Ozma leaned back and looked at him closely. “You’re looking very well, dear Lion,” she said. The Lion refrained from mentioning this was due to the attentions of her minions. “What brings you to the palace?”
The Lion realized he hadn’t thought of a cover story for his trip to the palace. He couldn’t exactly tell Ozma that Glinda had said she was bored and lonely. Glinda had made it clear he wasn’t supposed to mention her at all. Now, with Ozma staring at him quizzically, he could barely think.
“It, uh, seemed time to pay my respects,” he said, feeling slightly ridiculous. But Ozma only laughed.
“But you were here for my coronation! You didn’t need to come all this way just to see me again!”
Suddenly, the Lion was seized by a fit of inspiration. “To tell you the truth, Your Majesty, being king isn’t quite what I thought it would be,” he confessed in a low voice. “Being in power is a little lonely. I thought you might have some advice.”
Silently, he congratulated himself on his cleverness as Ozma’s cheerful smile turned to a look of sympathy. “I know just what you mean,” she said quietly. “Have you eaten, dear Lion?”
“No,” the Lion said untruthfully. Ozma rang a silver bell next to her throne and the servants leapt to attention. “Please serve dinner for my guest and me in my chambers,” she ordered. “We wish to dine privately.” She turned to the Lion. “Come, dear Lion. We have much to discuss.”
FIVE
Ozma’s chambers were beautifully appointed, and the Lion cast an admiring glance at the soft, thick carpets and gorgeous antique furniture. “The palace didn’t look half so nice when Scare was king,” he remarked, and a troubled look passed across Ozma’s face.
“Do you think?” she asked politely, but something was clearly bothering her. Glinda had been vague about why the Scarecrow had left the Emerald City and retired to his mansion, and the Scarecrow had never mentioned the reason himself. Or at least he’d never actually gotten to that part in Scare’s letters. He regretted now not finishing them.
“Did something happen between you and Scare?” the Lion asked. Ozma flushed.
“We both thought he would be happier away from the palace,” she said quickly, but it was clear she wasn’t telling him the whole truth. She shot the Lion an uncertain look, and then sighed. “To be honest, I’m not sure the Scarecrow has the best interests of Oz at heart. I know he’s your friend, and I don’t mean to speak ill of him. But he and Glinda—well, they spent a lot of time together whispering in corners, if you know what I mean. Glinda has her own ideas about how to run Oz, as I’m sure you know.” His first thought was to defend Scare. Scare may have had his head too deeply in his books and he might have missed the throne, but he was a threat to no one, and especially not to Oz. He was surprised by the bitter note in her voice, and for a moment he nearly told her that Glinda herself had sent him. But then he remembered the menace in Glinda’s parting words and thought better of it. There was some mystery here to be unraveled, and he was beginning to realize that Glinda hadn’t been entirely honest with him about her motives—or about why she’d left the palace.
“I haven’t spoken to Glinda since the coronation,” he said carefully. “Did you quarrel?”
Ozma looked at her hands. “I thought it best if both of them leave the Emerald City for a while. It took some persuading, but they finally agreed.” A note of determination entered her voice, and for the first time since he had seen her he realized what a formidable opponent she must be underneath the sweet, girlish surface. If Glinda had had her own ideas about how to govern Oz, she must have been unpleasantly surprised to realize how stubborn its new queen was.
“I see,” the Lion replied. Ozma looked as though she was about to say something else, but at that moment the door opened and a procession of servants bearing trays of food entered the room. The Lion sniffed greedily, immediately distracted from his interrogation of Ozma. The Emerald Palace didn’t skimp when it came to meals. The servants’ trays were piled high with sweet pastries and pies, tureens of soup and baskets of steaming, freshly baked bread, a roasted piglet with an apple in its mouth, and all kinds of hors d’oeuvres. A steward poured champagne into an emerald goblet for Ozma and a green bowl for the Lion, who didn’t waste any time before diving into the feast. Ozma, who picked daintily at her food, could only laugh at the Lion’s dubious table manners.
At last, when he was full, he ordered another bowl of champagne and settled back on a pile of green cushions. He and Ozma had been discussing something important before dinner arrived, and he cast about for a way to pick up the thread again. As if reading his mind, Ozma sighed and looked into her glass. She seemed distant and sad, as if the true Ozma was slowly being revealed to him.