First published in the USA by HarperCollins Childrens Books in 2019

Published simultaneously in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2019

Published in this ebook edition in 2019

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Text copyright © Soman Chainani 2019

Illustrations copyright © Iacopo Bruno 2019

Cover design copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

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Soman Chainani and Iacopo Bruno assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work respectively.

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Source ISBN: 9780008292201

Ebook Edition © July 2018 ISBN: 9780008292218

Version: 2019-02-19

Dedication

For Uma and Kaveen

Epigraph

IN THE FOREST PRIMEVAL

A SCHOOL FOR GOOD AND EVIL

TWO TOWERS LIKE TWIN HEADS

ONE FOR THE PURE

ONE FOR THE WICKED

TRY TO ESCAPE YOU’LL ALWAYS FAIL

THE ONLY WAY OUT IS

THROUGH A FAIRY TALE

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

1. Agatha: The Lady and the Snake

2. The Coven: Lionsmane

3. Sophie: Bonds of Blood

4. Agatha: New Alliances

5. Tedros: Sophie’s Choice

6. Sophie: The Dinner Game

7. Agatha: Agatha’s Army

8. Hort: Someday My Weasel Will Come

9. Sophie: Empress under the Boot

10. Sophie: Blessing in Disguise

11. Agatha: Friendship Lessons

12. Tedros: Lucky Seven

13. Agatha: Sometimes the Story Leads You

14. Sophie: He Lies, She Lies

15. Agatha: One True King

16. Professor Dovey: What Makes Your Heart Beat?

17. Agatha: The Only Safe Place in the Woods

18. Tedros: The Ultimate Mission

19. Agatha: Into the Crystal World

20. Hort: The House at Number 63

21. Agatha: Blood Crystal

22. Sophie: Script of a Murder

23. Agatha: Cat in a Museum

24. Sophie: The Garden of Truth and Lies

25. Sophie: Rhian and the Real Thing

26. Agatha: A Grave Mistake

27. Tedros: The Unburied King

Keep Reading . . .

About the Author

About the Publisher

1
AGATHA
The Lady and the Snake

When the new King of Camelot intends to kill your true love, kidnap your best friend, and hunt you down like a dog . . . you better have a plan.

But Agatha had no plan.

She had no allies.

She had no place to hide.

So she ran.

She ran as far from Camelot as she could with no direction or destination, ripping through the Endless Woods, her black dress catching on nettles and branches as the sun rose and fell . . . She ran as the bag with a Dean’s crystal ball swung and thumped against her ribs . . . She ran as WANTED posters with her face began appearing on trees, a warning that news traveled faster than her legs could carry her and that there was nowhere safe for her anymore . . .

By the second day, her feet blistered; her muscles throbbed, fed only by berries and apples and mushrooms she snatched along the way. She seemed to be going in circles: the smoky riverbanks of Mahadeva, the borders of Gillikin, then back to Mahadeva in the pale dawn. She couldn’t think about a plan or shelter. She couldn’t think about the present at all. Her thoughts were in the past: Tedros in chains . . . sentenced to die . . . her friends imprisoned . . . Merlin dragged away unconscious . . . an Evil villain wearing Tedros’ crown . . .

She struggled through an assault of pink fog, searching for the path. Wasn’t Gillikin the kingdom with the pink fog? Hadn’t Yuba the Gnome taught them that at school? But she’d left Gillikin hours ago. How could she be there again? She needed to pay attention . . . she needed to think forward instead of backward . . . but now all she could see were clouds of pink fog taking the shape of the Snake . . . that masked, scale-covered boy who she’d been sure was dead . . . but a boy who she’d just seen alive . . .

By the time she came out of her thoughts, the fog was gone and it was nighttime. Somehow she’d ended up in the Stymph Forest, with no trace of a path. A storm swept in, slinging lightning through trees. She cowered under an overgrown toadstool.

Where should she go? Who could help her when everyone she trusted was locked in a dungeon? She’d always relied on her intuition, her ability to make a plan on the spot. But how could she think of a plan when she didn’t even know who she was fighting?

I saw the Snake dead.

But then he wasn’t . . .

And Rhian was still onstage . . .

So Rhian can’t be the Snake.

The Snake is someone else.

They’re working together.

The Lion and the Snake.

She thought of Sophie, who’d giddily accepted Rhian’s ring, thinking she was marrying Tedros’ knight. Sophie who believed she’d found love—real love that saw the Good in her—only to be taken hostage by a villain far more Evil than she.

At least Rhian wouldn’t hurt Sophie. Not yet. He needed her.

What for, Agatha didn’t know.

But Rhian would hurt Tedros.

Tedros, who’d heard Agatha tell Sophie last night that he’d been a failure as king. Tedros, who now doubted whether his own princess believed in him. Tedros, who’d lost his crown, his kingdom, his people, and was trapped in the hands of his enemy, who just yesterday he’d embraced like a brother. An enemy who now claimed to be his brother.

Agatha’s stomach wrenched. She needed to hold Tedros in her arms and tell him that she loved him. That she would never doubt him again. That she would trade her life for his if she could.

I’ll save you, Agatha thought desperately. Even if I have no plan and no one on my side.

Until then, Tedros had to stay strong, no matter what Rhian and his men did to him. Tedros had to find a way to stay alive.

If he wasn’t dead already.

In a flash, Agatha was running again, strobed by lightning as she slashed through the last of the Stymph Forest and then along Akgul’s haunted beaches with ash for sand. Dovey’s crystal ball weighed her down, pounding the same bruise in her flank again and again. She needed to rest . . . she hadn’t slept in days . . . but her mind was spinning like a broken wheel . . .

Rhian pulled Excalibur from the stone.

That’s why he’s king.

Agatha ran faster.

But how?

The Lady of the Lake told Sophie that the Snake was king.

But Excalibur thought Rhian was king.

And Arthur told Tedros that Tedros was king.

Something’s wrong.

Magically wrong.

Agatha held her breath, lost in a maze of thoughts. She needed help. She needed answers.

Muggy warmth turned to harsh wind and then to snow, the forest opening up in a sweep of tundra. In her sleepless haze, she wondered if she’d run through months and seasons. . . .

But now she could see the shadow of a castle in the distance, spires slicing through low-flying clouds.

Camelot?

After all this, instead of finding someone who could help her, had she run back to danger? Had she wasted all this time?

Tears rising, she backed away, turning to sprint again—

But she couldn’t run anymore.

Her legs buckled and Agatha crumpled into soft snow, her black dress fanned around her like a bat’s wings. Sleep came as hard and swift as a hammer.

She dreamed of a leaning tower stretched high into the clouds, built out of a thousand gold cages. Trapped in every cage was a friend or someone she loved—Merlin, Guinevere, Lancelot, Professor Dovey, Hester, Anadil, Dot, Kiko, Hort, her mother, Stefan, Professor Sader, Lady Lesso, and more—with all the cages teetering one over the other, and Sophie’s and Tedros’ cages at the very top, poised to come crashing down first. As the tower shook and swayed, Agatha threw herself against it to keep it from falling, her scrawny, gangly frame the only thing stopping her friends from dashing to their deaths. But just as she had the soaring column in hand, a shadow emerged atop the highest cage. . . .

Half-Lion. Half-Snake.

One by one, it threw cages off the tower.

Agatha woke with a start, sopped in sweat despite the snow. Raising her head, she saw the storm had passed, the castle ahead now clear in morning sun.

In front of it, two iron gates swung open and shut against the rocks, the entrance to this white fortress that towered over a calm, gray lake.

Agatha’s heart jumped.

Not Camelot.

Avalon.

Something inside her had steered her here.

To the one person who could give her answers.

Something inside her had a plan all along.

“HELLO?” AGATHA CALLED out to the still waters.

Nothing happened.

“Lady of the Lake?” she tried again.

Not even a ripple.

Edginess fluttered in her chest. Once upon a time, the Lady of the Lake had been Good’s greatest ally. That’s why Agatha’s soul had brought her here. To get help.

But Chaddick had come to the Lady of the Lake for help too.

He’d ended up dead.

Agatha looked up at the zigzagging staircase that ascended towards the circle of white towers. The last time she’d come to these shores, she’d been with Sophie, searching for Chaddick’s body. Dark dregs of blood still stained the snow where they’d found Tedros’ murdered knight, clutching a taunting message from the Snake.

Agatha had never seen the Snake’s face. But the Lady of the Lake had seen it when she’d kissed him.

A kiss that had leeched the Lady’s powers and betrayed King Tedros.

A kiss that had helped the Snake put a traitor on Tedros’ throne.

Because that’s what Rhian was. A filthy traitor, who’d pretended to be Tedros’ knight when he was in league with the Snake the whole time.

Agatha turned back to the water. The Lady of the Lake had protected that Snake. And not just protected him: she’d fallen in love with him and lost her powers because of it. She’d thrown away a lifetime of duty. A sick feeling slid up Agatha’s spine. The Lady of the Lake should have been immune to Evil’s charms. But instead, she could no longer be trusted.

Agatha swallowed hard.

I shouldn’t be here, she thought.

And yet . . . there was no one else to turn to. She had to take a chance.

“It’s me, Agatha!” she bellowed. “Merlin’s friend. He needs your help!”

Her voice echoed across the shore.

Then the lake shuddered.

Agatha leaned forward. She saw nothing except her own reflection in the silvery surface.

But then her face in the water began to change.

Little by little, Agatha’s reflection morphed into a shriveled old hag’s, with knots of white hair clinging to a bald head and spotted skin sagging off cheekbones. The hag loomed beneath the lake like a troll under a bridge, glaring up at Agatha with cold eyes. Her voice carried through the water, low and distorted—

“We made a deal. I answered Merlin’s question,” the Lady of the Lake seethed. “I let him ask me one thing—one thing—and in return, he would never come again. So now he tries to weasel out of our deal by sending you? Go. You’re not welcome here.”

“He didn’t send me!” Agatha fought. “Merlin’s a prisoner! There’s a new king of Camelot named Rhian—he’s trapped Tedros, Merlin, Professor Dovey, and all our friends in the dungeons. And Merlin’s been hurt! He’ll die if I don’t save him! Tedros will too! Arthur’s son. The true king.”

There was no alarm or horror or even sympathy in the Lady’s face. There was . . . nothing.

“Didn’t you hear me? You have to help them!” Agatha begged. “You swore to protect the King—”

“And I did protect him,” the Lady retorted. “I told you when you came here last. The green-masked boy had the blood of Arthur in his veins. And not just the blood of Arthur’s son. The blood of Arthur’s eldest son. I could smell it when I had my powers. I know the blood of the One True King.” She paused, her face clouding. “He had powers too, this boy. Strong powers. He sensed my secret: that I’ve grown lonely here, protecting the kingdom, protecting Good, in this cold, watery grave . . . alone . . . always alone. He knew that I would trade my magic for love if only someone gave me the chance. And he was offering me that chance. A chance Arthur never gave me. For a single kiss, the boy promised I could be free of this life . . . I could go with him to Camelot. I could have love. I could have someone to call my own, just like you. . . .” She glanced away from Agatha, hunching deeper. “I didn’t know that giving up my powers would mean this. That I’d end an old crone, more alone than before. I didn’t know his promise meant nothing.” Her eyes sealed over. “But that is his right, of course. He is the king. And I serve the king.”

“Except the king isn’t the boy you kissed! Rhian is king! The boy they’re calling the Lion,” Agatha insisted. “That wasn’t the boy who came here! The boy you kissed was the Snake. He kissed you to strip your magic and rob Good of your power. He kissed you to help the Lion become king. Don’t you see? He tricked you! And now I need to know who that Snake is. Because if you can be tricked, so can Excalibur! And if Excalibur was tricked, then that’s how an Evil villain ended up on Tedros’ throne—”

The Lady of the Lake lurched towards Agatha, her decayed face just beneath the surface. “No one tricked me. The boy I kissed had Arthur’s blood. The boy I kissed was the king. So if it was the ‘Snake’ I kissed, as you call him, then it is the Snake who rightly pulled Excalibur from the stone and now sits on the throne.”

“But the Snake didn’t pull Excalibur! That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Agatha hounded. “Rhian did! And I saw the Snake there! They’re working together to con the people of the Woods. That’s how they duped you and the sword—”

The Lady tore through the water. “I smelled his blood. I smelled a king,” her voice resounded like thunder. “And even if I can be ‘duped,’ as you so boldly claim, Excalibur cannot. No one can outwit Good’s most powerful weapon. Whoever pulled Excalibur from the stone is Arthur’s blood heir. It was the same boy I protected. He is the rightful king . . . not the one you and Merlin defend.”

She began to sink into the water.

“You can’t go,” Agatha gasped. “You can’t let them die.”

The Lady of the Lake paused, her skull shining underwater like a pearl. This time, when she looked up, the ice in her eyes had thawed. All Agatha saw was sadness.

“Whatever trouble Merlin and your friends have gotten into is their own doing. Their fates are in the hands of the Storian now,” the Lady said softly. “I buried that boy Chaddick as you asked. I helped Merlin like he wanted. I have nothing left. So please . . . just go. I can’t help you.”

“Yes, you can,” Agatha pleaded. “You’re the only one who’s seen the Snake’s face. You’re the only one who knows who he is. If you show me what the Snake looks like, I can find out where he and Rhian come from. I can prove to the people that they’re liars! I can prove that Tedros belongs on the throne—”

“What’s done is done,” said the Lady of the Lake. “My loyalty is to the king.”

She sank deeper—

“Would the true king hurt Merlin?” Agatha cried out. “Would Arthur’s heir break his promise to you and leave you like this? You say Excalibur makes no mistakes, but you made Excalibur and you made a mistake. You know you did. Look at you! Please. Listen to me. Truth has become Lies and Lies the Truth. Good and Evil have become one and the same. A Lion and a Snake worked together to steal the crown. Even your sword can’t tell what makes a king anymore. Somewhere inside you, you know I speak the Truth. The real Truth. All I’m asking for is the Snake’s face. Tell me what the boy you kissed looks like. Give me the answer to my question and I’ll never return. The same deal you made with Merlin. And I swear to you: this deal will be kept.”

The Lady of the Lake locked eyes with Agatha. Deep in the water, the nymph treaded silently, tattered robes splayed like a dead jellyfish. Then she faded down into its depths and disappeared.

“No,” Agatha whispered.

She dropped to her knees in the snow and put her face in her hands. She had no wizard, no Deans, no prince, no friends to rely on. She had nowhere to go. No one to turn to. And now Good’s last hope had deserted her.

She thought of her prince lashed in chains. . . . She thought of Rhian clutching Sophie, his bride and prisoner. . . . She thought of the Snake, leering at her in the castle, like this was only the beginning. . . .

A burble came from the lake.

She peeked through her fingers to see a scroll of parchment floating towards her.

Heart throttling, Agatha snatched the scroll and pulled it open.

The Lady had given her an answer.

“But . . . but this is impossible . . . ,” she blurted, looking back at the lake.

The silence only thickened.

She blinked back at the wet scroll: a bold, inked painting of a beautiful boy.

A boy Agatha knew.

She shook her head, baffled.

Because Agatha had asked the Lady of the Lake to draw the Snake’s face. The Snake who’d kissed the Lady and left her to rot. The Snake who’d killed Agatha’s friends and hidden behind a mask. The Snake who’d joined forces with Rhian and made him king.

Only the Lady of the Lake hadn’t drawn the Snake’s face at all.

She’d drawn Rhian’s.

2
THE COVEN
Lionsmane

Hester, Anadil, and Dot sat shell-shocked in a stinking cell, flanked by fellow quest team members Beatrix, Reena, Hort, Willam, Bogden, Nicola, and Kiko. Just minutes ago, they’d been on the castle balcony for a Woods-wide celebration. Together with Tedros and Agatha, they’d presented the Snake’s dead body to the people and basked in Camelot’s victory over a vicious enemy.

Now they were in Camelot’s prison, condemned as enemies themselves.

Hester waited for someone to say something . . . for someone to take the lead. . . .

But that’s what Agatha usually did. And Agatha wasn’t here.

Through the cell wall, she could hear the muffled sounds of the ongoing ceremony, turned into King Rhian’s coronation—

“From this day forward, you are rid of a king who closed his doors to you when you needed him,” Rhian declared. “A king who cowered while a Snake ravaged your kingdoms. A king who failed his father’s test. From this day forward, you have a real king. King Arthur’s true heir. We may be divided into Good and Evil, but we are one Woods. The fake king is punished. The forgotten people aren’t forgotten anymore. The Lion is listening to you now!”

“LION! LION! LION!” the chants echoed.

Hester felt her demon tattoo steam red on her neck. Next to her, Anadil and Dot tugged at the pastel dresses they’d been made to wear for the ceremony, along with their prissy, primped curls. Nicola tore off a strip of her dress to re-bandage a wound on Hort’s shoulder that he’d gotten in battle against the Snake, while Hort kicked uselessly at the cell door. Beatrix and Reena were trying to light their fingerglows to no avail, and Anadil’s three black rats kept poking heads out of her pocket, waiting for orders, before Anadil shoved them back down. In the corner, red-haired Willam and runty Bogden anxiously studied tarot cards, with Hester picking up their whispers: “bad gifts” . . . “warned him” . . . “should have listened” . . .

No one else spoke for a long while.

“Things could be worse,” said Hester finally.

“How could it be worse?” Hort shrieked. “The boy we thought was our savior and new best friend turned out to be the most Evil scum on the planet.”

“We should have known. Anyone who likes Sophie is bound to be horrible,” Kiko wisped.

“I’m not one to defend Sophie, but it isn’t her fault,” said Dot, failing to turn the ribbon in her hair to chocolate. “Rhian tricked her like he tricked all of us.”

“Who says he tricked her?” said Reena. “Maybe she knew his plan all along. Maybe that’s why she accepted his ring.”

“To steal Agatha’s place as queen? Even Sophie isn’t that Evil,” said Anadil.

“We just stood there instead of fighting back,” said Nicola, despondent. “We should have done something—”

“It happened too fast!” said Hort. “One second the guards are parading the Snake’s dead body and the next they’re grabbing Tedros and slamming Merlin over the head.”

“Did anyone see where they took them?” Dot asked.

“Or Guinevere?” said Reena.

“What about Agatha?” asked Bogden. “Last I saw, she was running through the crowd—”

“Maybe she escaped!” said Kiko.

“Or maybe she was beaten to death by that mob out there,” said Anadil.

“Rather take her odds than be stuck in here,” said Willam. “I’ve lived at Camelot most of my life. These dungeons are immune to magic spells. No one’s ever gotten out.”

“We don’t have any friends left to get us out,” said Hort.

“And given that we serve no use to Rhian anymore, he’ll probably cut off our heads by dinnertime,” Beatrix scorned, turning to Hester. “So tell me, wise witch, how can things possibly be any worse?”

“We could have Tedros in our cell too,” Hester replied. “That would be worse.”

Anadil and Dot cracked up.

“Hester,” a voice said.

They turned to see Professor Clarissa Dovey thrust her head through the bars of the next cell, her face clammy and pale.

“Tedros and Merlin might both be dead. The true King of Camelot and Good’s greatest wizard,” the Dean of Good rasped. “And instead of thinking about a plan to help them, you’re making jokes?”

“Difference between Good and Evil. Evil knows how to look at the bright side,” Anadil murmured.

“Not to be rude, Professor, but shouldn’t you be the one thinking of a plan?” said Dot. “You’re a Dean and we’re technically still students.”

“Hasn’t been acting like a Dean,” Hester groused. “Been in that cell the last ten minutes and didn’t say a word.”

“Because I’ve been trying to think of—” Dovey started, but Hester cut her off.

“I know fairy godmothers are used to waving away problems with pixie dust and magic wands, but magic isn’t getting us out of this.” Hester could feel her demon searing hotter, her frustration turned on the Dean. “After teaching at a school where Good always wins, maybe you’re in denial that Evil actually won. Evil that’s made itself look Good, which is cheating in my book. But win it did. And if you don’t wake up and face the fact that we’re fighting someone who doesn’t play by your rules, then nothing you ‘think’ of is ever going to beat him.”

“Especially without your broken crystal ball,” Anadil seconded.

“Or broken wand,” thirded Dot.

“Do you even have your Quest Map?” Hort asked Dovey.

“Probably broke that too,” Anadil snorted.

“How dare you talk to her like that!” Beatrix blazed. “Professor Dovey has dedicated her life to her students. That’s why she’s in a cell to begin with. You know full well she’s been ill—gravely ill—and that Merlin ordered her to stay at school when the Snake attacked Camelot. But still she came to protect us. All of us, Good and Evil. She’s served the school for”—Beatrix glanced at Dovey’s silver hair and deep wrinkles—“who knows how long, and you speak to her like she owes you something? Would you speak to Lady Lesso that way? Lady Lesso, who died to protect Professor Dovey? She would have expected you to trust her best friend. And to help her. So if you respected Evil’s Dean, then you better respect Good’s Dean too.”

Quiet stretched over the cell.

“Come a long way from that Tedros-loving twit our first year,” Dot whispered to Anadil.

“Shut up,” Hester mumbled.

Professor Dovey, on the other hand, came alive at the mention of Lady Lesso’s name. Tightening her bun, she pushed through her cell bars to get closer to her students. “Hester, it’s natural to lash out when you feel helpless. All of us feel helpless right now. But listen to me. No matter how dark things seem, Rhian isn’t Rafal. He’s shown no evidence of sorcery, nor is he protected by an immortal spell like Rafal was. Rhian has only gotten this far because of lies. He lied to us about where he comes from. He lied to us about who he is. And I have no doubt he’s lying about his claim to the crown.”

“Yet he managed to pull Excalibur from the stone,” Hester argued. “So either he’s telling the truth about being King Arthur’s son . . . or he’s a sorcerer after all.”

Professor Dovey resisted this. “Even with him pulling the sword, my instinct tells me he’s neither Arthur’s son nor the true king. I haven’t proof, of course, but I believe there’s a reason Rhian’s file never crossed my desk or Lady Lesso’s as a prospective student, when every child, Good or Evil, has a file at school. He claims he went to the Foxwood School for Boys, but that could be a lie, like all his other lies. And lies will only take him so far without skills, discipline, and training, all of which my students possess in spades. If we stick to a plan, we can stay one step ahead of him. So listen carefully. First off, Anadil, your rats will be our spies. Send one to find Merlin, the second to find Tedros, and the third to find Agatha wherever she may be—”

Anadil’s rats sprang out of her pockets, elated to finally be useful, but Anadil squashed them down again. “Don’t you think I thought of that already? You heard Willam. The dungeon is impenetrable. There’s no way for them to— Ow!”

One of the rats had bitten her, and now all three were scampering through her fingers, sniffing and searching the cell walls, before they squeezed through three different cracks and disappeared.

“Rats always find a way. That’s what makes them rats,” said Professor Dovey, craning to see a crack in a wall that one of the rodents had squeezed into and spotting a golden gleam coming through. “Nicola, what do you see in that hole?”

Nicola pressed against the wall and put her eye to the crack. The first year probed at the hole with her thumbnail, feeling the mildewed stone crumble. Clearly the dungeons, like the rest of the run-down castle, hadn’t been fortified or maintained. With the tip of her hair clip, Nicola pulled away more dirt and stone, which widened the hole a smidge bigger, more light spearing through.

“I see . . . sunlight . . . and the slope of a hill. . . .”

“Sunlight?” Hort scoffed. “Nic, I know they do things differently in Reader World, but in our world, dungeons are below ground.”

“Is that one of the perks of having a boyfriend? Having him explain things to me I already know?” said Nicola acidly, squinting through the hole. “Dungeons might be below ground, but we’re right up against the side of the hill. It’s the only explanation for why I can see the castle.” She scraped away more dirt with her clip. “I see people too. Lots of people packed uphill. They’re looking up at the Blue Tower. Must be watching Rhian . . .”

The king’s voice echoed louder through the hole.

“For as long as you’ve lived, you’ve served a pen. No one knows who controls this pen or what it wants and yet you worship it, praying it will write about you. But it never does. Thousands of years, it’s ruled these Woods. What do you have to show for it? Each new story, it chooses someone else for glory. The educated. The children of that school. And leaves scraps for you, the hardworking, the invisible. You, the real stories of the Endless Woods.”

The crew could hear the people buzzing.

“Never talked that much when he was with us,” Dot mused.

“Give a boy a stage,” Anadil quipped.

“Nicola, can you see the balcony where Rhian is?” Dovey asked.

Nicola shook her head.

Professor Dovey turned to Hester. “Have your demon chip at that hole. We need a view of the stage.”

Hester frowned. “Maybe you can turn pumpkins into carriages, Professor, but if you think my demon can get us out by boring a tunnel through a wall—”

“I didn’t say ‘get us out.’ I said ‘chip at that hole.’ But if you prefer to doubt me while we lose our chance at rescue, then by all means,” Professor Dovey snapped.

Hester cursed under her breath as her demon tattoo swelled red on her neck, lifted clean off her skin, and flew towards the hole, jabbing its claws like pickaxes and garbling grunty gibberish: “Babayagababayagababayaga!”

“Careful,” Hester mothered, “your claw is still wounded from Nottingham—”

She froze, catching a black blur of movement through the hole. Her demon spotted it too and recoiled in fear . . . but it was already gone.

“What is it?” said Anadil.

Hester bent forward, inspecting the hole in the stone. “Looked like . . .”

But it couldn’t have been, she thought.

The Snake’s dead. Rhian killed him. We saw his body—

“Wait a second. Did you say ‘rescue’?” Dot said, twirling to Dovey. “First of all, you heard Willam: there’s no way out of this prison. Second, even if there was and we summoned the League of Thirteen or anyone else, what would they do . . . storm Camelot? Rhian has guards. He has the whole Woods behind him. Who on the outside could possibly rescue us?”

“I never said it’d be someone on the outside,” said Professor Dovey intently.

The whole crew looked at her.

“Sophie,” said Hort.

“Rhian needs Sophie,” Good’s Dean explained. “Every King of Camelot needs a queen to consolidate his power, especially a king like Rhian who is so new to the people. Meanwhile, the Queen of Camelot is as vaunted a position as her counterpart. It’s why Rhian took careful steps to ensure Sophie—a legend and beloved face across the Woods—would be his queen. As the people see it, the best of Good is marrying the best of Evil, which raises Rhian above the politics of Evers and Nevers and makes him a convincing leader to both. Plus, having Sophie as queen will calm any doubts about having a mysterious stranger as king. So now that that king has his ring on Sophie’s finger, he will do everything he can to keep her loyalty . . . but in the end, she’s still on our side.”

“Not necessarily,” said Reena. “The last time Sophie wore a boy’s ring, it was Rafal’s, and she sided with him against the whole school and nearly killed us all. And now you want us to trust the same girl?”

“This isn’t the same girl,” Professor Dovey challenged. “That’s why Rhian handpicked her to be his queen. Because Sophie is the only person in the Woods who both Good and Evil claim as their own—at once the slayer of an Evil School Master and now Evil’s new Dean. But we know where Sophie’s true loyalties lie. None of you can argue that everything she’s done on this quest has been to protect both her crew and Tedros’ crown. She accepted Rhian’s ring because besides being enamored with him, she thought he was Tedros’ liege. She took Rhian’s hand because of her love for her friends, not in spite of it. No matter what Sophie has to do to stay alive, we cannot doubt that love. Not when our own lives depend on her.”

Beatrix frowned. “I still don’t trust her.”

“Me either,” said Kiko.

“Join the club,” said Anadil.

Professor Dovey ignored them. “Now for the rest of the plan. We’ll wait for Anadil’s rats to return with news of the others. Then, when the time comes, we’ll send Sophie a message through that hole and establish a chain of communication. From there, we can plot our rescue,” she said, checking on the quarter-sized breach that Hester’s demon had managed to bash out of the wet, cracked stone. Rhian’s speech amplified louder through it—

“And let’s not forget my future queen!” he proclaimed.

The people sang back: “Sophie! Sophie! Sophie!”

“Can you see the stage yet, Nicola?” Professor Dovey pressured.

Nicola leaned forward, eye to the hole: “Almost. But it’s so far uphill and we’re on the wrong side of it.”

Dovey turned to Hester. “Keep your demon digging. We need a view of that stage, no matter how remote.”

“Why? You heard the girl,” Hester pestered, wincing vicariously as her demon punched at the hole with its injured claw. “What good is a pea-sized rear view—”

“One of Rhian’s pirate guards will likely check on us soon,” Dovey continued. “Hort, given your father was a pirate, I’m assuming you might know these boys?”

“No one I’d call a friend,” Hort punted, picking at his sock.

“Well, try to befriend them,” Dovey urged.

“I’m not befriending a bunch of thugs,” Hort shot back. “They’re mercenaries. They’re not real pirates.”

“And are you a real Professor of History? If you were, you’d know that even mercenary pirates joined the Pirate Parley in helping King Arthur fight the Green Knight,” Dovey rebutted. “Talk to these boys. Get as much information as you can.”

Hort hesitated. “What kind of information?”

“Any information,” the Dean pressed. “How they met Rhian or where Rhian really comes from or—”

Metal creaked and slammed in the distance.

The iron door.

Someone had entered the dungeons.

Bootsteps pounded on stone—

Two pirates in Camelot’s armor dragged a boy’s limp body past the cell, each gripping one of his outstretched arms. The boy resisted weakly, his eye blackened shut, his suit and shirt shredded, his bloodied body drained by whatever tortures they’d inflicted on him since they’d lashed him in chains onstage.

“Tedros?” Kiko croaked.

The prince raised his head, and seeing his friends, he swung towards them, gaping at the crew with his one open eye—

“Where’s Agatha!” he gasped. “Where’s my mother!”

The guards kicked his legs out from under him and yanked him down the corridor into pitch-dark shadows before dumping him into the cell at the very end.

But from Hester’s vantage point, it seemed that the cell at hall’s end had already been occupied, for as they flung Tedros into his cage, they let a prisoner out of it—three prisoners to be precise—who now slinked down the hall, unchained and free.

As these released captives moved out of the shadows, Hester, Anadil, and Dot pressed against the bars and came face-to-face with another coven of three. These haggard triplets glided past them in gray tunics with salt-and-pepper hair to their waists, rawboned limbs, and leathery, coppery skin; their necks and identical faces were long with high, simian foreheads; thin, ashy lips; and almond-shaped eyes. They smirked at Professor Dovey before they followed the pirates out of the dungeons, the door slamming shut behind them.

“Who were those women?” Hester asked, swiveling to Dovey.

“The Mistral Sisters,” said the Dean, grimly. “King Arthur’s advisors who ran Camelot into the ground. Arthur appointed the Mistrals when Guinevere deserted him. After Arthur died, they had free rein over Camelot until Tedros came of age and put them in jail. Whatever reason Rhian has for freeing them, it can’t be good news.” She called down the hall. “Tedros, can you hear me!”

The echoes of Rhian’s speech drowned out whatever response came back, if one came back at all.

“He’s hurt,” Dovey told the quest team. “We can’t just leave him there. We need to help him!”

“How?” said Beatrix anxiously. “Anadil’s rats are gone and we’re trapped here. His cell is way at the other end of the—”

But now they heard the door to the dungeons open once more.

Soft footsteps padded down the staircase. A shadow elongated on the wall, then across their cell bars.

Into the rusty torchlight came a green-masked figure. His skintight suit of black eels hung in slashed ribbons, exposing his young, pale torso spattered with blood.

The entire crew flattened against the walls. So did Professor Dovey.

“But y-y-you’re . . . dead!” Hort cried.

“We saw your body!” said Dot.

“Rhian killed you!” said Kiko.

The Snake’s ice-blue eyes glared through his mask.

From behind his back, he produced one of Anadil’s rats, the rodent writhing in his grip.

The Snake raised a finger and the scaly black scim covering his fingertip turned knife-sharp. The rat let out a terrible squeak—

“No!” Anadil screamed.

The Snake stabbed the rat in the heart and dropped it to the floor.

“My guards are searching for the two you sent to find Merlin and Agatha,” he said in a crisp, deep voice as he walked away. “Next one I find, I’ll kill one of you too.”

He didn’t look back. The iron door thudded behind him.

Anadil scrambled forward, reaching through the cell bars and scraping her rat into her hands . . . but it was too late.

She sobbed, clutching it against her chest as she curled into a corner.

Hort, Nicola, and Dot tried to comfort her, but she was crying so hard she started to shiver.

Only when Hester touched her did Anadil’s wails slowly soften.

“She was so scared,” Anadil sniffled, shearing off a patch of her dress and wrapping her rat’s body in it. “She looked right at me, knowing she was going to die.”

“She was a faithful henchman to the end,” Hester soothed.

Anadil buried her head in her friend’s shoulder.

“How did the Snake know the other rats were searching for Merlin and Agatha?” Hort blurted as if there was no more time to mourn.

“Forget that,” said Nicola. “How is the Snake alive?”

Hester’s stomach plunged.

“That thing I saw through the hole . . . I didn’t think it could be . . . ,” she said, watching her demon still hammering at the stone crack, undeterred by the Snake. She turned to the group. “It was a scim.”

“So he was listening the whole time?” Beatrix said.

“That means he knows about everything!” said Hort, pointing at the hole. “No way can we send a message to Sophie. Scim’s probably still out there, listening to us right now!”

Spooked, they turned to Professor Dovey, who was peering down the hall towards the staircase.

“What is it?” asked Hester.

“His voice,” said Dovey. “It’s the first time I’ve heard it. But it sounded . . . familiar.”

The crew looked at each other blankly.

Then they tuned in to the king still booming from beyond: “I grew up with nothing and now I’m your king. Sophie grew up a Reader and will now be your queen. We are just like you—”

“Actually, he sounded a bit like Rhian,” said Hester.

“A lot like Rhian,” said Willam and Bogden at once.

“Exactly like Rhian,” Professor Dovey concluded.

A crackling noise came from the wall.

Hester’s demon had wedged loose another pebble-sized stone above the hole, opening it up further, before he’d exhausted all strength and collapsed back into his master’s neck.

“I can see the stage now,” said Nicola, putting her eye to the hole. “Just barely . . .”

“Good, we can mirrorspell it here. I can’t do it from my cell, but Hester can,” said Professor Dovey. “Hester, it’s the charm I taught you after Sophie moved into the School Master’s tower. The one that let you and me spy on her to make sure she wasn’t voodoo hexing me or summoning the ghost of Rafal.”

“Professor, how many times do we have to tell you, magic doesn’t work inside the dungeons,” Hester growled.

“Inside the dungeons,” the Dean repeated.

Hester’s eyes flared. This was why Dovey was a Dean and she was still a student. She should never have doubted her. Quickly, Hester hewed to the wall, slipped her fingertip through the tiny hole and into the summer heat. She felt her fingerglow activate and sizzle bright red. The first rule of magic is that it follows emotion and when it came to her hatred of Rhian, she had enough to light up all of Camelot.

“Should we really be doing this?” Kiko asked. “If the scim’s out there—”

“How about I kill you, so you don’t have to worry,” Hester fired back.

Kiko pursed her lips.

She’s right, though, Hester thought sourly. The scim could be outside the hole, listening . . . but they had to take the chance. A closer look at the stage would let them see Sophie with Rhian. It would let them see whose side Sophie was really on.

Quickly Hester lined up her eye to the hole, so she had a view of the stage, which looked like a matchbox from this far away. Even worse, just as Nicola said, she couldn’t see the front of the stage—only a view from the side, with Rhian and Sophie’s backs to her, high over the crowd.

Still, it would have to do.

Hester aimed her fingerglow directly at Rhian and Sophie. With half her mind, she focused on the stage angle she wanted to spy on; with the other half, she focused on the dank, dirty cell in front of her. . . .

“Reflecta asimova,” she whispered.

At once, a two-dimensional projection appeared inside the prison cell, floating in the air like a screen. With colors muted, like a faded painting, the projection offered them a magnified view of what was happening on the Blue Tower balcony in real time. In this view, they could observe Rhian and Sophie close up, though only in profile.

“So a mirrorspell can let you see anything bigger from far away?” Hort said, wide-eyed. “Why didn’t anyone show me this spell at school?”

“Because we all know how you would have used it,” Professor Dovey scorched.

“Why aren’t we watching them from the front?” Beatrix complained, studying Rhian and Sophie. “I can’t see their faces—”

“The spell magnifies the angle I can see through the hole,” said Hester testily. “And from here, I can only see the stage from the side.”

In the projection, Rhian was still speaking to the guests, his tall, lean frame and blue-and-gold suit in shadow, while he held Sophie with one arm.

“Why doesn’t she run?” said Nicola.

“Or shoot him with a spell?” said Willam.

“Or kick him in the marbles?” said Dot.

“Told you we couldn’t trust her,” Reena harped.

“No. That’s not it,” Hester countered. “Look closer.”

The crew followed her gaze. Though they couldn’t see Rhian’s or Sophie’s faces, they honed in on Sophie from behind, shuddering under Rhian’s grip in her pink gown . . . Rhian’s knuckles turning white as they dug into her . . . Excalibur clenched in his other hand, pressed against her spine . . .

“That dirty creep,” Beatrix realized, turning to Dovey. “You said Rhian wants to keep Sophie loyal. How is sticking a sword in her going to do that?”

“Many a man has made his wife loyal at the point of a sword,” the Dean said gravely.

Dot sighed. “Sophie really does have the worst taste in boys.”

Indeed, only twenty minutes before, Sophie had leapt into Rhian’s arms and kissed him, believing she was engaged to Tedros’ new knight. Now that knight was Tedros’ enemy and threatening to kill Sophie unless she played along with his charade.

But that wasn’t all they could see from this vantage point.

There was someone else on the stage watching the coronation too.

Someone concealed inside the balcony, out of view of the crowd.

The Snake.

He stood there in his ripped, bloody suit of scims, watching the king speak.

“First, we need our princess to become a queen,” Rhian proclaimed to the people, his voice amplified in the cell by the projection. “And as the future queen, it is Sophie’s honor to plan the wedding. Not some pretentious royal spectacle of the past. But a wedding that brings us closer to you. A wedding for the people!”

“Sophie! Sophie! Sophie!” the crowd brayed.

Sophie squirmed in his grip, but Rhian shoved the sword harder against her.

“Sophie has a full week of parties and feasts and parades in store,” he continued. “Followed by the wedding and crowning of your new queen!”

“Queen Sophie! Queen Sophie!” the masses anointed her.

Sophie’s posture straightened, listening to the adoring crowd.

In a flash, she yanked away from Rhian, daring him to do something to her.

Rhian froze, still gripping her hard. Though his face was in shadow, Hester could see him watching Sophie.

Silence fell over the crowd. They sensed the tension.

Slowly, King Rhian looked back at the people. “It seems our Sophie has a request,” he said, even and serene. “A request she’s been pressing upon me day and night and that I’ve been hesitant to grant, because I hoped the wedding would be our moment. But if there’s one thing I know about being king: what my queen wants, my queen must get.”

Rhian looked at his bride-to-be, a cold smile on his face.

“So the night of the wedding ceremony, at Princess Sophie’s insistence . . . we will begin with the execution of the impostor king.”

Sophie lurched back in shock, nearly slicing herself on Excalibur’s blade.

“Which means a week from today . . . Tedros dies,” Rhian finished, glaring straight at her.

Shrieks rang out from Camelot’s people, who rushed forward in defense of Arthur’s son, but they were stymied by citizens from dozens of other kingdoms, kingdoms once ignored by Tedros and now firmly behind the new king.

“TRAITOR!” one Camelot man screamed at Sophie.

“TEDROS TRUSTED YOU!” a Camelot woman shouted.

“YOU’RE A WITCH!” her child yelled at Sophie.

Sophie stared at them, speechless.

“Go now, my love,” Rhian cooed, giving her a kiss on the cheek before guiding her into the hands of his armored guards. “You have a wedding to plan. And our people expect nothing less than perfection.”

The last Hester saw of Sophie was her terrified face, locking eyes with her future husband, before the pirates pulled her into the castle.

As the crowd chanted Sophie’s name and Rhian presided calmly at the balcony, everyone inside the dungeon cell was stunned silent.

“Was he telling the truth?” a voice echoed down the hall.

Tedros’ voice.

“About Sophie wanting me dead?” the prince called out. “Was that the truth?”

No one answered him, because something else was happening onstage that the crew could see in the projection.

The Snake’s body was changing.

Or rather . . . his clothes were.

Magically, the remaining scims rearranged into a slim-fitted suit, which turned gold-and-blue all at once: a perfect inverse of the suit that Rhian was wearing.

As soon as the Snake had conjured his new clothing, Rhian seemed to sense it, for the king glanced back at the masked boy, acknowledging his presence for the first time. The quest team now saw Rhian’s tan, sharp-jawed face in full view, his hair glinting like a bronze helmet, his sea-green eyes running briefly over the Snake, who was still out of sight of the people. Rhian showed no surprise that his once mortal nemesis was alive or had magically changed his clothes or was wearing a suit that resembled his own.

Instead, Rhian offered the Snake the slightest hint of a smile.

The king turned back to the crowd. “The Storian never helps you. The real people. It helps the elite. It helps those who go to that school. How can it be the voice of the Woods, then? When it divides Good from Evil, rich from poor, educated from ordinary? That’s what’s made our Woods vulnerable to attack. That’s what let a Snake slither into your kingdoms. That’s what nearly killed you all. The pen. The rot starts with that pen.”

The people murmured assent.

Rhian’s eyes roamed the crowd. “You there, Ananya of Netherwood, daughter of Sisika of Netherwood.” He pointed down at a thin, unkempt woman, stunned that the king knew her name. “For thirty years, you’ve slaved at your kingdom’s stables, waking before dawn to groom horses for Netherwood’s witch-queen. Horses you’ve loved and raised to ride in battle. Yet no pen tells your story. No one knows about what you’ve sacrificed, who you’ve loved, or what lessons you might offer—lessons more worthy than any puffed-up princess the Storian might choose.”

Ananya blushed red as those around her gave her admiring looks.

“And you there, what about you?” said Rhian, pointing at a muscular man, flanked by three teenage boys with shaved heads. “Dimitrov of Maidenvale, whose three sons applied to the School for Good and were each denied, and yet all now serve as footmen for the young princes of Maidenvale. Day after day, you work to the bone, even though deep in your hearts you know these princes are no better than you. Even though you know that you deserved an equal chance at glory. Must you too die without your stories told? Must all of you die so ignored and forgotten?”

Dimitrov’s eyes welled with tears while his sons put their arms around their father.

Hester could hear the murmurs building in the crowd, awed that someone with such great power was honoring people like them. That he was even seeing them at all.

“But what if there was a pen that told your stories?” Rhian offered. “A pen that wasn’t controlled by mysterious magic, but by a man you trust. A pen that lived in plain sight instead of locked behind school gates. A pen made for a Lion.”

He leaned forward. “The Storian doesn’t care about you. I do. The Storian didn’t save you from the Snake. I did. The Storian won’t answer to the people. I will. Because I want to glorify all of you. And so will my pen.”

“Yes! Yes!” cried the people.

“My pen will give voice to the voiceless. My pen will tell the truth. Your truth,” the king announced.

“Please! Please!”

“The reign of the Storian is over!” Rhian bellowed. “A new pen rises. A new era begins!”

On cue, Hester and the crew watched as a sliver of the Snake’s gold suit peeled off and floated over the balcony wall, out of view of the crowd. The golden strip reverted to a scaly black scim as it drifted higher into the air, still unseen. Then it descended over the mob and into sunlight towards King Rhian, magically morphing into a long, gold pen, knife-sharp at both ends.

The people gazed at it, enthralled.

“At last. A Pen for the People,” Rhian called out, as the pen hovered over his outstretched hand. “Behold . . . Lionsmane!”

The masses exploded in their most passionate cheers yet. “Lionsmane! Lionsmane!”

Rhian pointed his finger and the pen soared into the sky over Camelot’s castle and wrote in gold against the pure blue canvas like it was a blank page—

THE SNAKE IS DEAD.

A LION HAS RISEN.

THE ONE TRUE KING.

Dazzled, all citizens of the Woods, Good and Evil, kneeled before King Rhian. Dissenters from Camelot were forced to a knee by those around them.

The king raised his arms. “No more ‘once upon a time.’ The time is now. I want to hear your stories. And my men and I will seek them out, so that each day, my pen can write the real news of the Woods. Not tales of arrogant princes and witches fighting for power . . . but stories that spotlight you. Follow my pen and the Storian will no longer have a place in our world. Follow my pen and all of you will have a chance at glory!”

The whole of the Woods roared as Lionsmane ascended into the sky over Camelot, sparkling like a beacon.

“But Lionsmane alone is not enough to overcome the Storian and its legacy of lies,” Rhian continued. “The Lion in the tale of The Lion and the Snake had an Eagle by his side to ensure that no Snake could ever find its way into his realm again. A Lion needs an Eagle to succeed: a liege to the king who can serve as his closest advisor. And today, I bring you this liege who will help me fight for a greater Woods. Someone you can trust as much as you trust me.”

The crowd hushed in expectation.

From inside the balcony, the Snake started to move towards the stage, his green mask still in place, his back to Hester and the crew.

But just before he moved past an obscuring wall and into the view of the mob, the scims that made up the Snake’s mask dispersed into the air, flying out of sight.

“I present to you . . . my Eagle . . . and the liege to your king . . . ,” Rhian proclaimed. “Sir Japeth!”

Into the light walked the Snake, revealing his face to the throng, the gold of his suit kindling to shimmers in the sun.

Gasps came from the crowd.

“In that old, obsolete school, two just like us ruled over a pen. Two of the same blood who were at war with each other, Good and Evil,” the king heralded, holding Japeth close beneath Lionsmane. “Now two of the same blood rule over a new pen. Not for Good. Not for Evil. But for the people.”

The crowd erupted, singing the new liege’s name: “Japeth! Japeth! Japeth!”

That’s when the Snake turned and looked right into Hester’s projection, revealing his face to the imprisoned crew, as if he knew they were watching him.

Taking in the Snake’s beautiful, high-boned face for the first time, Hester’s whole body went slack.

“What was that about staying one step ahead?” she breathed to Professor Dovey.

Good’s Dean said nothing as Sir Japeth grinned back at all of them.

Then he turned and waved to the people alongside his identical twin brother, King Rhian . . .

The Lion and the Snake now lording over the Woods as one.

3
SOPHIE
Bonds of Blood

While the guards held her offstage, Sophie saw all of it.

The Snake becoming the Lion’s liege.

Rhian’s brother unmasked.

Lionsmane declaring war on the Storian.

The people of the Woods cheering on two frauds.

But Sophie’s mind wasn’t on King Rhian or his snake-eyed twin. Her mind was on someone else . . . the only person who mattered to her right now . . .

Agatha.

Even with Tedros set to die, at least she knew where he was. In the dungeons. Still alive. And as long as he was alive, there was hope.

But the last she’d seen of Agatha was her best friend being hunted by guards through the crowd.

Did she escape?

Was she even alive?

Tears sprung to Sophie’s eyes as she looked down at the diamond on her finger.

Once upon a time, she’d worn another ring . . . the ring of an Evil man who’d isolated her from her only real friend, just as she was now.

But that was different.

Back then, Sophie had wanted to be Evil.

Back then, Sophie had been a witch.

Marrying Rhian was supposed to be her redemption.

Marrying Rhian was supposed to be true love.

She’d thought he’d understood her. When she looked into his eyes, she’d seen someone pure, honest, and Good. Someone who acknowledged the shades of Evil in her heart and loved her for them like Agatha did.

He was gorgeous too, of course, but it wasn’t his looks that made her take his ring. It was the way he looked at her. The same way Tedros looked at Agatha. As if he could only be complete by having her love.

Two by two and four best friends. It was the perfect ending. Teddy with Aggie, Sophie with Rhian.

But Agatha had warned her: “If there’s one thing I know, Sophie . . . it’s that you and I don’t get to have perfect endings.”

She’d been right, of course. Agatha was the only person Sophie ever truly loved. She’d taken for granted that she and Aggie would be in each other’s lives forever. That their ending was safe.

But they were far away from that ending now . . . with no way back.

Four guards grabbed Sophie from behind and yanked her into the Blue Tower, their bodies reeking of onions and cider and sweat beneath their armor, their filthy nails digging into her shoulder before she finally flung out both arms and shoved them away.

“I wear the king’s ring,” Sophie seethed, smoothing her plunging pink dress. “So if you would like to retain your heads, I suggest you take your stultifying stench to the nearest baths and keep your grubby paws off me.”

One of the guards doffed his helmet, revealing sunburnt Wesley, the teenage pirate who’d tormented her in Jaunt Jolie. “King gave us orders to take yer to the Map Room. Don’t trust yer to git there on yer own, case you run like that wench Agatha did,” he sneered, flashing a squalid set of teeth. “So either we walk yer nicely like we were doin’ or we git you there a little less nice.”

The three other guards removed their helmets and Sophie came face-to-face with the pirate Thiago, bloodred carvings around his eyes; a black boy with the name “Aran” tattooed in fire on his neck; and a supremely muscular girl with shorn dark hair, piercings in her cheeks, and a lecherous glare.

“Your choice, Whiskey Woo,” growled the girl.

Sophie let them drag her.

As they goaded her through the Blue Tower rotunda, she saw a cadre of fifty workers, repainting columns with fresh Lion crests, refurbishing marble floors with Lion insignias in each tile, replacing the broken chandelier with one dangling a thousand tiny Lion heads, and switching out frayed blue chairs with spruced-up seats, the cushions embroidered with golden Lions. All remnants of King Arthur were similarly replaced, every tarnished bust and statue of the old king usurped with a buffed one of the new.

Sun sifted through the curtains, setting the circular foyer aglow, the light dancing off the new paint and polished gems. Sophie noticed three skeletal women with identical faces moving across the room in matching silk lavender robes. They handed each worker a satchel that clinked with coins, the three sisters gliding as one unit with imperious stiffness, as if they were the queens of the castle. The women saw Sophie watching them and gave her a simpering smile, bobbing together in a tight curtsy.

There was something off about them, Sophie thought. Not just their fake monkey grins and that bungled bow, like they were freak-show clones . . . but the fact that under those clean pastel robes, they weren’t wearing any shoes. As the women continued to pay workers, Sophie peered at their grimy, bare feet that looked like they belonged to chimney sweeps, not ladies of Camelot.

No doubt about it. Something was definitely off.

“I thought Camelot had no money,” Sophie said to the guards. “How are we paying for all this?”

“Beeba, say we cut her brain open, what we gonna find,” Thiago asked the girl pirate.

“Worms,” said Beeba.

“Rocks,” countered Wesley.

“Cats,” offered Aran.

The others looked at him. He didn’t explain.

Nor did they answer Sophie’s question. But as Sophie passed sitting rooms, bedchambers, a library, and solarium, each being renovated with Lion crests and carvings and emblems, it became clear that Camelot did have money. Lots of it. Where had the gold come from? And who were those three sisters acting like they owned the place? And how was this happening so soon? Rhian had barely become king and suddenly, the whole castle was being remade in his image? It didn’t make any sense. Sophie saw more men shuffle by, carrying a giant portrait of Rhian in his crown and asking guards for directions to the “Hall of Kings” where they were supposed to hang it. One thing was for sure, Sophie thought, watching them veer towards the White Tower: all of this had to have been planned by the king long before today. . . .

Don’t call him that. He isn’t the king, she chastised herself.

But how did he pull Excalibur, then? a second voice asked.

Sophie had no response. At least not yet.

Through one window, she saw workers rebuilding the castle’s drawbridge. Through another, she glimpsed gardeners reseeding grass and pulling in brilliant blue rosebushes, replacing the old dead ones, while over in the Gold Tower courtyard, workers painted gold Lions in the basin of each reflecting pool. A commotion disturbed the work and Sophie spotted a brown-skinned woman in a chef’s uniform ushered out of the castle by pirate guards, along with her cooks, as a new young, strapping chef and his all-male staff were guided in to replace them.

“But the Silkima family has been cooking for Camelot for two hundred years!” the woman protested.

“And we thank you for your service,” said a handsome guard with narrow eyes who was in a different uniform than the pirates—gilded and elaborate, suggesting he was of higher rank.

He looks familiar, Sophie thought.

But she couldn’t study the boy’s face any longer because she was being pulled into the Map Room now, which smelled clean and light, like a lily meadow—which wasn’t what Map Rooms were supposed to smell like, since they were airless chambers, usually occupied by teams of unwashed knights.

Sophie looked up to see maps of the Woods’ realms floating in the amber lamplight above a large, round table like severed balloons. As she peered closer, she saw these weren’t old, brittle maps from King Arthur’s reign . . . but the same magical Quest Maps that she and Agatha once encountered in the Snake’s lair, featuring tiny figurines of her and her quest team, enabling the Snake to track their every move. Now all those figurines hovered over Camelot’s tiny, three-dimensional castle, while their real-life counterparts festered in the dungeons below. But as she looked closer, Sophie noticed there was one labeled crew member on the map who wasn’t near the castle at all . . . one who was breaking away from Camelot, slipping towards the kingdom border . . .

AGATHA.

Sophie gasped.

She’s alive.

Aggie’s alive.

And if she was alive, that meant Agatha would do everything she could to free Tedros. Which meant Sophie and her best friend could work together to save Camelot’s true king: Aggie from the outside, she from the inside.

But how? Tedros would die in a week. They didn’t have any time. Plus, Rhian could track Aggie himself on this Quest Map anytime he wanted—

Sophie’s eyes flared. Quest Map! She had her own! Her fingers clasped the gold vial attached to the chain around her neck, carrying the magical map given to each Dean. She tucked the vial deeper under her dress. As long as she had her own map, she could trace Agatha without Rhian knowing. And if she could trace her, maybe she could also send Agatha a message before the king’s men found her. Hope flooded through her, drowning out fear—

But then Sophie noticed the rest of the room.

Five maids with white lace dresses that covered every inch of their skin and wide white bonnets on their heads were fanned around the table, silent and still like statues, their heads bowed so she couldn’t see their faces, each holding a leather-bound book in her outstretched palms. Sophie moved closer, noticing that the books were labeled with the names of her and Rhian’s wedding events.

BLESSING

PROCESSION

CIRCUS OF TALENTS

FEAST OF LIGHTS

WEDDING

She stared at a slim maid holding the book marked PROCESSION. The girl kept her head down. Sophie flipped through the book while the girl held it, the pages filled with sketches of carriage options and animal breeds and outfit possibilities that she and Rhian could use for the town parade, where the king and new queen would have a chance to meet the people up close. Would they ride in a glass carriage pulled by horses? On a gold-and-blue flying carpet? Or together atop an elephant? Sophie shifted to the maid with the CIRCUS OF TALENTS book and scanned through stage designs and curtain choices and decorations for a show where the best talents from the various kingdoms would perform for the betrothed couple . . . then she moved to the book branded FEAST OF LIGHTS and perused dozens of bouquets and linens and candelabras for a midnight dinner. . . .

All Sophie had to do was point a finger and pick from these books, filled with everything she needed for the wedding of her dreams. A wedding bigger than life to a storybook prince. A wedding that had been her wish since she was a little girl.

But instead of joy, Sophie felt sick, thinking of the monster she was marrying.

That’s the problem with wishes.

They need to be specific.

“King says yer to work till supper,” Wesley ordered from the door.

He started to leave, then stopped.

“Oh. You’ve been asked to wear this at all times,” he said, pointing at a white dress hung up on the back of the door, prim, ruffly, and even more modest than the maids’.

“Over my dead body,” Sophie flamed.

Wesley smiled ominously. “We’ll let the king know.”

He left with his pirates, closing the door behind them.

Sophie waited a few seconds, then ran for the door—

It didn’t budge.

They’d locked her in.

No windows either.

No way to send Agatha a message.

Sophie turned, realizing the maids were still there, posed like statues in their white dresses, faces hidden, as they clutched the wedding books.

“Do you speak?” Sophie snapped.

The maids stayed silent.

She smacked a book out of one of their hands.

“Say something!” she demanded.

The maid didn’t.

Sophie snatched a book from the next maid and threw it against the wall, sending pages flying everywhere.

“Don’t you get it? He’s not Arthur’s son! He’s not the real king! And his brother is the Snake! The Snake that attacked kingdoms and killed people! Rhian pretended his brother was the enemy so he could look like a hero and become king! Now they’re going to kill Tedros! They’re going to kill the true king!”

Only one of the maids flinched.

“They’re savages! They’re murderers!” Sophie shouted.

None of them moved.

Furious, Sophie swiped more of the books and tore pages apart, ripping out the bindings. “We have to do something! We have to get out of here!” With a cry, she flung leather and parchment across the room, knocking the floating maps into walls—

Then she saw the Snake watching her.

He stood silently in the threshold of the open door, his gold-and-blue suit illuminated in the lamplight. Japeth had his brother Rhian’s copper hair, only longer and wilder, as well as Rhian’s sculpted face but paler, a cold milky-white, like he’d been sucked of blood.

“One book’s missing,” he said.

He tossed it on the table.

EXECUTION

Heart sinking, Sophie peeled it open to see an array of axes to choose from, followed by options for chopping blocks, each with a sketch of Tedros kneeling, his neck stretched over the block. There were even choices for baskets to catch his severed head.

Slowly Sophie looked back up at the Snake.

“I assume there’ll be no more trouble about the dress,” said Sir Japeth.

He turned to leave—

“You animal. You disgusting scum,” Sophie hissed at the Snake’s back. “You and your brother use smoke and mirrors to infiltrate Camelot and steal the real king’s crown and you think you can get away with it?” Her blood boiled, the fury of a witch rekindling. “I don’t know what you did to trick the Lady of the Lake or what Rhian did to trick Excalibur, but that’s all it was. A trick. You can put my friends in jail. You can threaten me all you want. But people can only be fooled for so long. They’ll see who you two are in the end. That you’re a soulless, murdering creep and he’s a fraud. A fraud whose throat I’ll cut the second he shows his face—”

“Better get on with it, then,” a voice said as Rhian entered, barechested in black breeches, his hair wet. He glared at Japeth. “I told you I’d handle her.”

“And then you went for a bath,” said Japeth, “while she refuses to wear Mother’s dress.”

Sophie lost her breath. Not just because she had a storm of rage ready to unleash or because two brothers were dolling her up in their mother’s clothes, but because she’d never seen Rhian without his shirt before. Now as she looked at him, she saw his chest was just as ghost white as Japeth, while Rhian’s arms and face glowed a deep tan—the same tan that farmers in Gavaldon had after they wore shirts in the hot summer sun. Rhian saw her ogling him, and he gave her a cocked grin, as if he knew what she was thinking: even the tan had been part of the ruse to prevent anyone from seeing they were brothers, a ruse to make Rhian look like a golden Lion battling a cold-hearted Snake . . . when, in fact, the Lion and the Snake were perfect twins all along.

As Sophie stood there, taking in their matching smirks and sea-colored stares, she could feel a familiar fear—the same fear she’d felt when she kissed Rafal. No, this fear was sharper. She’d known who Rafal was. She’d chosen him for the wrong reasons. But she’d learned from her fairy tale. She’d fixed her mistakes . . . only to fall in love with an even worse villain. And this time, there wasn’t one of him, but two.

“Wonder what kind of mother could raise cowards like you,” Sophie snarled.

“Talk about my mother and I’ll rip out your heart,” the Snake spewed, launching for her—

Rhian held him back. “Last time. I’ll handle her.”

He pushed Japeth aside, leaving his brother stewing in the corner.

Rhian turned to Sophie, his eyes clear as glass.

“You think we’re the cowards? You were the one who said Tedros was a bad king. In fact, during the carriage ride to recruit the armies, you said I could do better. That you could do better. And here you are, acting as if you stood by your dear ‘Teddy’ all along.”

Sophie bared her teeth. “You set Tedros up. The Snake was your brother. You lied to me, you cockroach—”

“No,” the king slashed, hardening. “I didn’t lie. I never lied. Every single word has been the truth. I saved kingdoms from a ‘Snake,’ didn’t I? I pulled Excalibur from its stone. I passed my father’s test and for that, I am king, not that fool who failed his test again and again and again. Those are the facts. That speech I gave to the army in Camelot Hall: all of that was true too. It did take a Snake to bring forth the real Lion of Camelot. You loved me when I spoke those words then. You wanted to marry me—”

“I thought you were talking about Tedros!” Sophie screamed. “I thought he was the real Lion!”

“Another lie. In the carriage ride, I told you that Tedros had failed. That he’d lost the war for people’s hearts. That a real Lion would have known how to win. You heard me, Sophie, even if you don’t want to admit it. It’s why you fell in love with me. And now that everything I said would happen has indeed happened, you act as if I’m a villain because it isn’t exactly like you imagined. That’s cowardly.”

“I loved you because you pledged your loyalty to Tedros and Agatha!” Sophie fought. “I loved you because I thought you were a hero! Because you pretended to love me back!”

“Again. A lie. I never made such a pledge and I never said I loved you nor did you ask if I did,” said the king, moving towards her. “I have my brother. I have the bond of blood, which is forever. Love, on the other hand, is a figment. Look what it did to my father, to Tedros, to you—it made you foggy-eyed fools. So, no, I don’t love you, Sophie. You’re my queen for a reason deeper than love. A reason that makes me willing to risk having you by my side, despite your sympathy for an impostor king. A reason that will bond us more than love.”

“Bond? You think you and me can have a bond?” Sophie said, recoiling from him, knocking into a maid. “You’re a two-faced lunatic. You had your brother attack people so you could ride in to save them. You put a sword to my spine, you imprisoned my friends—”

“They’re still alive. Be thankful for that,” said Rhian, cornering her. “But right now, you’ve wedded your loyalty to the wrong king and the wrong queen. You’re blinded by friendship. Agatha and Tedros are not meant to rule the Woods. You and I are, and soon you will understand why.”

Sophie tried to move, but he took her damp palm in his. “In the meantime, if you behave and as long as it’s reasonable . . . ,” he said, softening, “the maids and cooks will grant any requests you have.”

“Then I request Tedros be freed,” Sophie spat at him.

Rhian paused. “I said ‘reasonable.’”

Sophie ripped her hand away. “If you are Arthur’s son, as you say you are, then Tedros is your brother—”

“Half-brother,” said the king coldly. “And who’s to say that’s true? Who’s to say he’s King Arthur’s son at all?”

Sophie gaped at him. “You can’t just mold the truth to fit your lies!”

“You think that Tedros shares our blood?” Japeth piped from the corner. “That whinging little tart? Unlikely. But maybe if you give Rhian an extra kiss tonight, he’ll poison the boy instead of chopping off his head.” He smiled at Sophie and flicked his tongue like a serpent.

“Enough, Japeth,” Rhian groused.

Sophie could see one of the maids shivering in the corner, head bowed. “I told the maids what you’ve done,” Sophie fumed. “They’ll tell the rest of the castle. They’ll tell everyone. That you’re no king. And that he’s no liege. That your brother’s the Snake. All of them know—”

“Do they?” the Snake asked, raising a brow at his brother.

“Doubtful,” said the Lion, turning to Sophie. “These were Agatha’s chambermaids, so their loyalty to me was questionable to begin with. Instead of letting them loose in the Woods, I gave them the choice between a swift death and serving me and my brother. Provided they endured one slight modification.”

Modification? Sophie couldn’t see their faces, but the five maids appeared healthy. No missing limbs or marks on their skin.

But then she saw the Snake’s eyes flash . . . that same insidious flash she’d witnessed whenever he’d done something especially Evil. . . .

Sophie looked closer at the maid nearest to her. And then she saw it. . . .

A long, thin scim sliding teasingly out of the maid’s ear, eely scales glinting in the lamplight, before it wedged right back in.

Nausea coated Sophie’s throat.

“Whatever you’ve told them fell upon deaf ears,” said Rhian. “And given that Japeth promised to restore them to their original condition only once they prove their loyalty to the new king, I’d doubt they’d listen to you anyway.”

He raised his finger towards the maids and the tip glowed bright gold. Responding to the signal, the maids quickly exited the room in a single-file line.

The same color as Tedros’ glow, Sophie thought, gazing at Rhian’s finger. But how? Only students at the school have fingerglows and he was never a student there—

As the last maid shuffled through the door, head down, the king suddenly barred her path. It was the maid Sophie had seen shaking in the corner.

“There was one maid whose ears we left alone, however. One who we wanted to hear every word,” said Rhian, hand on the maid’s neck. “One who required a different modification . . .”

He raised the maid’s head.

Sophie froze.

It was Guinevere.

A scim curled around the once-queen’s lips, sealing her mouth shut.

Guinevere gave Sophie a petrified stare, before Rhian guided her out with the others and closed the door.

Japeth’s gold-and-blue clothes magically sloughed away, returning to his shredded suit of black scims, his white chest showing through the holes. He stood next to his brother, their muscles rippling beneath the tawny lamps.

“She’s a queen!” Sophie gasped, sick to her stomach. “She’s Tedros’ mother!”

“And she treated our mother poorly,” said Japeth.

“So poorly it’s only fitting she watches us treat her son poorly too,” said Rhian. “Past is Present and Present is Past. The story goes round and round again. Didn’t they teach you that lesson in school?”

Their eyes danced between blue and green.

Our mother, Sophie thought.

Who was their mother?

Agatha had mentioned something . . . something about her former steward who they’d buried in Sherwood Forest . . . What was her name?

Sophie looked at the two boys watching her, with their twin torsos and reptile smiles, the new King and Liege of Camelot, and suddenly she didn’t care who their mother was. They’d jailed her friends, enslaved a real queen, and tricked her into being a false one. They’d forced her best friend to run and condemned Sophie to live as a stooge of the enemy. Her, the greatest witch in the Woods, who had nearly brought down the School for Good and Evil. Twice. And they thought she’d be their puppet?

“You forget that I’m Evil,” Sophie said to Rhian, her rage replaced by a chilly calm. “I know how to kill. And I’ll kill both of you without getting a spot of blood on my dress. So either you free me and my friends and return your crown to the rightful king or you’ll die here with your brother, squealing like whatever’s left of his slimy eel—”

Every last scim tore off Japeth and slammed Sophie against the wall, binding her like a fly in a web, her palms over her head, with another scim strangling her throat, one gagging her mouth, and two turning lethal sharp, poised to gouge out her eyes.

Wheezing in shock, Sophie saw Japeth leering at her, his scim-less, naked form concealed by the table.

“How about this as a compromise,” said Rhian, posing against the wall next to Sophie’s body. “Every time you behave badly, I’ll kill one of your friends. But if you do as I say and act the perfect queen . . . well, then I won’t kill them.”

“Sounds like a fair deal to me,” said the Snake.

“And besides, there are things we could do to you too,” Rhian said, his lips at Sophie’s ear. “Just ask the old wizard.”

Sophie muffled into her gag, desperate to know what they’d done to Merlin.

“But I don’t want to hurt you,” the king went on. “I told you. There’s a reason you’re my queen. A reason why you belong here. A reason why you have this story all wrong. A reason why your blood and ours are so inextricably linked . . .”

Rhian raised his hand to the two sharp scims pointed at Sophie’s pupils and took one of the scims into his hand. He twirled it on his fingertip like a tiny sword and stared right at his bound princess.

“Want to know what it is?”

His eyes sparkled dangerously.

Sophie screamed—

He stabbed the scim at her open palm and sliced across the flesh, opening up a shallow wound, which dripped small droplets of blood.

As Sophie watched in horror, the king cupped his hand beneath the wound and collected Sophie’s blood like rainwater.

Then he smiled at her.

“Because you’re the only person . . .”

He walked towards his brother.

“. . . in all of the Woods . . .”

He stopped in front of Japeth.

“. . . whose blood can do . . .”

He smeared Sophie’s blood across his brother’s chest.

“. . . this.”

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then Sophie jolted.

Her blood had started to magically disperse across Japeth’s body in thin, shiny strands, branching and crisscrossing down his skin like a network of veins. The strands of blood deepened in color to a rich crimson and grew thicker, knotting into roped netting that sealed his body in. The ropes squeezed tighter, cutting into his skin like whips, deeper and deeper, until Japeth was corseted by Sophie’s blood, his flesh stretched raw. He clenched his whole body in agony, his muscles striating as he tilted his head back, mouth open in a choked scream. Then, all at once, the ropes binding him turned from red to black. Scales spread across them like a rash, as the ropes began to undulate and move with soft shrieks like baby eels, replicating across the gaps in his chalky flesh, scim after scim after scim until at last . . . Japeth stared back at her, his suit of snakes as strong and new as the first time Sophie had seen it.

There was no doubting what she’d just witnessed.

Her blood had restored him.

Her blood had restored a monster.

Her blood.

Sophie went limp under her own binds.

The Map Room was silent.

“See you at supper,” said the king.

He walked out the door.

The Snake followed his brother, but not before putting his mother’s dress on the table and giving Sophie a last glare of warning.

As he walked out the door, the scims flew off Sophie with piercing shrieks and chased after Japeth, the door slamming shut behind them.

Sophie was alone.

She stood amongst the torn wedding books, her hand still seeping blood.

Her mouth trembled.

Her lungs felt like they were caving in.

It had to have been a trick.

Another lie.

It had to be.

And yet, she’d seen it with her very own eyes.

It wasn’t a trick. It was real.

Sophie shook her head, tears rising.

How could something so hellish come from her?

She wanted this Snake dead in the worst possible way . . . and instead she’d restored him to life? After all she’d done to protect her friends from him? After all she’d done to change? And now she was the lifeblood of the worst kind of Evil?

Heat rushed to her face, a furnace of fear. A witch’s scream filled up her lungs, clawing at her throat. A scream that would kill everyone in this castle and crumble it to ash. She opened her mouth to unleash—

Then . . . she held it in.

Slowly she let the scream slither back into the recesses of her heart.

“Past is Present and Present is Past.”

That’s what the new king said.

That’s why he was always one step ahead: because he knew people’s pasts . . .

And Sophie’s past was Evil.

Evil that for so long had been her weapon.

Evil that was the only way she knew how to fight back.

But Rhian was too smart for that.

You can’t beat Evil with Evil.

Maybe to win a battle, but not the war.

And no matter what, she would win this war. For Agatha. For Tedros. For her friends.

But to win, she needed answers. She needed to know who the Lion and the Snake really were. And why her blood had melded magically with theirs . . .

Until she found those answers, she’d have to bide her time.

She’d have to be smart. And she’d have to be careful.

Sophie gazed at the white dress on the table, her lips curling.

Oh, yes.

There were other ways to be a witch.

4
AGATHA
New Alliances

After leaving Avalon, Agatha planned to sneak into a neighboring kingdom and find food and a place to sleep. She needed time to think about the Lady of the Lake’s strange drawing . . . time to stash a crystal ball that was weighing her down . . . time to plot her next moves. . . .

That all changed when she got to Gillikin.

It was past twilight when Agatha crossed into the Ever kingdom, home to the Emerald City of Oz. She’d snuck in on a wheelcart of visitors from Ginnymill who’d come traveling up the coast (Agatha stowed herself under their luggage). By the time they reached the yellow brick road on the outskirts of Emerald City and dismounted in a market jammed with noisy tourists, the sky was dark enough for Agatha to slip out and blend into the crowd.

A week ago, Agatha had read reports of Gillikin plagued by the Snake’s attacks—fairy-eating wasps, carriage bombs, and rogue nymphs—that paralyzed the kingdom. The Fairy Queen of Gillikin and the Wizard of Oz, once rivals vying for power, had been forced into a truce, both appealing to Tedros of Camelot for help. Now, with the Snake supposedly dead at Rhian’s hands, Gillikin had pledged its alliance to Camelot’s new king and its thoroughfares bustled once more, the people of the Woods no longer afraid to go about their lives.

Agatha had chosen to come to Gillikin for a few reasons: first, because it was the nearest Ever kingdom to Avalon and home to the invisible fairies who had once sheltered her from the School Master’s zombies; and more importantly, because it was a melting pot of immigrants from all over the Woods, determined to find their way into Emerald City and win an audience with the wizard. Among such a motley mob, Agatha figured she was bound to suss out news of Camelot, as well as of Tedros and her friends. At the same time, with so many people clogging the yellow streets, clamoring for a coveted “green ticket” into Emerald City (either you won one by lottery or you scalped one from a dodgy vendor), Agatha assumed she’d go unnoticed.

Which turned out to be a mistake.

Everywhere she looked, there were WANTED posters in different languages fixed to the market stalls, glowing in the torchlight—

As the wizard only granted a few meetings a day, the search for Agatha had become a manic treasure hunt. Vendors hawked magical “Agatha-Vision” goggles to spot her, luminescent Lion lassos to capture her, Tedros voice boxes that emitted the prince’s voice to bait her, faux-crystal balls to track her, even maps of Gillikin with notations where Agatha had supposedly been spotted.

“If I meet the wizard, I’m gonna ask him for a new leg,” Agatha overheard a limping boy tell a scraggly vendor as he bought one of the maps. Agatha lingered behind the boy, six or seven years old, as he unfurled the parchment and scanned the tiny cartoon Agathas with witchy hair and gnashed teeth, dotted around the map. The boy looked up. “You sure you saw her?”

“Came and bought a map from me,” said the vendor, smiling, “just like you.”

“Then why didn’t you catch her yourself?” the boy asked.

The vendor’s smile flattened. “Uh, well, because I didn’t have a Lion lasso like this one here!”

The boy peered at him skeptically . . . then started counting coins from his pocket.

Overhead, glittery floodlights scanned the crowds, projected by clouds of invisible fairies joining the hunt, the same fairies who’d once protected Agatha from Evil and now sought to deliver her back to it. The iridescent spotlights flushed across the market, about to light up her face—

Agatha dove behind a stall, crashing into a pine hedge and landing hard on the bag carrying Dovey’s crystal ball. Cursing silently, she picked pine needles out of her chin, listening to the din of the market: the conversation in languages she didn’t recognize . . . the sizzle of food carts selling “wizard” burgers (gold-dusted patties in green palm leaves) and “fairy” creams (hot buttermilk with sparkle-foam) . . . the sharp voice of a stall barker, drifting over the crowd: “Step right up! Gilly’s Ticket Hub! Best price on tickets in the Woods! Emerald City passes! Caves of Contempo tours! Fairy flights to Beauty and the Feast! Reservations available tonight! Step right up! Come to Gilly’s!”

As Agatha lumbered to her feet, she saw that the stall she’d crashed behind was selling both Wizard of Oz merchandise and King Rhian memorabilia in tribute to the new alliance, the shop packed with tourists waving bags of coins at the three vendors frantically dispensing Lion mugs, shirts, masks, bags, and candy.

“But I thought Agatha and Tedros were Good,” said a young girl to her mother, who was jostling in the crowd, trying to buy a cheap gold pen that resembled the Storian. Only it wasn’t meant to be the Storian, Agatha realized, because engraved in the gold surface was the word . . . LIONSMANE.

Lionsmane? Agatha peered closer at it. What’s that?

“You used to tell me Agatha and Tedros’ fairy tale every night before bed,” the young girl was badgering her mother, “and they ended as king and queen, remember? That was their Ever After—”

“Well, turns out Agatha and Tedros were only pretending to be king and queen, while the real king was out here in the Woods,” her mother assured. “King Rhian killed the Snake, while Tedros did nothing. King Rhian is the leader of Good now. And Sophie will be his queen.”

“He’s the leader of Evil too,” rasped a black-cloaked hag near them, who was also waiting to buy one of the gold pens. “That’s why he’s marrying Sophie. To bring us all together. Rhian is king of the whole Woods now. And Lionsmane will make sure you never hear a fake fairy tale like Agatha’s again. King Rhian’s pen is going to tell real stories.” She grinned toothlessly at the little girl. “Might even write yours.”

Rhian’s pen? Agatha thought, bewildered.

The young girl blinked between her mother and the hag.

“But why does King Rhian have to kill Tedros?” she asked. “And why does he have to kill him at his wedding to Sophie?”

Agatha’s stomach wrenched so hard she felt it in her throat.

Tedros killed at Rhian and Sophie’s—

Impossible. They couldn’t kill King Arthur’s son at a royal wedding. It could never happen. Sophie would never let it happen. Sophie would protect Tedros . . . She’d plot against Rhian from inside the castle . . . She’d never marry that monster!

Agatha tensed. Or now that Sophie was about to be Queen of Camelot, worshipped by the entire Woods, would she suddenly turn back into—

Don’t be stupid, Agatha scoffed. She’d seen Sophie’s face when Rhian had trapped her at swordpoint. This wasn’t the old Sophie, who’d betrayed her best friends for love. This time, they were all on the same team against a fake king.

A fake king who was planning to kill the real one.

Agatha expected to feel a rush of panic—

But instead a sense of calm came over her.

If she didn’t find a way to get to Tedros, he would die in the worst possible way.

There was no time for helplessness.

Her prince needed her.

She slipped out from behind the stall, past the distracted vendors, and deftly stole a hooded shirt with Rhian’s face on it as the crowd jostled for Lion merchandise. Pulling the hood low over her head, she wove her way through the wall of shoppers, the bag with Dovey’s ball tight against her shoulder as she headed towards the blinking stall in the distance.

She passed more booths thronged with people buying phony Agatha hunting gear, while she hustled past, puffing out Rhian’s face on her chest, pretending she was his biggest fan. She was approaching Gilly’s now, the barker’s voice growing louder: “Step right up! Best tickets in tow—”

Something collided with her.

Agatha looked up to see two hulking green hobgoblins in Agatha-Vision goggles, toting full bags of Lion souvenirs. They gaped at her through their goggles . . . then slowly lowered them.

“Gaboo Agatha gabber,” said the first goblin.

“Gaboo shamima Agatha gabber,” said the second goblin.

“No no Agatha gabber,” Agatha said, pointing in the other direction. “Gaboo went that way.”

The goblins narrowed their eyes.

Agatha pointed at Rhian on her shirt. “See. King. Ooooh.”

The goblins looked at each other.

“Poot,” said the first.

“Mah poot,” said the second.

They dropped their bags and charged at her.

Facing five hundred pounds of rabid slime, Agatha plunged into the mob and shoved people in the goblins’ way like shields but the goblins rammed past them, the two creatures reaching out with stubby arms and grabbing on to Dovey’s bag—

Agatha spun around and overturned a vendor’s cart of fake crystal balls in their path, the rubber balls parroting “I see Agatha! I see Agatha!” in off-synch yelps and tripping up the goblins and half the crowd. Panting in relief, Agatha slid behind a newsstand, watching the goblins flop all over the slippery balls, while a female vendor beat them mercilessly with her shoe.

Suddenly, Agatha noticed the headlines of the Gillikin Gazette, clipped to the front of the stall:

LION SETS EXECUTION FOR “KING” TEDROS; WEDDING FESTIVITIES BEGIN TOMORROW

Agatha leaned closer, reading the article’s details about how Sophie handpicked the axe and executioner for Tedros’ beheading (a lie, thought Agatha) . . . about King Rhian’s new pen, Lionsmane, that was more trustworthy than the Storian . . .

An even bigger lie, Agatha scorned, remembering the cheap gold pens people were snapping up in the booth. The Storian told stories the Woods needed. The Storian kept the Woods alive. But if people were suddenly doubting the enchanted pen and favoring a fake one . . . then she wasn’t just fighting Rhian. She was fighting the countless minds he’d corrupted too. How was she supposed to do that?

Only there was more in this Gillikin article, Agatha realized, reading on . . . this time about Rhian’s brother, who’d supposedly been named the liege of the king . . .

Agatha studied a painting of this liege, included on the front page. Japeth, it said his name was—

Her eyes bulged.

Not just Rhian’s brother.

Rhian’s twin.

She thought back to the Lady of the Lake’s drawing.

Now she understood everything.

It wasn’t Rhian in the Snake’s mask who the Lady had kissed. It was Japeth.

There were two of them all along.

One the Lion, one the Snake.

That’s how they tricked both the Lady and Excalibur. They shared the same blood.

And yet, both the Lady and Excalibur believed that blood to be the blood of Arthur’s heir.

But even if they were twins, wouldn’t one of them have been born first? Agatha wondered. Meaning only one of them is the true heir—

Agatha shook her head. What am I saying? Those two monsters can’t possibly be Arthur’s sons. They can’t be Tedros’ brothers.

She could feel herself holding her breath . . .

Can they?

A shadow swept over her.

Agatha swiveled and saw the two goblins glowering at her, their bodies covered in welts.

The female vendor who’d beaten them was with the goblins too, staring at Agatha.

So were a hundred other people behind them, who clearly knew who she was.

“Oh. Hullo,” Agatha said.

She dashed for her life, hurtling through the crowd, but more and more people ahead were hearing the cries of the people pursuing her and started chasing her too. Trapped on the yellow road between booths, there was nowhere for her to go—

Then she saw the stall next to her.

TAMIMA’S TADPOLES!

Best Frog Breeder in the Everlands

Tadpoles. She knew a spell about tadpoles. She’d learned it at school, reading Sophie’s Evil textbooks . . .

Instantly, she veered towards the booth, diving under the fabric skirting the bottom of it and accosting the vendor, who was stewing a vat of the squiggling critters. Before the vendor could grasp what was happening, Agatha shoved her out of the way, snatched the tub of tadpoles with both hands, felt her fingerglow burn gold—

“Pustula morphica!” she gasped.

She dunked her face in.

When the goblins and other bounty hunters came rushing by, they couldn’t find Agatha in the crowd—only a soggy girl covered in red boils, stumbling away from a tadpole booth.

A few moments later, itching at her red, oozing sores, this boil-covered girl shambled up to Gilly’s Ticket Hub and its handsome young barker.

“Flight to Beauty and the Feast, please,” she said.

The man jerked back in disgust.

“Forty silver pieces,” he groused, reflexively touching his smooth cheek. “Or rather, forty silver pieces your pestilent fingers haven’t touched.”

“I don’t have any silver,” Agatha replied.

“Then give me whatever is in that bag,” he said, eyeing Dovey’s sack on her shoulder.

“Soiled diapers?” Agatha replied with a straight face.

The barker scowled. “Out of my sight before I call the Wizard Guard.”

Agatha glanced over her shoulder and saw a commotion at the tadpole booth, the vendor pointing her way—

She whipped back to the barker.

“I could pay you with a good strong sneeze, though,” she said coolly. “Feel one coming as a matter of fact. Right at your pretty little face.”

The barker raised his eyes, taking in her pocked cheeks.

“Diseased hag. You want to fly? Be my guest,” he sneered, shining a green-flamed torch into the sky, illuminating a cloud of invisible fairies, suddenly seeable in the green light. “One look at you in Sherwood Forest and they’ll put an arrow through your skull.”

As the fairies soared down on the barker’s command and scooped Agatha high into the sky, she grinned at him and the crowd of Agatha hunters rushing his booth.

“I’ll take my chances,” she said.

“YOU SHOULD HAVE come here straightaway instead of messing about in Fairyland,” Robin Hood grouched, dabbing Agatha’s boils with beer he’d soaked onto a napkin.

“It was too far to get here on foot and I wanted to find news of my friends,” said Agatha, now itching with boils and beer. “Besides, last time I was here, you said Merry Men don’t get involved in other kingdoms’ affairs, and that’s why you wouldn’t help us fight the Snake. But now you have to help or Tedros will die in six days’ time. You’re my only hope—Lancelot is dead, Merlin’s been captured, Professor Dovey and Guinevere too, and I don’t know how to reach the League of Thirteen or if they’re even still alive—”

“I knew that Rhian boy was a maggot,” Robin growled, splashing beer all over his green coat. “Stuck to Tedros’ bum like a flea: ‘My king! My king!’ Saw right through him. Anyone that servile to a king is bound to be in it for himself.” He tightened his brown cap, speared with a green feather. “Moment I heard the news I wasn’t surprised in the least.”

“Don’t lie, you goat,” snorted a ravishing black woman with long, curly hair and a flowy blue dress, flitting around the bar at Marian’s Arrow, rinsing wine cups and wiping down counters as moonlight streamed through the only window. “You told me you’d never met a ‘sturdier chap’ and that if you could, you’d steal Rhian from Tedros and induct him into the Merry Men.”

“Always go countin’ on Marian to tell us a’truth,” a deep voice said.

Robin glanced over at twelve men of various shapes, sizes, and colors wearing brown caps like Robin’s, each with a beer mug in hand, seated at tables in the otherwise deserted bar.

“First Robin brings a traitor into our ranks: that boy Kei who set the Snake free and killed three of our men,” said a towering man with a big belly, “and now he wants to bring in an evil king too?”

“This is why Marian’s Arrow is named after Marian and not him,” a dark man jeered, bowing to the woman behind the bar.

“Hear! Hear!” the men resounded, banging their mugs.

“And this is why from now on, you can pay for your drinks in my bar like everyone else,” Robin thrashed.

The Merry Men fell quiet.

“For the record, Marian’s Arrow is my bar,” Maid Marian said as she toweled a mug dry.

Robin ignored her, turning to Agatha. “King’s guard won’t step foot in Sherwood Forest. You’ll be safe here,” he said, inspecting her pustulous face, then slathering her with even more beer. “Stay with us as long as you please.”

“Stay? Didn’t you hear what I said? Rhian’s going to kill Tedros!” Agatha shot back, her face itching more than ever. “He’s captured everyone—Dot included, who freed you from jail and now needs you to do the same for her. I’m not staying here and neither are you. We need to attack the castle and rescue them!”

She heard the Merry Men murmur. A couple chuckles too.

Robin sighed. “Agatha, we’re thieves, not soldiers. Might hate the nasty, scheming rat, but Rhian has the whole of the Woods behind him and royal guards in front of him. No one can rescue your friends now, no matter how much we love Dot. Just be thankful you escaped, even if you ended up a bit mangy-looking.”

“She’s lovely as she is, you shallow twit,” Maid Marian snapped, marching towards him. “Won’t be long before you’re humpbacked and wrinkled like a prune, Robin. Who’s going to take care of you then? All the young ladies you whistle at? And what in good heavens are you doing to the poor girl? If you’re not going to help her, at least don’t make things worse.” She grabbed a red pepper shaker off a table, poured a handful of powder into her hand, and blew it straight into Agatha’s face. Agatha hacked violently, shielding her eyes with her fingers . . . which probed at her soft cheeks.

The boils were gone.

Robin gaped at Marian. “How’d you know how to do that?”

“Forest Groups at school. I did your homework on ‘Antidotes,’” said Marian.

Agatha wheezed, her throat filled with pepper. “You and I have a lot in common.”

Marian’s face fogged over. “No. Not anymore. I used to be like you. Willing to quest into the Woods and fight Evil like we were trained to do at school. But living in this Forest with Robin has changed me. Changed all of us. Turned us just as lazy and complacent as the fat cats Robin robs from.”

Robin and his men glanced at each other and shrugged.

Agatha felt tears coming. “Don’t you understand? Tedros is going to die. The real King of Camelot. King Arthur’s son. We have to save him. Together. I can’t do it alone.”

Robin met her eyes, quiet for a moment.

Then he turned to his men.

“All I need is one more man to say yes,” he spoke firmly. “If any of you wants to ride and take on the king, then we all ride as one. No man stays behind.” Robin drew a deep breath. “All in favor of joining Agatha in the fight . . . raise a hand!”

The men surveyed each other.

No one lifted a finger.

Stunned, Agatha spun to Maid Marian, whose back was turned while she put away beer mugs in the cupboard, as if Robin’s vote didn’t apply to her.

Agatha launched to her feet, staring down Robin’s men. “I get it. You came to Sherwood Forest to drink your booze and have your fun like overgrown boys. And sure, maybe you do raid the rich to give to the poor from time to time, believing it’s all the Good you need to do to avoid real responsibility. But that’s not what Good is. Good is about taking on Evil whenever it rises, no matter how inconvenient. Good is about stepping up to face the truth. And here’s the truth: there is a fake king ruling the Woods and we in this room are the only ones who can stop him. Will it be dangerous? Yes. Will we risk our lives? Yes. But Good needs a hero and ‘sorry, I have to finish my beer’ isn’t a reason to stay behind. Because if you turn a blind eye now, believing the ‘Lion’ and the ‘Snake’ are not your problem, I assure you it’s only a matter of time before they will be.” Heat rashed across her neck. “So I ask again. On behalf of King Tedros, your friend Dot, and the rest of my quest team who need you in order to stay alive, all those in favor of riding out to Camelot beside me and Robin . . .” She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. “. . . Raise your hands now.”

She opened her eyes.

No hands were raised.

None of the men could even look at her.

Agatha froze, her heart shrinking as small as a pea.

“I’ll give you a horse so you can leave in the morning,” said Robin Hood softly, avoiding eye contact too. “Ride on to someone who can help you.”

Agatha glared at him, red-faced. “Don’t you understand? There isn’t anyone else.”

She whirled to Marian for one last appeal—

But there was no one behind the bar, its namesake already gone.

WHILE THE MEN remained at Marian’s, Agatha came back to Robin’s treehouse, hoping to scrounge a few hours of rest before she left at first light.

But she couldn’t sleep.

She stashed Dovey’s bag in a corner and sat in the doorway, gazing out at the other treehouses, her legs dangling over the edge, brushed by bright purple lotus blossoms quivering in gusts. The wind upended the lanterns too, strung between the treehouses in a rainbow of colors, and forest fairies zipped about setting them right, their wings detonating red and blue like tiny jewels.

The last time Agatha was here, it had all felt so magical and safe, a protective bubble set off from the chaos of real life. But now the whole place felt callow. Insidious, even. Dark things were happening in the Woods and here in Sherwood Forest, purple lotuses luminesced and the houses still glowed bright, their doors wide open.

“I used to be like you,” Marian’s voice echoed.

Then she’d come here to be with Robin. She’d come here for love. A love that had sealed her off from the world and made time stand still. Isn’t that what true loves wanted in the end: to hide away in paradise?

After all, if she and Tedros had hidden away, they never would have had to lead Camelot. If she and Tedros had hidden away, he never would have heard her tell Sophie that he’d failed his quest as king.

They’d still have their Ever After.

They’d still have their perfect love.

Agatha let out a sigh.

No. That isn’t love.

Love isn’t locking yourselves in or hiding where everything is perfect.

Love is facing the world and its tests together, even if you fail them.

Suddenly, she felt the need to leave this place right now—to go back into the Woods, no matter how perilous—

But where would she go?

She was so used to taking care of things herself. That’s what had made her set off on her quest to find the Snake after Tedros’ coronation. She’d done it to help Tedros, of course. But she’d also done it because she trusted herself to solve problems: more than she trusted her prince or her best friend or anyone else.

Only this time, she couldn’t work alone. Not with her prince a few days from execution and the whole Woods hunting her and Sophie under Rhian’s thumb and the rest of her friends trapped in prison. If she tried to work alone, Tedros would die. That’s why she’d come here. To forge new alliances. And instead, she’d leave even more alone than before.

The wind turned cold and she glanced back, hoping to find a blanket or quilt—

Something caught her eye in the corner.

A black coat, hanging amongst a sea of green ones in the closet.

As she moved towards it, she saw it was splotched with dried blood . . .

Lancelot’s blood.

Tedros had worn the coat the night they’d come to Sherwood Forest to bury the knight along with Lady Gremlaine. He must have left it here when he’d changed clothes for their dinner at Beauty and the Feast . . .

Agatha clutched the coat in both hands and put it to her face, inhaling her prince’s warm, minty scent. For a half-second, it made her feel calm.

Then it dawned on her.

This could be the last she ever had of him.

Her heart kickstarted, that helpless feeling returning—

Then her hands felt something stiff in the coat pocket.

Agatha reached in and pulled out a stack of letters, banded together. She flipped through the first few.

DEAR GRISELLA,

I KNEW THERE’D BE UNDUE ATTENTION ON ME AT SCHOOL, BUT THIS IS ABSURD. I’VE ONLY BEEN HERE A FEW DAYS AND I’M STILL TRYING TO GET MY BEARINGS, YET EVERY EVER AND NEVER IN THE PLACE KEEPS HOUNDING ME, ASKING ME ABOUT HOW I PULLED EXCALIBUR FROM THE STONE AND WHAT BEING KING OF CAMELOT FEELS LIKE AND WHY I’M AT SCHOOL WHEN I SHOULD BE RULING MY KINGDOM. I TELL THEM THE “OFFICIAL” STORY, OF COURSE—THAT MY FATHER WENT TO THE SCHOOL FOR GOOD AND I WANT TO HONOR HIS LEGACY . . . BUT THE NEVERS DON’T BELIEVE ME. AT LEAST THEY DON’T KNOW THE TRUTH—THAT THE PROVISORY COUNCIL ONLY APPROVED MY CORONATION ON THE CONDITION THAT I RECEIVE A FORMAL EDUCATION (AKA HAVE TIME TO “GROW UP” BEFORE I RULE). BUT I DON’T INTEND TO TELL PEOPLE THAT MY OWN STAFF WON’T LET ME BE KING UNTIL I GRADUATE THIS PLACE. AND NOT ONLY GRADUATE, BUT GRADUATE TOP OF THE CLASS AND WITH A SUITABLE QUEEN-TO-BE PICKED OUT. I FEEL OVERWHELMED, HONESTLY. I CAN BARELY CONCENTRATE ON MY CLASSES. YESTERDAY, I BOTCHED PROFESSOR SADER’S QUIZ ON THE HISTORY OF CAMELOT. THAT’S RIGHT: I FAILED A TEST ON MY OWN KINGDOM—

DEAR GRISELLA,

THE DAYS AT SCHOOL ARE LONG AND DIFFICULT (ESPECIALLY YUBA THE GNOME’S CLASS IN THE BLUE FOREST—HE SWATS ME WITH HIS STAFF WHENEVER I MISS AN ANSWER AND I MISS PLENTY). BUT YOUR LETTERS FROM THE CASTLE HAVE GIVEN ME GREAT COMFORT AND REMIND ME OF OUR LIVES AT SIR ECTOR’S BEFORE I WAS KING, WHEN WE STARTED EACH DAY KNOWING EXACTLY WHAT WAS EXPECTED OF US—

DEAR GRISELLA,

I’VE BEEN PICKED FOR THE TRIAL BY TALE! EVEN THOUGH MY NEW FRIENDS LANCELOT AND GUINEVERE BOTH PLACED AHEAD OF ME. GUINEVERE I CAN UNDERSTAND (SHE’S BRILLIANT), BUT LANCELOT? HE’S GREAT FUN, BUT NOT THE SHARPEST SWORD IN THE ARMORY. NEEDLESS TO SAY, I’M FEELING THE SPIRIT OF COMPETITION MORE THAN EVER. IF THE NEW KING OF CAMELOT DOESN’T WIN THE TRIAL BY TALE, THE ROYAL ROT WILL BE RIDICULING ME ON THE FRONT PAGE FOR MONTHS. SPEAKING OF ROYALTY, IS EVERYTHING RUNNING SMOOTHLY AT THE CASTLE? I HAVEN’T HEARD FROM YOU IN WEEKS—

Agatha paged through more of them.

These weren’t Tedros’ letters. They were his father’s.

King Arthur must have written them when he was a first year at the School for Good. But who was Grisella? And why did Tedros have his father’s letters in his coat?

Then she noticed something stuck to the back of the last letter . . . a handwritten label . . .

Camelot Beautiful

And clipped to the label was a business card—

Agatha peered closer. Camelot Beautiful. That was the fund that Lady Gremlaine used to refurbish the castle, the one that never seemed to have any money, despite Agatha’s relentless fundraising for it. Had Tedros kept the label for a reason? And what about the business card? The only Albemarle she knew was the spectacled woodpecker that tallied ranks at the School for Good and Evil, and he certainly wasn’t a bank manager in Putsi . . .

Something rustled behind her and Agatha turned sharply.

She dropped the letters in shock.

“Hello, my dear,” said a tall woman in the doorway with wild, canary-yellow hair, an overabundance of makeup, and a leopard-print caftan billowing in the wind as she stepped off a hovering stymph into Robin’s treehouse.

“Professor Anemone!” Agatha said, gaping at her former Beautification teacher as her bird-boned vehicle flew down to the ground below. “What are you doing he—”

Then she saw Maid Marian climbing into the treehouse behind her professor.

“Emma and I were classmates at school,” Marian explained. “I sent her a crow the moment you came to Marian’s Arrow. I knew Robin and his men wouldn’t help you the way you needed. But the least I could do was find you someone who could.”

Professor Anemone rushed forward and pulled Agatha into an embrace. “The faculty’s been searching for you ever since we heard what happened. You have to understand: Clarissa kept us in the dark. Spent all her time cooped up in her office with her Quest Map and that crystal ball. She must have thought that if the teachers knew what was happening in the Woods, then the first years would find out something had gone wrong on your quests. She wouldn’t have wanted them to worry or be distracted from their work. Always thinking of her students, even at her own expense . . . Her office is still locked no matter what spells we do on it and we can’t get a hold of her Quest Map; that’s why we couldn’t find you. . . .”

Agatha teared up. She thought she’d been alone this whole time, when instead, her old teachers had been looking for her. For the briefest of moments, she felt safe again like she once had in their glass castle. “You don’t know what we’re up against, Professor. This is Evil like we’ve never seen. Evil that you don’t teach in your classes. The Lion and the Snake are working together. They have the whole Woods on their side. And we have no one on ours.”

“Yes, you do,” said Professor Anemone, pulling away and staring hard at her charge. “You see, Clarissa might believe in sheltering students, but neither I nor the rest of the teachers do. Which means the king might have the whole Woods on his side, but you have something far stronger on yours. Something that has outlasted any king. Something that has always restored the balance between Good and Evil, even in the darkest of times. Something that was born to win this fight.”

Agatha looked up at her.

Professor Anemone leaned in, her eyes glittering. “My dear Agatha . . . you have a school.”

5
TEDROS
Sophie’s Choice

Tedros imagined it was Rhian that they were beating.

That’s how he’d survived the pirates.

Every stomping kick they’d given him, every brass-knuckled punch, every full-force blow gushing blood from his lip or eye, Tedros mentally redirected at the traitor who sat upon his throne. The friend who turned out to be his worst enemy. His loyal knight who turned out to be neither loyal nor a knight.

Now, curled up in his cell, Tedros could hear the scum’s voice resounding down the hall, magically amplified by whatever hocus-pocus his friends were doing in their own cell. Acid rage burnt his chest. It was like they were broadcasting Rhian’s voice just to taunt him.

“Was he telling the truth?” he yelled.

Tedros’ voice echoed into the hall.

“About Sophie wanting me dead? Was that the truth?”

He’d thought Sophie was on his side this time . . . that his friendship with her was finally real . . .

But he didn’t know what was real anymore. Maybe Sophie had conspired with Rhian on all of this. Or maybe she’d been scammed by him too.

Tedros’ face grew hotter.

He’d welcomed Rhian like a brother. Brought him into Camelot. Told him his secrets.

He’d practically handed the pig his crown.

Tedros could taste the anger now, foaming in his throat.

Agatha was right.

He’d been a bad king. Cowardly. Arrogant. Foolish.

When Agatha had told Sophie this last night, he’d been cut to the bone. Betrayed by the only girl he’d ever loved. It had made him doubt her the way she doubted him.

But in the end, she was right. She always was.

And now, in the most fitting of ironies, the same girl who called him a bad king was the sole person who could help him win back his throne.

Because Agatha was the only one who’d managed to escape Rhian’s hands.

The pirates had revealed this by accident. They’d beaten him relentlessly, the gang of six reeking thugs, demanding to know where Agatha had fled. At first, his relief that she’d escaped numbed the pain of their blows. But then the relief wore off. Where was she? Was she safe? Suppose they found her? Riled by his silence, the pirates had only beaten him harder.

Tedros leaned against the dungeon wall, warm blood sliding down his abdomen. His raw, bruised back touched cold stone through the shreds in his shirt and he seized up. The throbbing was so intense his teeth chattered; he tasted a sharp edge in the bottom row where one of them had been chipped. He tried to think of Agatha’s face to keep him conscious, but all he could conjure were the faces of those filthy punks as their boots bashed down. The pirates’ assault had gone on for so long that at some point, it seemed disconnected from purpose. As if they were punishing him for his very existence.

Maybe Rhian had built his whole army on feelings like this. Feelings of people who thought because Tedros was born handsome and rich and a prince, he deserved to fall. To suffer.

But he could take all the suffering in the world if it meant Agatha would live.

To survive, his princess had to run as far as she could from Camelot. She had to hide in the darkest part of the Woods where no one could find her.

But that wasn’t Agatha. He knew her too well. She would come for her prince. No matter how much faith she’d lost in him.

The dungeons were quiet now, Rhian’s voice no longer audible.

“How do we get out of here!” Tedros called to the others, enduring blinding pain in his rib. “How do we escape!”

No one in their cell responded.

“Listen to me!” he shouted.

But the strain had done him in. His mind softened like soggy pudding, unlocking from his surroundings. He pulled his knees into his chest, trying to relieve pressure on his rib, but his flank burned hotter, the scene distorting in the torch-haze on the wall. Tedros closed his eyes, heaving deep breaths. Only it made him feel more sealed in, like he was in an airless coffin. He could smell the old bones . . . “Unbury Me,” his father’s voice whispered. . . .

Tedros wrenched out of his trance and opened his eyes—

Hester’s demon stared back at him.

Tedros recoiled against the wall, blinking to make sure it was actually there.

The demon was the size of a shoebox with brick-red skin and long, curved horns, his beady eyes locked on the young prince.

The last time Tedros had been this close to Hester’s demon, it had almost hacked him to pieces during a Trial by Tale.

“We thought this would work better than yelling across the dungeon,” said the demon.

Only it didn’t speak in a demon’s voice.

It spoke in Hester’s.

Tedros stared at it. “Magic is impossible down here—”

“My demon isn’t magic. My demon is me,” said Hester’s voice. “We need to talk before the pirates come back.”

“Agatha’s out there all on her own and you want to talk?” Tedros said, clutching his rib. “Use your little beast to get me out of this cell!”

“Good plan,” the demon retorted, only with Beatrix’s voice. “You’d still be trapped at the iron door and when the pirates see you, they’ll beat you worse than they already have.”

“Tedros, did they break any bones?” Professor Dovey’s voice called faintly through the demon, as if the Dean was too far from it for a proper connection. “Hester, can you see through your demon? How bad does he look—”

“Not bad enough, whatever it is,” Hort’s voice said, hijacking the demon. “He got us into this mess by fawning over Rhian like a lovedrunk girl.”

“Oh, so being a ‘girl’ is an insult now?” Nicola’s voice ripped, the demon suddenly looking animated in agreement.

“Look, if you’re going to be my girlfriend, you have to accept I’m not some intellectual who always knows the right words to use,” Hort’s voice rebuffed.

“YOU’RE A HISTORY PROFESSOR!” Nicola’s voice slapped.

“Whatever,” Hort barged on. “You saw the way Tedros gave Rhian the run of his kingdom, letting him recruit the army and give speeches like he was king.”

Tedros sat up queasily. “First of all, how is everyone talking through this thing, and second of all, do you think I knew what Rhian was planning?”

“To answer the first, Hester’s demon is a gateway to her soul. And her soul recognizes her friends,” the demon said with Anadil’s voice. “Unlike your sword.”

“And to answer the second, every boy you like ends up a bogey,” Hort’s voice jumped in, the demon trying to keep up like a ventriloquist. “First you were friends with Aric. Then you were friends with Filip. And now you canoodled with the devil himself!”

“I did not canoodle with anyone!” Tedros yelled at the demon. “And if any of us is cozying up to the devil, you’re the one who’s friends with Sophie!”

“Yeah, Sophie, the only person who can rescue us!” Hort’s voice heckled.

“Agatha’s the only person who can rescue us, you twit!” Tedros fired. “That’s why we need to get out now, before she comes back and gets captured!”

“Can everyone shut up?” the demon snapped in Hester’s voice. “Tedros, we need you to—”

“Put Hort back on,” Tedros demanded. “After three years of Sophie using you as her personal bootlicker without giving you the slightest in return, now you think she’s going to rescue us!”

“Just because you wouldn’t help people who needed it when the Snake attacked doesn’t mean she won’t,” Hort’s voice thrashed.

“Idiot. Once she tastes a queen’s life, she’ll let us burn while she feasts on cake,” Tedros slammed.

“Sophie doesn’t eat cake,” Hort sniffed.

“You think you know Sophie better than me?”

“When she rescues you from that cell, you’re going to feel like a boob—”

“ANI’S RAT IS DEAD, THE SNAKE IS ALIVE, WE’RE IN A DUNGEON, AND WE’RE TALKING ABOUT SOPHIE! AND CAKE!” Hester’s voice boomed, her demon swelling like a balloon. “WE HAVE QUESTIONS FOR TEDROS, YES? GIVEN WHAT WE SAW ONSTAGE, OUR LIVES DEPEND ON THESE QUESTIONS, YES? SO IF ANYONE EVEN TRIES TO INTERRUPT ME, STARTING RIGHT NOW I’LL TEAR OUT YOUR TONGUE.”

The dungeon went silent.

“The Snake is alive?” Tedros asked, ghost-faced.

Ten minutes later, Tedros stared back at the red imp, having learned about the Snake’s reappearance, the birth of Lionsmane, and everything else Hester and the team had seen in the magical projection they’d conjured in their cell.

“So there’s two of them? Rhian and this . . . Jasper?” Tedros said.

“Japeth. The Snake. And that’s how we think they tricked both the Lady and Excalibur. They’re twins who share the same blood. The blood of your father, they say,” the demon explained. “If we’re going to bring them down, we need to know how that’s possible.”

“You’re asking me?” Tedros snorted.

“Do you live your whole life with your head up your bum?” Hester’s voice scorned. “Think, Tedros. Don’t shut down what might be possible just because you don’t like the idea of it. Can these two boys be your brothers?”

Tedros scowled. “My father had his faults. But he couldn’t have bred two monsters. Good can’t spawn Evil. Not like that. Besides, how do you know Rhian didn’t pull Excalibur because I’d done all the work dislodging it? Maybe he just got lucky.”

The demon groaned. “It’s like trying to reason with a hedgehog.”

“Oh, just let him die. If they are his brothers, it’ll be survival of the fittest,” said Anadil’s voice. “Can’t argue with nature.”

“Speaking of nature, I have to use the toilet,” said Dot’s voice.

Professor Dovey’s voice muffled something to Tedros through the demon, something about his father’s “women”—

“I can’t hear you,” said Tedros, cramming deeper into a corner. “My body hurts, my head hurts. Are we done with the interrogation?”

“Are you done being a pea-brained fool?” Hester railed. “We’re trying to help you!”

“By making me smear my own father?” Tedros challenged.

“Everyone needs to cool their milk,” said Nicola’s voice.

“Milk?” Kiko’s voice peeped through the demon. “I see no milk.”

“It’s what my father used to say at his pub when it got too hot in the kitchen,” said Nicola, calmly taking over the creature. “Tedros, what we’re trying to ask is whether there’s anything you can tell us about your father’s past that makes Rhian and his brother’s claim possible. Could your father have had other children? Without you knowing? We get that it’s a difficult subject. We just want to keep you alive. And to do that, we need to know as much as you do.”

There was something about the first year’s voice, so lacking in pretense, that made Tedros let down his guard. Maybe it was because he barely knew the girl or that there was no judgment or conclusion in her question. All she was asking was for him to share the facts. He thought of Merlin, who often spoke to him the same way. Merlin, who was either in danger somewhere up there or . . . dead. Tedros’ gut knotted. The wizard would have wanted him to answer Nicola honestly. Indeed, Merlin had been fond of the girl, even when Tedros hadn’t been willing to give her a chance.

Tedros raised his eyes to the demon’s. “I had a steward named Lady Gremlaine while I was king. She was my father’s steward too, and they’d grown close before he met my mother. So close that I suspected something may have happened between them . . . Something that made my mother fire Lady Gremlaine from the castle soon after I was born.” The prince swallowed. “Before Lady Gremlaine died, I asked her whether the Snake was her son. Whether he was her and my father’s son. She never said yes. But . . .”

“. . . she suggested it,” Nicola’s voice prodded, the demon looking almost gentle.

Tedros nodded, his throat constricting. “She said she’d done something terrible. Before I was born.” Sweat dripped down his forehead as he relived the moment in the attic, Lady Gremlaine clutching a bloody hammer, her hair wild, her eyes manic. “She said she’d done something my father never knew. But she’d fixed it. She’d made sure the child would never be found. He’d grow up never knowing who he was . . .”

Tedros’ voice caught.

The demon was frozen still. For the first time no one spoke through it.

“So Rhian could be telling the truth,” said Professor Dovey’s voice finally, a remote whisper. “He could be the real king.”

“The son of Lady Gremlaine and your father,” Hester’s voice agreed. “Japeth too.”

Tedros sat up straighter. “We don’t know that. Maybe there’s an explanation. Maybe there’s something she didn’t tell me. I found letters between Lady Gremlaine and my father. In her house. Lots of them. Maybe they explain what she really meant. . . . We need to read those letters . . . I don’t know where they are now—” His eyes glistened. “It can’t be true. Rhian can’t be my brother. He can’t be the heir.” He looked at the demon pleadingly. “Can he?”

“I don’t know,” said Hester, low and grim. “But if he is, then either your brother kills you or you kill him. This can’t end any other way.”

Suddenly they heard the dungeon door open.

Tedros squinted through the bars.

Voices and shadows stretched down the stairway at the end of the hall. The Snake glided into view first, followed by three pirates wielding trays slopped with gruel.

The pirates set down the gruel at the floor of the first two cells—the one with Tedros’ crewmates and the one with Professor Dovey—and kicked the trays through the gaps along with dog bowls of water.

The Snake, meanwhile, walked straight towards Tedros’ cell, his green mask flashing in the torchlight.

Panicked, Hester’s demon flew upwards and Tedros watched it flail around, struggling to find a shadow on the ceiling to hide in. But with its red skin, the demon stuck out like an eyesore—

Then the Snake appeared through the cell bars.

Instantly, the green scims on his mask dispersed, revealing his face to Tedros for the first time.

Tedros gaped back at him, Rhian’s ghostly twin, his lean body fitted in shiny black eels, the suit newly restored as if he’d never been wounded in battle at all. As if he was the strongest he’d ever been.

How?

The Snake seemed to sense what he was thinking and gave him a sly grin.

A shadow fluttered over their heads—

The Snake’s eyes shot up, searching the top of Tedros’ cell, his pupils scanning left and right. He raised a glowing fingertip, coated with scims, and flooded the ceiling with green light.

Tedros blanched, his stomach in his throat. . . .

But there was nothing on the ceiling except a slow-moving worm.

Japeth’s eyes slid back down to Tedros, his fingerglow dissipating.

That’s when Tedros noticed Hester’s demon on the wall behind the Snake, crawling into the boy’s shadow. Tedros quickly averted his eyes from the demon, his heart jumping hurdles.

The Snake gazed at Tedros’ bashed-up face. “Not so pretty anymore, are you.”

It was the way he said it that snapped Tedros to attention, the boy’s tone dripping with disdain. He wasn’t some masked creature anymore. He had a face. He was human now, this Snake. He could be defeated.

Tedros bared his teeth, glaring hard at the savage who’d killed Chaddick, killed Lancelot, and smeared his father’s name. “We’ll see what you look like when I ram my sword through your mouth.”

“So strong you are,” the Snake cooed. “Such a man.” He reached out and caressed Tedros’ cheek—

Tedros slapped his hand away so hard it struck the cell bars, the bone of the Snake’s wrist cracking against metal. But the pale-faced boy didn’t flinch. He just smirked at Tedros, relishing the silence.

Then he pulled the black dungeon key from his sleeve. “I wish I could say this was a social call, but I’m here on behalf of my brother. After she had supper with the king tonight, Princess Sophie was given permission by King Rhian to release one of you.” He glanced down the hall and saw the rest of the crew poking their heads out of the cell at the other end, wide-eyed and listening. “That’s right. One of you who will no longer live in the dungeons and instead be allowed to work in the castle as the princess’s servant, under King Rhian’s eye. One of you whose life will be spared . . .”

The Snake looked back at Tedros. “. . . for now.”

Tedros bolted straight as an arrow. “She picked me.”

In a flash, all doubts Tedros had about Sophie vanished. He should have never mistrusted her. Sophie didn’t want him dead. She didn’t want him to suffer. No matter how much they’d hurt each other in the past.

Because Sophie would do anything for Agatha. And Agatha would do anything for Tedros. Which meant Sophie would do anything to save Tedros’ life, including finding a way to convince a usurping king to set his enemy free.

How had she done it? How had she gotten Rhian on her side?

He’d hear the story soon enough.

Tedros grinned at the Snake. “Get moving, scum. Princess’s orders,” he said. “Open the door.”

The Snake didn’t.

“Let me out,” Tedros commanded, face reddening.

The Snake stayed still, the prison key glinting between his fingers.

“She picked me!” Tedros snarled, gripping the bars. “Let me out!”

Instead, the Snake just put his face to the prince’s . . . and smiled.

6
SOPHIE
The Dinner Game

Earlier that evening, the pirates Beeba and Aran brought Sophie down from the Map Room for dinner.

Rhian and Japeth were already halfway through their first course.

“It needs to be harsh. A warning,” she heard Japeth saying in the refurbished Gold Tower dining room. “Lionsmane’s first tale should instill fear.”

“Lionsmane should give people hope,” said Rhian’s voice. “People like you and me who grew up without any.”

“Mother is dead because she believed in hope,” said his brother.

“And yet, Mother’s death is the reason both of us are in this room,” said Rhian.

As she neared the door, all Sophie heard was silence. Then—

“Supporters of Tedros are protesting tonight in Camelot Park,” said Japeth. “We should ride in and kill them all. That should be Lionsmane’s first tale.”

“Killing protestors will lead to more protests,” said Rhian. “That’s not the story I want to tell.”

“You weren’t afraid of bloodshed when it got you the throne,” said Japeth snidely.

“I’m king. I’ll write the tales,” said Rhian.

“It’s my pen,” Japeth retorted.

“It’s your scim,” said Rhian. “Look, I know it isn’t easy. Serving as my liege. But there can only be one king, Japeth. I know why you’ve helped me. I know what you want. What both of us want. But to get it, I need the Woods on my side. I need to be a good king.”

Japeth snorted. “Every good king ends up dead.”

“You have to trust me,” Rhian pressed. “The same way I trust you.”

“I do trust you, brother,” said Japeth, softening. “It’s that devious little minx I don’t trust. Suppose you start listening to her instead of me?”

Rhian snorted. “As likely as me growing horns. Speaking of the minx.” He laid down his fork on his plate of rare, freckled deer meat and looked up coldly from the decadent table, his crown reflecting his blue-and-gold suit.

“I heard guards pounding on the Map Room door, Sophie. If you can’t make it to dinner on time, then your friends in the dungeon won’t get dinner at all—” He stopped.

Sophie stood beneath the new Lion-head chandelier, wearing the dress they’d left for her. Only she’d slashed the prim white frock in half, ruffled the bottom into three layers (short, shorter, shortest), hiked them high over her knees, and lined the seams of the dress with wet, globby beads, each filled with different colored ink. Crystal raindrops dangled from her ears; silver shadow burnished her eyelids; her lips were coated sparkly red; and she’d crowned her hair with origami stars, made from the parchment she’d ripped out of the wedding books. All in all, instead of the chastened princess the king might have expected after their encounter in the Map Room, Sophie had emerged looking both like a birthday cake and a girl jumping out of one.

The pirates with Sophie looked just as stunned as the king.

“Leave us,” Rhian ordered them.

The moment they did, Japeth launched to his feet, his pale cheeks searing red. “That was our mother’s dress.”

“It still is,” Sophie said. “And I doubt she would have appreciated you gussying up girls you’ve kidnapped in her old clothes. The real question is why you asked me to wear this dress at all. Is it to make me feel like you own me? Is it because I remind you of your dear departed mum? Or is it something else? Hmm . . . In any case, you told me what to wear. Not how to wear it.” She gave a little shimmy, the light catching the colorful gobs on the dress like drops of a rainbow.

The Snake glared at her, scims sliding faster on his body. “You dirty shrew.”

Sophie took a step towards him. “Snakeskin is a specialty. Imagine what I could make out of your suit.”

Japeth lunged towards her, but Sophie thrust out her palm—

“Ever wonder what map ink is made out of?” she asked calmly.

Japeth stopped midstride.

“Iron gall,” said Sophie, green eyes shifting from the Snake to Rhian, who was still seated, watching her between tall candles in the Lion-themed centerpiece. “It’s the only substance that can be dyed multiple colors and last for years without fading. Most maps are inked with iron gall, including yours in the Map Room. The ones you enchanted to track me and my friends. Do you know what else iron gall is used for?”

Neither twin answered.

“Oh, silly me, I learned about it in my Curses class at school and you boys didn’t get into my school,” said Sophie. “Iron gall is a blood poison. Ingest it and it brings instant death. But let’s say I dab a touch on my skin. It would sap the nutrients from my blood, while keeping me alive, just barely, meaning any vampiric freak who might suddenly need my blood . . . well, they would get poisoned too. And it happens this entire dress—your mother’s dress, as you point out—is now dotted in pearls of iron gall I extracted from your maps, using the most basic of first-year spells. Which means the slightest wrong move and—poof!—it’ll smear onto my skin in just the right dose. And then my blood won’t be very useful to you at all, will it? The perils of haute couture, I suppose.” She fluffed the tail of her dress. “Now, darlings. What’s for dinner?”

“Your tongue,” said Japeth. Scims shot off his chest, turning knife-sharp, as they speared towards Sophie’s face. Her eyes widened—

A whipcrack of gold light snapped over the eels, sending them whimpering back into the Snake’s body.

Stunned, Japeth swung to his brother sitting next to him, whose gold fingerglow dimmed. Rhian didn’t look at him, his lips twisted, as if suppressing a smile.

“She needs to be punished!” Japeth demanded.

Rhian tilted his head, taking in Sophie from a different angle. “You have to admit . . . the dress does look better.”

Japeth was startled. Then his cheekbones hardened. “Careful, brother. Your horns are growing.” Scims coated Japeth’s face, re-forming his mask. He kicked over his chair, its pattern of Lions skidding across the floor. “Enjoy dinner with your queen,” he seethed, striding out of the room. A scim shot off him and hissed at Sophie, before flying after its master.

Sophie’s heart throttled as she listened to Japeth’s footsteps fade.

He’ll have his revenge, she thought. But for now, she had Rhian’s undivided attention.

“A queen in the castle will take him some getting used to,” said the king. “My brother isn’t fond of—”

“Strong females?” said Sophie.

“All females,” said Rhian. “Our mother left that dress for the bride of whichever of us married first. Japeth has no interest in a bride. But he is very attached to that dress.” Rhian paused. “It isn’t poisoned at all, is it?”

“Touch me and find out,” Sophie replied.

“No need. I know a liar when I see one.”

“Mirrors must be especially challenging, then.”

“Maybe Japeth is right,” said Rhian. “Maybe I should relieve you of that tongue.”

“That would make us even,” said Sophie.

“How’s that?” said Rhian.

“With you missing your soul and all,” said Sophie.

Silence spread over the hall, cold and thick. Through the wide bay windows, thunderclouds gathered over Camelot village in the valley.

“Are you going to sit down for dinner or would you like to eat from the horse trough?” the king asked.

“I’d like to make a deal,” said Sophie.

Rhian laughed.

“I’m serious,” Sophie said.

“You just threatened to poison my brother’s blood and skin him of his suit and then brazenly insulted your king,” said Rhian. “And now you want . . . a deal.”

Sophie stepped fully into the light. “Let’s be honest. We despise each other. Maybe we didn’t before, when we were eating truffles at enchanted restaurants and kissing in the backs of carriages, but we do now. And yet, we need each other. You need me to be your queen. I need you to spare my friends. Would I rather watch you hacked into dog food? Yes. But in every cloud there’s a silver lining. Because I’ll admit it: I was bored as Dean of Evil. I know I’m an ogre for saying it, but I don’t care if little Drago is homesick or constipated or cheating in Forest Groups. I don’t care if abominable Agnieszka’s warts are contagious, roguish Rowan is kissing girls in the meat locker, or dirty Mali snuck into the Groom Room pool and peed in it. My fairy tale made me more beloved than Sleeping Beauty or Snow White or any of those other snoozy girls. And what diva icon goddess uses her newfound fame to go . . . teach? In theory the idea of devoting myself to a new generation sounded noble, but none of these students are nearly as clever as I am and I was left feeling like a chanteuse playing miles away from the main stage. I’m too young, too alluring, too adored to be out of the spotlight. And now, through a series of rather unfortunate events, voilà, I find myself poised to be queen of the most powerful kingdom in the land. I know it’s not right for me to wear the crown. In fact, it’s positively Evil, especially when I’m taking my best friend’s place. But will I be a good queen? That’s another question entirely. Attending state dinners with exotic kings; negotiating treaties with cannibal trolls; managing armies and alliances; preaching my vision for a better Woods; opening hospitals and feeding the homeless and comforting the poor—I’ll do it all and do it well. That’s why you chose me as your queen. And because my blood has the unfortunate property of keeping your brother alive . . . but you don’t need me as queen for that. You could have chained me up with my friends and bled me at will. No, I think you chose me as a queen because you know I’ll be glorious at it.”

Rhian parted his lips to speak, but Sophie barreled on.

“At first, I was going to come down and pretend I’d had a change of heart. That I still love you, no matter what you’ve done. But even I’m not a spry enough actress for that. The truth is, you pulled Excalibur from its stone. That makes you the king. Meanwhile, my friends are either in prison or on the run. So, I have two choices. Resist, knowing my friends will be hurt for it. Or . . . be as good a queen as I can and keep an open mind. Because I heard you say you want to be a good king. And to be a good king, you’ll need a good queen. So here are the terms. You treat me and my friends well, and I’ll be the queen you and Camelot need. Do we have a deal?”

Rhian picked at his teeth. “You’re fond of the sound of your own voice. I can see why Tedros and every other boy dumped you.”

Sophie went bright pink.

“Sit down,” said the king.

This time she did.

A maid came in from the kitchen, carrying the next course: fish stew in a red broth. Sophie put a hand to her nose—it smelled like the goo Agatha’s mother once made—but then she saw the maid carrying it was Guinevere, a scim still sealing her lips. Sophie tried to make eye contact, then caught Rhian watching her and she quickly tasted the stew.

“Mmmm,” she said, trying not to gag.

“So you think that if you’re a ‘good’ queen, I’ll let your friends go,” said Rhian.

Sophie looked up. “I never said that.”

“And if they die?”

“Murdering my friends will only make people doubt our love and start asking questions. That’s not how you’re going to keep the Woods on your side,” said Sophie, as Guinevere took her time refilling Rhian’s cup, clearly eavesdropping. “That said, if I show you loyalty, I hope you’ll show me loyalty in return.”

“Define loyalty.”

“Releasing my friends.”

“That sounds a lot like letting them go.”

“They can work in the castle. Under your supervision, of course. The same test you gave the maids.”

Rhian raised a brow. “You really think I’d free a crew of enemies into my own castle?”

“You can’t hold them in jail forever. Not if you want me to keep your secrets and play your loyal queen,” said Sophie, well-rehearsed. “And better here in the castle than out in the Woods. Besides, if you and I can come to an agreement, then they’ll come around too. They hated me in the beginning, just like they hate you.” She gave him a practiced smile.

“And what of Tedros?” Rhian reclined, copper hair catching the light. “He’s condemned to die. The people cheered for it. You think I’ll ‘release’ him too?”

Guinevere’s fingers shook on the pitcher, nearly spilling it.

Sophie’s heart pumped faster as she looked up at Rhian, choosing her words carefully. What she said next could save Tedros’ life.

“Do I think Tedros should die? No,” she said. “Do I think he should die at our wedding? No. Do I think it’s wrong? Yes. That said, you’ve announced your plans . . . and a king can’t very well take back an execution, can he?”

Guinevere’s eyes flew to Sophie.

“So you’ll let Tedros die, then,” said the king, skeptical.

Sophie met his gaze firmly. “If it means saving the rest of my friends, yes. I’m not Tedros’ mother. I won’t go to the ends of the earth to save him. And like you said . . . he dumped me.”

A raw cry sounded in Guinevere’s throat.

Sophie kicked her under the table. Guinevere’s face changed.

“Since you apparently have nothing to do,” Rhian said, glowering at the maid, “fetch the captain of the guard. I need to speak with him.”

Guinevere was still searching Sophie’s eyes—

“Shall we kill your son tonight?” Rhian spat at her.

Guinevere ran out.

Sophie probed at her soup, seeing her own face reflected. A drop of sweat plunked into the stew. Did Guinevere understand? If Tedros was going to survive, she needed his mother to do her part.

Sophie looked up at the king. “So . . . we have a deal? My friends working in the castle, I mean. I could use them for the wedding—”

Two more maids came out of the kitchens, carrying gruel lumped on brass trays as they headed towards the stairs.

“Hold,” said Rhian.

The maids stopped.

“Those are for the dungeons?” he said.

The maids nodded.

“They can wait,” said the king, turning to Sophie. “Like I had to wait for you.”

The maids took the trays back into the kitchen.

Sophie stared at him.

The king smiled as he ate. “Don’t like the soup?”

Sophie put her spoon down. “The last chef was better. As was the last king.”

The king stopped smiling. “I proved I’m Arthur’s true heir. I proved I’m the king. And still you side with that fake.”

“King Arthur would never have a son like you,” Sophie blazed. “And even if he did, there’s a reason he kept you secret. He must have known how you and your brother would turn out.”

Rhian’s face went murder-red, his hand palming his metal cup as if he might throw it at her. Then slowly the color seeped out of his cheeks and he smiled.

“And here you thought we had a deal,” he said.

Now it was Sophie who swallowed her fire.

If she wanted her friends released, she had to be smart.

She poked at her soup. “So, what did you do this afternoon?” she asked, a bit too brightly.

“Wesley and I went to the armory and realized there isn’t an axe sharp enough to cut off Tedros’ head,” said the king, mouth full. “So we considered how many swings it would take to sever through his neck with a dull axe and whether the crowd might cheer harder for that than a clean blow.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” Sophie croaked, feeling ill. “Anything else?”

“Met with the Kingdom Council. A gathering of every leader in the Woods, conducted via spellcast. I assured them that as long as they support me as king, Camelot will protect their kingdoms, Good and Evil, just as I protected them from the Snake. And that I would never betray them, like Tedros did, when he helped that monster.”

Sophie stiffened. “What?”

“I suggested it was Tedros who likely paid the Snake and his rebels,” said Rhian, clear-eyed. “All those fundraisers his queen hosted . . . Where else could that gold have gone? Tedros must have thought that if he weakened the kingdoms around him, it would make him stronger. That’s why he has to be executed, I told the Council. Because if he is lying about being Arthur’s heir, then he could be lying about everything.”

Sophie was speechless.

“Of course, I personally invited all members of the Kingdom Council to the wedding festivities, beginning with the Blessing tomorrow,” Rhian went on. “Oh, almost forgot. I also proposed demolishing the School for Good and Evil, now that it no longer has its Deans or a School Master.”

Sophie dropped her spoon.

“They voted me down, of course. They still believe in that decrepit School. They still believe the Storian needs to be protected. The School and the Storian are the lifeblood of the Woods, they say.” Rhian wiped his mouth with his hand, streaking red across it. “But I didn’t go to that School. The Storian means nothing to me. And I’m King of the Woods.”

His face changed, the cold sheen of his eyes cracking, and Sophie could see the smolder of resentments beneath.

“But the day will come when every kingdom in the Woods changes its tune. When every kingdom in the Woods believes in a King instead of a School, a Man instead of a Pen . . .” He stared right at Sophie, the outline of Lionsmane pulsing gold through his suit pocket like a heartbeat. “From that day, the One True King will rule forever.”

“That day will never come,” Sophie spat.

“Oh, it’ll come sooner than you think,” said Rhian. “Funny how a wedding can bring everyone together.”

Sophie tensed in her chair. “If you think I’ll be your good little queen while you lie like a devil and destroy the Woods—”

“You think I chose you because you’d be a ‘good’ queen?” Rhian chuckled. “That’s not why I chose you. I didn’t choose you at all.” He leaned forward. “The pen chose you. The pen said you’d be my queen. Just like it said I’d be king. That’s why you’re here. The pen. Though I’m beginning to question its judgment.”

“The pen?” Sophie said, confused. “Lionsmane? Or the Storian? Which pen?”

Rhian grinned back. “Which pen, indeed.”

There was a twinkle in his eye, something sinister and yet familiar, and a chill rippled up Sophie’s spine. As if she had the whole story wrong yet again.

“It doesn’t make sense. A pen can’t ‘choose’ me as your queen,” Sophie argued. “A pen can’t see the future—”

“And yet here you are, just like it promised,” said Rhian.

Sophie thought about something he’d said to his brother . . .

“I know how to get what you want. What we both want.”

“What do you really want with Camelot?” Sophie pressed. “Why are you here?”

“You called, Your Highness?” a voice said, and a boy walked into the dining room wearing a gilded uniform, the same boy Sophie had seen evicting Chef Silkima and her staff from the castle.

Sophie tracked him as he gave her a cursory glance, his face square-jawed, his torso pumped with muscle. He had baby-smooth cheeks and narrow, hooded eyes. Sophie’s first thought was that he was oppressively handsome. Her second thought was that he’d looked familiar when she’d noticed him in the garden, but now she was certain she’d seen him before.

“Yes, Kei,” said Rhian, welcoming the boy into the dining room.

Kei. Sophie’s stomach lurched. She’d spotted him with Dot at Beauty and the Feast, the magical restaurant in Sherwood Forest. Kei had been the newest member of the Merry Men. The traitor who’d broken into the Sheriff’s prison and set the Snake free.

“Have your men found Agatha?” Rhian asked.

Sophie’s whole body cramped.

“Not yet, sire,” said Kei.

Sophie slumped in relief. She’d yet to find a way to send Agatha a message. All she knew from her Quest Map was that her best friend was still on the run. Inside Sophie’s shoe, her toes curled around her gold vial, out of Rhian’s sight.

“There is a map in the Map Room tracking Agatha’s every move,” the king said to his captain sourly. “How is it that you can’t find her?”

“She’s moving east from Sherwood Forest, but there’s no sign of her on the ground. We’ve increased the size of the reward and recruited more mercenaries to track her, but it’s as if she’s traveling invisibly or by air.”

“By air. Has she hitched herself to a kite?” Rhian mocked.

“If she’s moving east, we think she’s headed towards the School for Good and Evil,” said Kei, unruffled.

The school! Of course! Sophie held in a smile. Good girl, Aggie.

“We’ve sent men to the school, but it appears to be surrounded by a protective shield,” Kei continued. “We’ve lost several men trying to breach it.”

Sophie snorted.

Rhian glanced in her direction and Sophie went mum.

“Find a way to beat the shield,” Rhian ordered Kei. “Get your men inside that school.”

“Yes, sire,” said Kei.

Sophie’s skin went cold. She needed to warn Agatha. Does she still have Dovey’s crystal ball? If she did, maybe they could secretly communicate. Assuming Aggie could figure out how to use it, that is. Sophie had no idea how crystal balls worked. Plus, Dovey’s seemed to have made the Dean gravely ill . . . Still, it might be their best hope. . . .

“One more thing,” Rhian said to Kei. “Do you have what I asked for?”

Kei cleared his throat. “Yes, sire. Our men went from kingdom to kingdom, seeking stories worthy of Lionsmane,” he said, pulling a scroll from his pocket.

“Go on, then,” the king responded.

His captain peered at his scroll. “Sasan Sasanovich, a mechanic from Ooty, has invented the first portable cauldron out of dwarf-bone and demand is so high that there’s a six-month waiting list. They’re called ‘Small-drons.’” Kei looked up.

“Small-drons,” Rhian said, with the same tone he usually reserved for Tedros’ name.

Kei went back to the scroll. “Dieter Dieter Cabbage Eater, the nephew of Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater, has been named assistant dumpling chef at Dumpy’s Dumpling House. He will be in charge of all cabbage-based dumplings.”

Kei glanced up. Rhian’s expression hadn’t changed. Kei spoke faster now: “Homina of Putsi chased down a burglar and tied him to a tree with her babushka. . . . A maiden named Luciana created an igloo from cheese rinds in Altazarra to house the homeless from milk monsoons. . . . Thalia of Elderberry came second in the Woods-wide Weightlifting Championships after bench-pressing a family of ogres. . . . A baby son was born to a woman in Budhava after six stillbirths and years of praying. . . . Then there is—”

“Stop,” said Rhian.

Kei froze.

“That woman in Budhava,” said Rhian. “What’s her name?”

“Tsarina, Your Highness,” said Kei.

The king paused a moment. Then he slipped open his suit jacket and Lionsmane floated out of his pocket. The golden pen twirled in the chandelier glow before it began to write in midair, gold dust trailing from its tip, as Rhian directed it with his finger.

Tsarina of Budhava has borne a son after six stillbirths. The Lion answered her prayers.

“Lionsmane’s first tale,” said Rhian, admiring his work.

Sophie guffawed. “That? That’s your first fairy tale? First of all, that’s not a tale at all. It’s barely two lines. It’s a blurb. A caption. A squawk into the night—”

“The shorter the story, the more likely people are to read it,” the king said.

“—and second of all, you couldn’t answer a prayer if you tried,” Sophie spurned. “You had nothing to do with her son!”

“Says your pen, maybe,” Rhian replied. “My pen says that Tsarina of Budhava didn’t have a child until I happened to take the throne. Coincidence?”

Sophie boiled. “More lies. All you do is lie.”

“Inspiring people is lying? Giving people hope is lying?” Rhian retorted. “In the telling of tales, it’s the message that matters.”

“And what’s your message? That there’s no Good and Evil anymore? That there’s only you?” Sophie scoffed.

Rhian turned back to the golden words. “It’s ready for the people—”

Suddenly, the pen reverted midair from gold to a scaly black scim and magically defaced Rhian’s message with splotches of black ink:

“My brother is still upset with me, it seems,” Rhian murmured.

“Japeth’s right. It is weak,” said Sophie, surprised she could ever side with the Snake. “No one will listen to your stories. Because even if a story could be that short, it has to have a moral. Everyone at the School for Good and Evil knows that. The school you want to demolish. Maybe because it’s the school you didn’t get into.”

“Anyone can poke holes in a story who doesn’t have the wits to write their own,” Rhian said defensively.

“Oh please. I or any one of my classmates could write a real fairy tale,” Sophie flung back.

“You accuse me of being self-serving when you’re nothing but an airheaded braggart,” Rhian attacked. “You think you’re so clever because you went to that school. You think you could be a real queen? About as likely as Japeth taking a bride. You couldn’t do any real work if you tried. You’re nothing but shiny hair and a fake smile. A no-trick pony.”

“I’d be a better king than you. And you know it,” Sophie flayed.

“Prove it, then,” Rhian scorned. “Prove you can write this tale better than me.”

“Watch me,” Sophie hissed. She stabbed her fingerglow at Rhian’s story and revised it in slashes of pink under Japeth’s defacements.

Tsarina of Budhava couldn’t have a child. Six times she tried and failed. She prayed harder. She prayed and prayed with all her soul. . . . And this time the Lion heard her. He blessed her with a son! Tsarina had learned the greatest lesson of all: “Only the Lion can save you.”

“Takes a queen to do a king’s job,” said Sophie, frost-cold. “A ‘king’ in name only.”

She looked back at Rhian and saw him peering at her intently.

Even the blackened pen seemed to be considering her.

Slowly, the pen magically erased its graffiti, leaving Sophie’s corrected tale.

“Remember Hansel and Gretel?” Rhian said, gazing at her work. “Your pen says it’s about two kids who escape a nasty witch . . . while my pen says it’s about a witch who thinks herself so superior that she’s duped into working against herself.”

Rhian turned his grin on Sophie.

“And so it is written,” the king said to the pen.

Lionsmane coated back to gold, then thrust at Sophie’s tale like a magic wand—

Instantly, the golden message shot through the bay windows and emblazoned high in the dark sky like a beacon.

Sophie watched villagers far in the distance emerge from their houses in the valley to read Lionsmane’s new words, shining against the clouds.

What have I done? Sophie thought.

Rhian turned to his captain. “You’re dismissed, Kei,” he said as Lionsmane returned to the king’s pocket. “I expect Agatha in my dungeon by this time tomorrow.”

“Yes, sire,” said Kei. As he left, he gave Sophie a shifty-eyed look. A look Sophie knew well. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Rhian’s captain had a crush on her . . .

It only made Sophie feel queasier, her eyes roving back to Lionsmane’s first story. She’d come to this dinner hoping to gain the upper hand over a villain. Instead, she’d been tricked into amplifying his lies.

She could see Rhian watching through the window as more of Camelot’s villagers emerged from their houses. These were the same villagers who’d resisted the new king at the morning’s coronation, vocally defending Tedros as the real heir. Now they huddled together and took in the Lion’s tale, quietly reflecting on its words.

Rhian turned to Sophie, looking less a ruthless king and more an enamored teenager. It was the same way he’d looked at her when they first met. When he’d wanted something from her.

“So you want to be a good queen?” said the king cannily. “Then you’ll be writing each and every one of my stories from now on.” He studied her as if she was a jewel in his crown. “The pen chose you wisely after all.”

Sophie’s insides shriveled.

He was ordering her to write his lies.

To spread his Evil.

To be his Storian.

“And if I refuse?” she said, clutching at the side of her dress. “One drop of this iron gall on my skin and—”

“You already stained your wrist when you sat down for dinner,” said Rhian, spearing a piece of squid in his soup. “And you’re as healthy as can be.”

Slowly Sophie looked down and saw the smear of blue on her skin; harmless ink she’d extracted from a quill in the Map Room and dyed with magic.

“Your wizard friend refused to help me too,” said the king. “Sent him on a little trip afterward. Don’t think he’ll be refusing me anymore.”

Sophie’s blood went cold.

In a single moment, she realized she’d been beaten.

Rhian was not like Rafal.

Rhian couldn’t be wheedled and seduced. He couldn’t be manipulated or charmed. Rafal had loved her. Rhian didn’t care about her at all.

She’d come down to dinner thinking she had a hand to play, but now it turned out she didn’t even know the game. For the first time in her life, she felt outmatched.

Rhian watched her with a trace of pity. “You called my story a lie, but it’s already come true. Don’t you see? Only I can save you.”

She met his eyes, trying to hold his stare.

Rhian prowled forward, his elbows on the table. “Say it.”

Sophie waited for the fight to swell inside of her . . . the witch to rear her head. . . . But this time nothing came. She looked down at the tablecloth.

“Only you can save me,” she said softly.

She saw Rhian smile, a lion enjoying his kill.

“Well, now that we’ve made our deal . . . ,” he said. “Shall we have cake?”

Sophie watched the candles in the Lion centerpiece melt wax onto their holders.

Cheap candles, she thought.

Another lie. Another bluff.

A dark flame kindled inside of her.

She still had a bluff to play of her own.

“You think I’m afraid of death? I’ve died before and that didn’t stop me,” she said, standing up. “So kill me. Let’s see if that keeps the Woods on your side. Let’s see if that makes them listen to your pen.”

She swept past him, watching Rhian’s face cloud, unprepared for her move—

“And what if I agree to your terms?” he asked.

Sophie paused, her back to him.

“One person from the dungeons that will serve as your steward, just as you asked,” he said, sounding composed again. “Anyone you like. I’ll free them to work in the castle. Under my supervision, of course. All you have to do is write Lionsmane’s tales.”

Sophie’s heart beat faster.

“Who would you pick to be freed?” Rhian asked.

Sophie turned to him.

“Tedros included?” she asked.

Rhian stretched his biceps behind his head.

“Tedros included,” he said decisively.

Sophie paused. Then she sat back down across from him.

“So I write your stories . . . and you let Tedros go,” she repeated. “Those are the terms?”

“Correct.”

Sophie watched Rhian.

Rhian watched her.

Now I know the game, she thought.

“Well, in that case . . . ,” Sophie said innocently. “I choose Hort.”

Rhian blinked.

Sophie stretched her arms behind her head and held his stunned glare.

It had been a test. A test to make her pick Tedros. A test to call her bluff and prove she could never be loyal. A test to make her his slave from this moment on.

A dirty little test he expected her to fail.

But you can’t beat Evil with Evil.

Which meant now they had a deal.

She would write his stories. Hort would be freed.

Both would be her weapons in time.

Sophie smiled at the king, her emerald eyes aglow.

“I don’t eat cake,” she said. “But tonight I’ll make an exception.”

7
AGATHA
Agatha’s Army

Straddling the spine of a stymph, her arms around her old Beautification professor, Agatha tried to see through the gaps in the canopy of branches as she flew high over the Endless Woods. Autumn was coming, leaves already losing their green.

It must be six o’clock in the morning, she thought, since it was still too dark to see the forest floor, but the sky overhead was starting to simmer with tones of gold and red.

A hand reached back holding a blue lollipop.

“Stole it just for you,” said Professor Anemone. “It’s illegal to take candy from Hansel’s Haven, as you well know, but, given present circumstances, I think we all need to break a few rules.”

Agatha lifted the lollipop from her teacher’s hand into her mouth and tasted its familiar blueberry tartness. Her first year she’d gotten detention from Professor Anemone for stealing one of these lollipops off the candied classroom walls in Hansel’s Haven (along with marshmallows, a hunk of gingerbread, and two bricks of fudge). Back then, she’d been the worst student at the School for Good and Evil. Now, three years later, she was returning to the school to lead it.

“Do they know what’s happened?” Agatha asked, watching her teacher’s lemon-yellow hair dance in the wind. “The new students, I mean.”

“The Storian began its retelling of The Lion and the Snake before you and Sophie left on your quest. That’s how we’ve stayed up-to-date on everything that’s happened since Rhian took the throne.”

“But can’t we show the Storian’s tale to the rest of the kingdoms?” Agatha asked, adjusting Dovey’s bag on her arm, feeling Tedros’ jacket that she’d taken from Robin’s house cushioned around the crystal ball inside. “If we can make their rulers see that Rhian and the Snake are working together—”

“The Storian’s tales reach other kingdoms only after The End is written, including your bookshops in Woods Beyond,” said her teacher. “And even if we could bring the Kingdom Council to the School Master’s tower, the Storian won’t allow anyone to look backwards in a fairy tale while it is writing one. Nor should we involve the Kingdom Council until we have clearer proof of Rhian’s plot, since their allegiance is to the new king. That said, Professor Manley has been monitoring the pen’s movements and our first years have been briefed on the story thus far.”

“And they’re trained to fight?” Agatha pressed.

“Fight? Goodness, no.”

“But you said they’re my army!”

“Agatha, they’ve been at school for less than a month. The Evergirls can barely produce passable smiles, the Nevers are hopeless with their Special Talents, and they’ve just had their fingerglows unlocked two days ago. There hasn’t even been a Trial by Tale. They’re certainly no army yet. But you’ll whip them into shape.”

“Me? You want me to train them?” Agatha blurted. “But I’m not a teacher! Sophie can bluff being a Dean because, well, she can bluff anything, but not me—”

“You’ll love the new Everboys. Charming little foxes.” Professor Anemone glanced back, her makeup dried out and cracking. “Especially the boys of Honor 52.”

“Professor, I don’t even know these students!”

“You know Camelot. You know the castle, you know its defenses, and most importantly, you know the false king who sits upon the throne,” said Professor Anemone. “You are far better equipped than any of the teachers to lead our students in this fight. Besides, until you complete your quest, you’re still an official student, and given the Storian is writing your tale, the teachers cannot interfere in it. Clarissa made that mistake and clearly paid the price.”

Agatha shook her head. “But can the students even do basic spells? Will the Evers and Nevers work together? Have you told them what’s at stake—”

“My dear, take advantage of the peace and quiet while you can,” said her teacher, steadying the stymph at a cruising altitude. “There won’t be much of either once we get to school.”

Agatha exhaled through her nose. How could she relax until her friends were free? And how was she supposed to lead a school? A school full of students she’d never met? If she wasn’t so overwhelmed, she’d appreciate the irony: Sophie had been thrust at the head of Camelot, where Agatha was supposed to be queen, and now Agatha was expected to command the School for Good and Evil, where Sophie was supposed to be Dean. Agatha’s heart revved up, then sputtered, drained of adrenaline after her all-night visit to Sherwood Forest. She could feel her eyelids drooping . . . But with Dovey’s crystal ball slung on her shoulder, weighing her down, she didn’t dare fall asleep, for fear it would yank her overboard and drop her like a stone.

Clutching Dovey’s bag tighter, Agatha scanned the landscape and spotted a golden castle ahead, thin spires clustered like organ pipes.

Foxwood, she remembered. The oldest Ever kingdom.

In front of the castle, the thick forest receded, giving way to Foxwood’s outer vales, with rows of cottages surrounding a tree-lined square. The pavilion was mostly deserted this early in the morning, except for a baker setting up his cart in front of a stone fountain. Wrapped around the fountain, Agatha could make out colorful banners hand-drawn by the kingdom’s children.

So Long, So Long, the Snake is Gone!

HAIL KING RHIAN, THE SNAKE SLAYER!

Long Live Queen Sophie!

As the stymph soared over increasingly lavish houses, closer to Foxwood castle, Agatha glimpsed three young kids in gold-foil Lion masks jousting with wooden swords as their father raked the yard of leaves. She’d seen the same thing in Gillikin: children idolizing the new King of Camelot as their hero. Disturbed, Agatha looked back up.

The stymph was about to smash right into the side of the king’s castle.

“Professor!” Agatha shrieked—

Professor Anemone snored awake and in a single move shot a spray of sparks at her stymph, which jolted from its own slumber with a squawk, skimming the golden tower just in time.

The stymph reared in midair, panting hard, as Professor Anemone stroked its neck, trying to calm it down. “Seems we both fell asleep,” she croaked as the stymph peeped sheepishly at his riders through eyeless sockets. “And no wonder, given the rumpus at school. Thankfully we’ll be there soon enough.”

“Rumpus” didn’t sound good, Agatha thought, but right now she was worried they’d woken the Foxwood guard. If anyone spotted her, they’d surely alert Rhian. She peeked back towards the castle, about to urge Professor Anemone to get moving. Then her eyes widened—

“What’s that?”

She’d been so busy looking down that she’d missed the giant message in gold, embedded in the lightening sky overhead.

“Lionsmane’s first fairy tale,” said Professor Anemone, still caressing the stymph. “You must have been deep in Sherwood Forest to miss it. Been up there nearly a full day now. Visible from any kingdom in the Woods.”

“Lionsmane . . . You mean ‘Rhian’s pen’? The one he’s pit against the Storian?” Agatha said, remembering the newspaper in Gillikin. She quickly read the message in the sky about a woman named Tsarina, blessed with a child after several stillbirths. “‘Only the Lion can save you’? That’s the moral of the story?”

Her teacher sighed. “The Storian spends weeks, months, often years crafting a tale for the purposes of bettering our world. And now a new pen arrives that replaces storytelling with a king’s propaganda.”

“A fake king and a fake pen,” Agatha bristled. “Are people actually believing this? Is anyone fighting for the Stori . . .”

Her voice trailed off, because Rhian’s fairy tale suddenly faded. Agatha and Professor Anemone exchanged anxious looks, as if their presence here was somehow responsible. But then a blast of light shot from the west, branding a new message in the sky, replacing the first one.

Citizens of the Woods! Revel in the tale of Hristo of Camelot, only 8 years old, who ran away from home and came to my castle, hoping to be my knight. Young Hristo’s mother found and whipped the poor boy. Stay strong, Hristo! The day you turn 16, you have a place as my knight! A child who loves his king is a blessed child. Let that be a lesson to all.

“Now he’s going after the youth,” Professor Anemone realized, grim-faced. “Same thing Rafal tried when he took over both schools. Own the youth and you own the future.”

Down below, Agatha could still see the kids’ tiny figures swordplaying in their Lion masks. Only they’d stopped now and were gazing up at the Lion’s second tale, along with their father. After a moment, the father’s eyes swept towards Agatha and her teacher, perched atop their stymph.

“Let’s go,” said Agatha quickly.

The stymph propelled towards the rising sun.

Agatha looked back one last time at the Lion’s new tale, her stomach screwing tighter. It wasn’t just the Lion’s message, smoothly glorifying himself as king . . . but it was how familiar the message was, its lies sounding like truths . . .

Ah. Now she remembered.

The Snake’s pen.

The one he’d shown her and Sophie the first time they’d met.

His fake Storian that took real stories and contorted them into something darker and untrue.

His pen peeled off his own murderous body and now presented to the people as their guiding light.

His slimy, scaly strip of lies.

That was Lionsmane.

THE SCHOOL HAD taken no chances once Merlin and Professor Dovey had been captured. As the stymph descended, Agatha saw the two castles had been shielded in a protective, murky-green fog. A dove happened to get too close and the mist inhaled it like a living creature, then spewed it back out like a cannonball, pitching the shrieking bird fifty miles away. The stymph, meanwhile, passed through unscathed, though Agatha had to hold her nose to endure the fog, which smelled like rancid meat.

“One of Professor Manley’s spells,” Professor Anemone called back. “Not as secure as Lady Lesso’s old shields, but it’s kept out Rhian’s men thus far. A few were caught snooping the past couple days. They must suspect you’re on your way.”

More than just suspicion, Agatha thought. If Rhian was the Snake’s brother, then that meant Rhian had the Snake’s Quest Map. He could trace Agatha’s every move.

In the meantime, all she could do was hope Manley’s shield would hold.

Breaking through the fog, the first thing Agatha saw was the School Master’s tower, perched in the middle of Halfway Bay between the clear lake bordering the School for Good and the thick blue moat around the School for Evil. A gang of stymphs was in the process of undoing the last scaffolding around the silver spire, revealing a dazzling statue of Sophie atop like a weathervane, along with ornate friezes in the tower’s length depicting Sophie’s most iconic moments. There were multiple floors within the tower, flaunting refurbished windows (through which Agatha could see walk-in closets, a dining room, a steam room and whirlpool), and a catwalk to the School for Evil, lit up with lights and a sign reading “SOPHIE’S WAY.”

Professor Bilious Manley poked his pimpled, pear-shaped head out a window in Sophie’s Tower and shot blasts of green light at the friezes and statue, trying to obliterate them—but every spell he did rebounded straight at him while a high-pitched alarm blared from Sophie’s statue, sounding like a raven’s shriek—

“You have attempted an unauthorized redecoration of Dean Sophie’s Tower,” Sophie’s voice boomed as a rebounding spell zapped Manley in the rump. “Only an officially appointed School Master has authority here and you are not a School Master. Kindly vacate my premises.”

Fuming, Manley stormed back into the tower, where Agatha glimpsed three wolves demolishing Sophie’s interiors. But seconds after tearing down paintings and fixtures and lamps, they all floated straight back up.

“He’s been battling that tower ever since he took over as Dean,” Professor Anemone chortled as more repelling spells scalded Manley and his wolves. “I’ve learned never to underestimate that girl.”

From inside the tower, Manley let out a primal scream.

It only made Agatha miss Sophie more.

The stymph landed on the south side of Halfway Bay in front of Good’s castle. As Agatha dismounted, fairies swarmed her, smelling her hair and neck. Unlike the fairies that used to run the School for Good when she was a first year, this new fleet were of different shapes, sizes, colors, as if from a variety of lands, but they all seemed to know who she was.

As she followed Professor Anemone uphill, Agatha noticed the unusual quiet. She could hear her own clump-steps crackling on the Great Lawn’s crisp grass, the spasm of fairy wings around her, the burps of water from the lake. Agatha peered across the bay and saw the same scene on Evil’s shores as smooth blue slime lapped up and stained the sand. A lone guard wolf in a red soldier’s jacket and a whip on his belt had fallen asleep on one of Sophie’s new cabanas.

Professor Anemone opened the doors to Good’s castle and Agatha silently trailed her through a long hall of mirrors. Agatha caught her reflection in the glass, grubby, windblown, and sleepless, her black gown ragged with holes. She looked worse than she did on her first day of school, when Evergirls had cornered her in this hall, thinking she was a witch, and she’d farted in their faces to escape. Smirking at the memory, Agatha followed her teacher, turning into the foyer—

“WELCOME HOME!”

A cheer exploded like a bomb, sending Agatha staggering backwards.

More than a hundred first years in the foyer whistled and hooted, while waving enchanted signs, with words popping off banners: “I STAND WITH AGATHA!”; “NEVER RHIAN!”; “JUSTICE FOR TEDROS!”

Agatha gawked at this new class of Evers, so fresh-faced and clean, with the girls in restyled pink pinafores and the boys in navy waistcoats, skinny ties, and tight beige breeches. Silver swan crests glittered over their hearts, branding them as first years, along with magical name tags that moved around their bodies to help Agatha see them from any sightline—“LAITHAN,” “VALENTINA,” “SACHIN,” “ASTRID,” “PRIYANKA,” and more. Many looked close to her in age, especially the boys, so tall and princely with training swords on their waists . . . and yet, despite this, all of them seemed so young. As if they still held faith in the laws of Good and Evil. As if they’d yet to learn that the bubble of school could be so easily punctured. I was like them once, Agatha thought.

“QUEEN AGATHA! QUEEN AGATHA!” chanted the first years as they surrounded her like lemmings, crowding her between the foyer’s four staircases: Valor and Honor to the boys’ towers, Purity and Charity to the girls’. Agatha looked up to see the teachers gathered on the Valor staircase—Princess Uma, who’d taught her Animal Communication; Professor Espada, who taught Swordplay; Yuba the Gnome, who’d led her Forest Group . . . It was the same scene that greeted Agatha on her own Welcoming day, only this time, there were two professors missing. Seven-foot nymphs with neon hair floated beneath the domed ceiling, sprinkling rose petals that caught in Agatha’s dress and made her sneeze. Agatha tried to smile at the young Evers, singing her name and waving their signs and swords, but all she could think about was Professor Dovey and Professor August Sader, both absent from the top of the stairs. Without them, the school no longer felt warm or safe. It felt alien, vulnerable.

“GOOD IDLES AND EVIL WORKS,” a voice boomed. “SOUNDS ABOUT RIGHT.”

Agatha and the Evers swiveled to see the double doors at the rear of the foyer fly open. Castor the Dog stood inside the Theater of Tales, its two sides turned into a massive war room. More than a hundred Nevers in sleek black-leather uniforms toiled at various stations, littered with papers and notebooks and maps, while Evil teachers supervised.

“NICE TO SEE YOU’RE ALIVE,” said Castor, glancing at Agatha, before baring sharp teeth at the Evers. “BUT WE AIN’T WON NOTHIN’ YET.”

THE FIRST YEARS were split into workstations based on their respective Forest Groups, with five Evers and five Nevers at each station. At the first station, Group #1 hovered over a pew that had been flipped over and turned into a long table, heaped with dozens of maps. Agatha shuffled over, feeling unsure how to take the lead, but luckily she didn’t need to, because the students took the lead on their own.

“Couldn’t find any current maps of Camelot Castle inside the Library of Virtue, but we did find this,” said a beautiful, dark-skinned Everboy tagged BODHI, pointing to a crusty diagram inside a very old edition of A Student’s History of the Woods. “According to this, the dungeon’s at the base of Gold Tower, way underground. But since the castle is built on a hill, it looks like the dungeon might be against the side of that hill. If this map is still correct, that is.” Bodhi looked up at Agatha. “That’s where you can help us. Are the dungeons still there?”

Agatha tightened. “Um . . . not sure. I never saw them.”

The whole team stared at her.

“But you were at Camelot for months,” said an Everboy tagged LAITHAN, short and muscular, with chestnut hair and freckled skin.

“You were the princess,” said Bodhi.

Agatha’s neck rashed red. “Look, the dungeons are probably where they’ve always been, so let’s assume this map is right—”

“That’s what I say and these Good boys tell me I’m stupid,” piped VALENTINA from the other end of the table. She had a high, black ponytail, pencil-thin eyebrows, and a breathy accent. “But I say jail must still be there and if jail is on side of hill, then we go to hill with shovels and pew! pew! pew! Tedrosito and your friends free.”

Bodhi snorted with Laithan. “Valentina, first of all, this textbook is like a thousand years old and landmasses move over time.”

“Excuse me, my family lives under a guanabana tree for a thousand years and guanabana tree is still there,” said Valentina.

Laithan groaned. “Look, even if the dungeon is on the hill, there’s no way to pew! pew! pew! because there’s guards.”

“Do you remember that fairy-tale famoso where the boy doesn’t save his friends because he’s afraid of guards?” Valentina asked.

“No,” said Laithan, confused.

“Exactly,” said Valentina.

“V, I know Nevers are supposed to defend each other in front of Evers, but we can’t even find this hill,” said a waifish Neverboy with dyed flame-red hair and the name AJA floating over his head. “I tried to locate the dungeons with heat vision and didn’t see a thing.”

“Heat vision?” Agatha asked.

“My villain talent,” Aja clarified. “You know how Sophie’s special talent was summoning Evil? Like when she summoned those ravens at the Circus of Talents? She wore that amazing snakeskin cape that she stitched herself . . . the one that turned her invisible . . . It’s in the Exhibition of Evil now. I wish I could try it on, just to feel like her . . . Sorry, huuuge Sophie fan. Kept it low-key when she was Dean so she wouldn’t think I’m a freak, but I know every word of her fairy tale and I dressed as her for Halloween with furs and boots and seriously, she’ll be the best Queen of Camelot ever . . . like completely iconic . . .” Aja saw Agatha’s frown. “Um. No offense.”

“You were talking about heat vision,” said Agatha tersely.

“Right. That’s my villain talent: being able to sense bodies in darkness—even through hard objects. So I convinced Professor Sheeks to let me take a stymph to Camelot at night with one of the nymphs onboard, since stymphs hate villains and it would have eaten me without a guard from Good,” Aja prattled. “We flew high above so Rhian’s men on the towers couldn’t see us. But if the dungeon is near the side of the hill, I should have been able to detect the bodies underground, and . . . I couldn’t see a thing.”

“Aja, no offense, but you can’t even find the toilet in the middle of the night and I know that for a fact,” said Valentina, giving Agatha a sordid glance. (Agatha pursed her lips.) “So just because you can’t see the dungeon doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

“Honeybear, I placed top rank in Professor Sheeks’ class six challenges in a row,” Aja defended.

“Because your real talent is brownnosing teachers,” said Valentina.

Agatha couldn’t think with all this sniping, plus there was a strange stink wafting from Group #6 nearby. (“Smells like a skunk den on a Friday night!” she heard Princess Uma gasp.)

“What about mogrification?” Agatha asked. “Can’t we turn into worms or scorpions and sneak into the castle and find the jail?”

“Magic doesn’t work in dungeons,” said Laithan, glancing at his teammates, and this time even the Evil ones agreed. He peered at Agatha. “You don’t know that?”

“We’re all in Yuba’s Forest Group and he had that question on our first test. Seemed pretty basic,” Bodhi piled on.

Agatha started to sweat. In times of stress, she always emerged the leader. But these kids were making her feel like an idiot. Fine, so she didn’t know where the dungeons were; when she’d lived at Camelot, she’d been told the castle was impenetrable. Why would she go hunting for ways to invade it? And why should she remember every detail from a class three years ago? Especially when she was tired and anxious and focused on saving her friends’ lives? Meanwhile, these amateurs were staring at her, so cocksure and poised, as if she had something to prove to them.

Agatha stood taller. “So we don’t know exactly where the dungeon is. Let’s address that,” she said, the stink from Group #6 getting worse. “What about sneaking in as guards or maids and searching the castle? Or taking a cook hostage and demanding to know where the prisoners are being kept? What about sending a gift with a bunch of us hidden inside? Then boo, we attack!”

The young Evers and Nevers shifted uncomfortably.

“Those are really bad ideas,” said Aja.

“For once I agree with Aja,” said Valentina. “Rhian is very smart. He’d suspect a bunch of lost-looking maids or a gift with things whispering inside like a chupacabra.”

“Plus, the Snake has a Quest Map,” Bodhi said to Agatha. “If you get anywhere near that castle, he’d know.”

Agatha bristled, feeling even more defensive than before . . . but deep down she knew they were right. Her plans were stupid. Yet there was no brilliant plan waiting for her to think of it. There was no perfect secret entrance or dodgy gate or magical spell that would get them into Camelot undetected. And even if there were, there was certainly no way to get Tedros, Sophie, Dovey, and nine other prisoners out.

“I’ll lock this in my office for you, dear,” said Professor Anemone, sidling up to her and slipping Dovey’s bag off her arm.

“No, I’ll keep it with me,” Agatha batted, holding it tight. “Merlin ordered me not to let it out of my sight.”

“Say no more,” her teacher replied. “Ooh, I see you’ve met the boys of Honor 52. Be strict with Bodhi and Laithan. Don’t let them flirt their way out of trouble. You’re their commander now.”

“The teachers’ commander too,” said Princess Uma, approaching. “We’re here to help you. And my animals will join the fight.”

“As will the wolves and fairies,” said Yuba the Gnome, waddling up to them. “And don’t forget the rest of the fourth years: Ravan, Vex, and a few others are in the clinic, recovering from the Battle of the Four Point, while the remainder of the class are on their way back to school from their various quest sites. You have a whole army at your service, Agatha. But my Forest Group just told me you’ve yet to decide on a plan. Think harder, my girl. Camelot isn’t just your home; it’s your domain. You know its weaknesses, along with the new king’s. Somewhere inside you, you know how to rescue your friends. Somewhere inside, you have the plan. And now we need to hear it.”

Heads poked up from workstations, all eyes on Camelot’s princess. The theater went as quiet as a church on Halloween.

“The plan?” Agatha’s voice came out a croak. She cleared her throat, hoping it would magically produce a strategy. “Yes. Um—”

“YOU SMELLY HOUSE APES!”

Everyone turned to see Castor kicking two boys’ rumps at Station #6. “DOVEY’S IN PRISON, KING’S ’BOUT TO DIE, AND YOU’RE MAKIN’ DUNGBOMBS!”

“Flaming dungbombs!” a puny blond named BERT pipped.

“Smell Missiles!” a fellow blond named BECKETT added. “The perfect weapon!”

“I’LL SHOW YOU THE PERFECT WEAPON!” Castor swiped a newspaper off the Group #6 table and thrashed both boys with it. “ONE MORE DUNGBOMB AND IT’S THE DOOM ROOM!”

“We’re Evers!” Bert and Beckett protested.

“EVEN BETTER!” Castor barked, walloping them harder.

Noxious fumes spread out of control, sending groups ducking for cover. Agatha seized on the distraction and hustled to Group #6’s table, where a boy and girl were poring over the newspapers Castor hadn’t swiped, undeterred by Bert and Beckett’s stink-plot.

These two look clever, Agatha thought. Maybe they’ve found something I haven’t.

“Welcome to Forest Group #6,” said a bald, ghostly Everboy named DEVAN with dark eyebrows and sculpted cheekbones. “Pleasure to be in your company, Princess Agatha. You are as regal and lovely as your fairy tale promised.”

“She has a boyfriend, Devan,” said a dark Nevergirl with ice-blue hair, matching eyes, and a choker strung with mini-skulls. Her name tag read LARALISA. She slipped her hand around Devan’s waist. “And you’re spoken for too, so don’t lay it on too thick.”

Agatha’s eyes widened at the sight of an Ever and a Never so brazenly dating (Lady Lesso tried to murder Tedros and Sophie when they’d done it), but now Devan was pushing one of the newspapers towards her across the overturned pew.

“Take a look at today’s Camelot Courier,” he said.

Agatha scanned the front page—

IDENTITY OF SNAKE STILL IN QUESTION

Castle Refuses to Comment on the Face Under the Mask

SNAKE’S BODY MISSING, SAYS CRYPTKEEPER

Garden of Good & Evil Has No Reports of Snake’s Burial

DOUBTS RAISED ABOUT KING’S NEW LIEGE

Where Was Japeth When the Snake Was on the Loose?

Laralisa dropped another paper on top. “Now look at the Royal Rot.”

Agatha hunched over Camelot’s colorful tabloid, known for its ludicrous conspiracy theories and outright lies.

CRYPTKEEPER DEBUNKED!

Snake’s Burial Confirmed in Necro Ridge

JAPETH REVEALS

“My Brother Stopped Me from Fighting the Snake

—Rhian Wanted to Protect Me!”

COURIER OF LIES

80% OF STORIES PROVEN FALSE!

“The usual horsecrap,” muttered Agatha. “But it doesn’t matter. No one in Camelot will ever believe a word the Rot says, no matter what Rhian has them print.”

“It’s not the people of Camelot we’re worried about,” said Laralisa.

She slid a few more papers in front of Agatha.

THE NETHERWOOD VILLAIN DIGEST

CAMELOT DISPUTES CRYPTKEEPER!

Snake Buried in Necro Ridge!

THE MALABAR HILLS MIRROR

KING RHIAN VINDICATED

Snake’s Body Verified in Secret Tomb!

THE PIFFLEPAFF POST

KEEPER OF LIES! Snake’s Body Found in Garden of Good & Evil

“Rhian’s fingerprints are all over this,” said Laralisa. “He knows the Courier is onto him. So he’s making sure the other kingdoms parrot his lies.”

“And the other kingdoms go along with it because they trust anything Rhian says,” Agatha realized. “In their eyes, he killed the Snake. He killed a deadly villain attacking their kingdoms. He saved them. The people of the Woods don’t know it’s a lie. They don’t know he’s playing them for fools. The Storian knows and we know.”

“And the Courier’s getting close,” said Laralisa. “But Rhian’s discredited the Storian, he’s discredited Tedros, he’s discredited you, he’s discredited the school, and now he’s discrediting the Courier. Even if we did have proof to show the people that the Snake is still alive—and we don’t—no one would listen to us.”

“Courier might not even be around long enough to back us up,” Devan noted, pulling open its pages. “They’re on the run, printing in secret, and Rhian’s men are hunting their reporters. And the more they’re on the run, the more they’re grasping at straws. Look at these headlines. It’s like something out of the Rot.”

MESSAGE IN BOTTLE FOUND: “SNAKE IS STILL ALIVE!”

MISTRAL SISTERS HIRED AS KING’S ADVISORS? SIGHTING THROUGH CASTLE WINDOW

P RINCESS SOPHIE SECRETLY TRADES FOR FRIEND’S RELEASE

Agatha quickly honed in on this last story.

Until now, the people of the Woods believed that Lionsmane was the pen of the King. Indeed, at his coronation, King Rhian made it clear that unlike the Storian, which was controlled by shadowy magic, his pen could be trusted. His pen would care about all people, rich or poor, young or old, Good or Evil—just like he cared about all people when he saved them from the Snake.

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