidere pressed her palms inside and as soon as her fingertips brushed the fluffy curls of one of her beauties, sight came barreling back. Smiling, she brought the head toward her after shutting the case.

  With a soft click, she adjusted the new head atop her neck. Each head contained a silver rounded disc at its base, as did her neck, so the attachment was flawless. She then wrapped a black ribbon around her throat to hide the thin line.

  “There,” she murmured as her new emerald eyes met her image. In the glass sat a beautiful heart-shaped face with freckles, a button of a nose, and thick obsidian curls, falling just past her shoulders.

  A heavy knock came at her front door, making her jump a fraction, interrupting her moment. Letting out an irritated sigh, Langwidere sauntered out of the room and down the hall as the skirts of her dress swished. All she could think about was how several of her cases were empty, and how she needed more heads to fill them. Ones that she could watch with pleasure, that she wouldn’t grow bored of. She would find the missing silver slippers, and she would take all the territories.

  Her heels clicked across the hard-emerald floor before coming to a stop in front of the jewel-covered oval door. She pulled it open. To her astonishment, there stood a male—bare-chested, with long, wavy blond hair and wearing a fur-lined cloak resembling a lion’s mane. She knew who this was right away—she knew what he did to help a little girl take care of Reva—she knew how gullible he could be. He would be the perfect specimen, the one she now didn’t have to look for, the one who would do what she wanted in her bed as well as out of it.

  “And what brings you to my home, Lion?”

  Chapter Three

  Lion

  Lion’s smile oozed charm and confidence. The Wizard had told him that Langwidere was a fae of many faces, but he neglected to mention how attractive the rest of her was. He didn’t bother to hide his examination of her body before meeting her eyes again. The old Lion wouldn’t have known what to do with himself.

  “The tales of your beauty hold true, Lady Langwidere,” Lion said with honesty.

  She folded her arms. “Don’t tell me something I know full well. I asked what brought you here.”

  “Oz ordered me to come and I owed him a favor.” Lion stepped closer to the threshold and attempted to touch Langwidere’s curls. She flicked his hand away. “Let me in so we can chat.”

  “Your newfound courage has made you foolish, Lion. Why would I let an enemy into my home?”

  Lion looked up at her from beneath his lashes. “Are you so sure I’m your enemy?”

  Langwidere’s full lips turned into a frown. “You helped the mortal girl. It was very difficult to deal with Locasta after the human killed Reva, and it almost cost me the West.”

  “Sorry about that.” Lion wasn’t sorry. Not even a little bit. Lion was glad to leave his cowardly ways behind, no matter the cost, and he’d do the same to keep his valor. “Oz may have a solution to your territory problems, if it would please you to listen…?”

  Langwidere scoffed but stepped aside. “This better be good.”

  Lion grinned and turned to maintain eye contact as he sauntered inside. “All of my ideas are good,” he told her and licked his lower lip.

  “I thought this was Oz’s idea?” She glared at Lion, unamused, then stepped forward and picked up a lock of his hair. Her face softened. “Such a lovely color.”

  “I—”

  “Shh.” Langwidere’s index finger landed on Lion’s lips. It stayed only a moment before she traced each angle of his face with exaggerated slowness. Her eyes glazed over as she examined every inch of skin, from his neck up.

  “Do you like what you see?” Lion inquired as she lightly skimmed his long eyelashes.

  “Tsk.” Langwidere dropped her hand to her side and her eyes cleared. “It’s too bad I only wear female heads. Yours would do quite nicely.”

  Lion smirked at the compliment. “Then you’ll just need to keep me around to appreciate my beauty.”

  Langwidere narrowed her eyes at his confidence and spun on her heel to lead the way into a large room with high ceilings. A plush white carpet was settled over emerald flooring and gold filigree coated the walls. Between the molded leaves, faces stared out. There were elves and fauns and centaurs—every kind of fae was represented at least once, with one thing in common: open-mouthed, wide-eyed terror. The hair on Lion’s arms lifted and he tore his eyes away to take in the rest of the room.

  The only piece of furniture was a gold high-backed chair with a white velvet cushion. With a snap of Langwidere’s fingers, bright orange flames sparked to life in a pit set in the center of the room. The faces on the wall seemed to glow as the flames danced across the filigree, but Lion forced himself not to look.

  “A throne,” Lion commented.

  Langwidere circled the fire once before sitting down. She crossed her legs and propped her elbows on the arms of the chair. “As any queen would have.”

  Lion approached the fire and held his hands out to warm himself after traveling from the Emerald City. Early spring had left him with a deep chill. “Queen of what, my lady? You may have taken control of the West after Dorothy killed Reva, but Glinda still rules the South. That’s what you really want, isn’t it? Without the South, how will you ever have enough power to take the rest of Oz from Locasta?”

  Langwidere wrapped her fingers around the ends of the chair. “Is that what Oz told you?”

  “No.” Lion looked across the flames at her, sitting so regally with someone else’s head on her shoulders. “I wasn’t the fae without a brain, dearest Langwidere. It’s easy enough to see your intentions and you can be sure that I’m not the only one. Which is why I think you should take the Wizard up on his proposal.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You tread on thin ice.”

  “That’s half the fun.”

  “Out with it before I toss you from my home,” she warned.

  Lion let his arms drop back to his sides. “Oz is succumbing to his love of faerie fruit—which I’m not to tell you but I’m sure you know as you’re rumored to be the one who got him addicted to it. He’s losing his grip on the capital right along with his mind. Without the Emerald City, he holds no sway over the territories or their leaders.”

  A small smirk graced her lips. “I fail to see the problem with this.”

  “Nor do I. We never should’ve allowed a mortal to rule over fae lands, which is why you should accept his offer.”

  “You make no sense, Lion.”

  He grinned widely, proud of his plan. “He wants you to acquire a new head. A specific powerful head that belongs to someone who won’t fall in line. In exchange, he will legitimize your claim to the West.”

  “Will he?” Langwidere’s laugh bounced off the walls. “It’s already mine with or without his acceptance.”

  “Yes.” Lion’s wicked grin grew, showing his perfectly white teeth. “But if you appear to fail the job Oz gave you, with the simple change of a head, you could take a territory without anyone being the wiser.”