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Quests for Glory
Soman Chainani


Join your favourite students from the School for Good and Evil as they begin a new era and set off on their quests in the Endless Woods The first book in a second School for Good and Evil trilogy…The students at the School for Good and Evil thought they had found their final Ever After when they vanquished the malevolent School Master, but with every end comes a new beginning…. Now, on their required fourth-year quests, where Evers and Nevers alike must move beyond the bounds of school and into the biggest, boldest adventures of their lives.For their quests, Agatha and Tedros are trying to return Camelot to its former splendour as queen and king. For her quest, Dean Sophie seeks to mould Evil in her own image. But soon they all feel themselves growing more isolated and alone. When their classmates’ quests plunge into chaos, however, someone must lead the charge to save them…




















First published in the US by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2017

Published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2018

Published in this ebook edition in 2018

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

Text copyright © Soman Chainani 2017

Illustrations copyright © Iacopo Bruno 2017

Illustration here (#litres_trial_promo) by Michael Blank

Cover illustration © Iacopo Bruno 2017

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2017

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

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008224479

Ebook Edition © January 2018 ISBN: 9780008224486

Version: 2017-12-11







For Ally and Brendan




Epigraph (#ufbb744f3-9255-5abf-b94b-3b5380a3750d)







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 (#u9fbff19b-5f5c-5dcb-b4a0-76a95a50b3bc)

Title Page (#u370c835f-55c8-5f02-9ab8-d89afd9b9250)

Copyright (#u337b2d53-b612-5559-94a6-4326e9d992ed)

Dedication (#u5c9dc7ee-c3d8-51c3-bc09-627d92e8aa85)

Epigraph

Map

PART I

1. AGATHA: The Almost Queen

2. TEDROS: How Not to Throw a Coronation

3. SOPHIE: Flah-sé-dah

4. THE COVEN: Mission Diverted

5. AGATHA: Intervention

6. TEDROS: Two Theories

7. CHADDICK: The Liege and the Lady

8. SOPHIE: One Quest to Save Them All

9. HORT: Who Would Want a Hort?

10. NICOLA: The Perks of Being a Reader

11. AGATHA: Stay with the Group

12. SOPHIE: First Loyalty

13. TEDROS: Like Father, Like Son

14. TEDROS: What It Feels Like for a King

15. AGATHA: Pirate Pavilion

16. TEDROS: Riddles and Mistrals

17. SOPHIE: The Map Room

18. AGATHA: The Pen That Writes the Truth

19. HORT: Four Point

20. SOPHIE: The Lion and the Snake

PART II

21. TEDROS: Allies and Enemies

22. AGATHA: The Mysteries of a Name

23. THE COVEN: The Sheriff’s Daughter

24. TEDROS: Sides of a Story

25. AGATHA: Date Night in Sherwood Forest

26. TEDROS: Questions of a King

27. SOPHIE: The King’s Speech

28. AGATHA: The Princess and the King

Have you read the other titles in this series?

About the Author

About the Publisher




Map (#ufbb744f3-9255-5abf-b94b-3b5380a3750d)










PART I (#ufbb744f3-9255-5abf-b94b-3b5380a3750d)


















1


(#ufbb744f3-9255-5abf-b94b-3b5380a3750d)

AGATHA (#ufbb744f3-9255-5abf-b94b-3b5380a3750d)

The Almost Queen (#ufbb744f3-9255-5abf-b94b-3b5380a3750d)


When you spend most of your life planning your Ever After with a girl, it feels strange to be planning your wedding to a boy.

A boy who’d been avoiding Agatha for months.

She couldn’t sleep, dread brewing in her stomach. Her mind flurried with all the things left to do before the big day, but that wasn’t the real reason she was still awake. No, it was something else: a memory of the boy she was about to marry … a memory she couldn’t bear to think about. …






Tedros, stained with tears and slung over a man’s shoulder. Tedros unleashing a primal scream, so pained and shattering that sometimes Agatha could hear nothing else—

She rolled over, burying her head under a pillow.

It had been six months since that day: the day of the coronation.

She hadn’t slept well since.

Agatha felt Reaper tossing tetchily at the foot of the bed, her restlessness keeping him up. Agatha sighed, feeling sorry for him, and tried to focus on her breaths. Little by little, her mind began to ease. She was always better when she was doing something to help someone else, even if it was falling asleep to spare her bald, mashed-up cat. … If only she could do something to help her prince too, Agatha thought. Together they always managed to work things ou—

Click.

Her heart stopped.

The door.

She listened closely, hearing Reaper’s soft snores and the sound of the latch creaking open.

Agatha pretended to sleep as her hand inched forward, probing for the knife on her night table.

She’d kept the knife there ever since she’d arrived at Camelot. She had to—Tedros earned enemies here long before he’d come to take his place as king. Even if these enemies were in jail now, they had spies everywhere, desperate to kill him and his future queen. …

And now the door to her chamber was opening.

No one was allowed in her hall at this hour. No one was allowed in her wing.

Moonlight spilled onto her back through the cracked-open door. Her breaths shallowed as she heard footsteps muffle against the marble floor. A shadow crept up her neck, stretching onto the bedsheets.

Agatha gripped the knife harder.

Slowly a weight sank into the mattress behind her.

Hold, she told herself.

The weight grew heavier. Closer.

Hold.

She could hear its breath.

Hold.

The shadow reached for her—

Now.

With a gasp, Agatha swiveled, swinging the knife for the intruder’s neck before he seized her wrist and pinned her to the bed, the knife a millimeter from his throat.

Agatha panted with terror as she and the intruder stared into the wide whites of each other’s eyes.

In the dark, it was all she could see of him, but now she felt the heat of his skin and smelled his fresh, dewy sweat, and all the fear seeped out of her body. Bit by bit, she let him pry the knife away before he exhaled and dropped into the pillow beside her. It all happened so fast, so softly, that Reaper never stirred.

She waited for him to speak or pull her to his chest or tell her why he’d been avoiding her all this time. Instead he just curled into a ball against her, whimpering like a tired dog.

Agatha stroked his silky hair, mopping up the sweat on his temples with her fingertips, and let him sniffle into her nightgown.

She’d never seen him cry. Not like this, so scared and defeated.

But as she held him, his breaths settled, his body surrendering to her touch, and he glanced up at her with the faintest of smiles. …

Then his smile vanished.

Someone was watching them. A tall, turbaned woman looming in the doorway, her gleaming teeth gnashed tight.

And just like that, Tedros was gone as quick as he came.

Splinters of August sun streamed through the window onto the chandelier, refracting light into Agatha’s eyes.

Blinking groggily, she could see missing crystals in the chandelier, covered in cobwebs like an old gravestone.

She hugged her pillow to her chest. It still smelled like him. Reaper slithered up from the foot of the bed, sniffing at the pillow, poised to slash it to shreds, before Agatha shot him a look. Her cat slunk back to the foot of the bed. He’s improving at least, Agatha thought; the first night in the castle, he’d peed in Tedros’ shoe.

Voices echoed in her wing. She wouldn’t be alone much longer.

Agatha sat up in her baggy black nightgown, peering at her room. It was three times the size of her old house in Gavaldon, with dusty gem-crusted mirrors, a sagging settee, and a two-hundred-year-old desk of ivory and bone. Clutching her pillow like a life raft, she soaked in the quiet coming off the cracked marble tiles dyed robin’s-egg blue and the matching walls inlaid with mottled gold flowers. The queen’s chamber was like everything at Camelot: royal from afar, tarnished up close. This applied to her too—she was living in the queen’s quarters but she wasn’t even queen yet.

The wedding was still two months away.

A wedding that was making her uneasier each day.

Once upon a time, Agatha had imagined she’d live happily ever after with Sophie in Gavaldon. The two of them would be proud owners of a cottage in town, where they’d have tea and toast each morning, then jaunt off to Mr. Deauville’s Storybook Shop, now the A&S Bookshop, since she and Sophie would take it over once the old man died. After work, she’d help pick herbs and flowers that Sophie would use to make her beauty creams, before they’d visit Agatha’s mother on Graves Hill for dinners of lamb-brain stew and lizard quiche (steamed prunes and cucumbers for Sophie, of course). How ordinary their life would be together. How happy. Friendship was all they needed.

Agatha squeezed the pillow harder. How things change.

Now her mother was dead, Sophie was Dean of Evil at a magical school, and Agatha was marrying King Arthur’s son.

No one was more excited about the wedding than Sophie, who’d sent letter after letter from her faraway castle with sketches of dresses and cakes and china that she insisted Agatha use for her big day. (“Dear Aggie, I haven’t heard back from you about the chiffon veil swatches I sent. Or the proposed canapés. Really, darling, if you don’t want my help just tell me. …”)

Agatha could see these letters piled on the desk, coated in spidery trails of dust. Every day she told herself she would answer them, but she never did. And the worst part was she didn’t know why.

Footsteps grew louder outside her room.

Agatha’s stomach churned.

It’d been this way for six months. She felt more and more anxious while Tedros grew more and more withdrawn. Last night was the closest they’d come to speaking about what happened on coronation day and neither of them had even said a word. She knew he was embarrassed … devastated … ashamed. … But she couldn’t help him if he didn’t talk to her. And he couldn’t talk to her if he was never with her.

More voices now. More footsteps.

Mouth dry, Agatha snatched the glass of water from her night table. Empty. So was the pitcher.

Reaper slid off the bed, prowling towards the faded double doors.

She needed time alone with Tedros. Time where they weren’t living separate lives. Time where they could be honest and intimate with each other like they used to be. Time where they could be themselves again—

The doors crashed open and four maids paraded in, each wearing the same draping robe in a different shade of pastel—peach, pistachio, grapefruit, rose—as if they were a box of mixed macarons. They were led by a tall, tan woman in lavender with dark, smoky eyes, shiny red lipstick, and wild black hair barely cooped by a turban. She carried a leather-bound notebook in one hand and in the other, a feather-pen so long it looked like a whip.

“Breakfast with the wedding florist at seven in the Blue Tower Dining Room; then meetings with tailor candidates in twenty-minute intervals to decide who should stitch the wedding linens; then an interview with the Camelot Courier for their Wedding Preview Edition. At nine, you’ll visit the Camelot Zoo to pick the official wedding doves; they have several species, each a varying shade of white. …”

Agatha could barely listen, because Peach and Pistachio had hoisted her out of bed and were already scrubbing her with scalding towels, while Grapefruit shoved a toothbrush in her mouth and Rose smeared her face with an array of potions, like Sophie used to do, only without Sophie’s charisma or humor.

“Then a signing of The Tale of Sophie and Agatha at Books & Crannies to raise funds for the castle’s plumbing renovation,” the lavender woman continued in a crisp, posh accent, “followed by a lunch fundraiser at the Spansel Club, where you’ll read a storybook to children of rich patrons whose donations will repair the drawbridge …”

“Um, Lady Gremlaine? Is there time for me to see Tedros today?” muffled Agatha beneath a blue gown the women were tugging over her. “We haven’t had a meal alone in ages—”

“After lunch, you’ll begin waltz lessons to prepare for your wedding dance, then etiquette training so you don’t make a mess of yourself at the wedding feast, and finally, history class about the triumphs and disasters of royal weddings past so that yours might end in the annals of the first rather than the last,” Lady Gremlaine finished.

Agatha gritted her teeth as her maids fussed with her hair and makeup like the nymphs in the Groom Room used to. “Dancing, etiquette, history … it’s the School for Good all over again. Only at school, I actually had time with my prince.”

Lady Gremlaine raised her eyes to Agatha. She snapped her book shut so sharply a gemstone fell out of the mirror. “Well, since you have no further questions, your chambermaids here will see that you get to your breakfast on time,” she said, turning for the door. “The king needs me by his side every possible moment—”

“I’d like to see Tedros today,” Agatha insisted. “Please add it to my schedule.”

Lady Gremlaine stopped cold and turned, her lips a tight red slash. The chambermaids subtly backed away from Agatha.

“I’d say you saw more than enough of him last night. Against the rules,” said Lady Gremlaine. “A king cannot be alone in your room before the wedding.”

“Tedros should have the right to see me whenever he wishes,” said Agatha. “I am his queen.”

“Not yet, Princess,” said Lady Gremlaine coolly.

“I will be after the wedding,” Agatha challenged, “which I spend all my time planning like some brainless biddy when I’d rather be with Tedros, helping him run the kingdom of which he is now king. And seeing that you’re Chief Steward in service to the king and future queen, surely that’s something you can arrange.”

“I see,” said Lady Gremlaine, moving towards Agatha. “The castle is crumbling, your king wears a crown still in dispute, you have spies plotting to kill you, the former queen and her traitorous knight have been in hiding since the coronation, and the Royal Rot, a rogue publication intent on overthrowing the monarchy, calls you, amongst other things, ‘a gilded celebrity from an amateur fairy tale destined to bring more shame to Tedros than his own mother once did.’”

Lady Gremlaine smiled, lording over Agatha. “And here you are, still pining for your days at school and a little kissy-time in the hall with the Class Captain.”

“No. That’s not it at all. I want to help him,” Agatha retorted, enduring the onslaught of her steward’s perfume. “I’m fully aware of the problems we face, but Tedros and I are supposed to be a team—”

“Then why hasn’t he ever asked to see you?” said Lady Gremlaine.

Agatha flinched.

“In fact, except for his momentary lapse last night, which he assured me will never happen again, the king hasn’t mentioned your name once,” Lady Gremlaine added.

Agatha said nothing.

“You see, I’m afraid King Tedros has better things to do, trying to bring Camelot out of shame in time for the wedding,” Lady Gremlaine went on. “A wedding that must be so magnificent, so memorable, so inspiring that it will erase all doubts that rose from that humiliating coronation. And it is a wedding that, per thousands of years of tradition, is up to the future queen to plan. That’s your job. That’s how you can help your king.” She leaned in, her nose almost touching Agatha’s. “But if you would like me to tell King Tedros that you find your responsibilities beneath you and that you have questioned every one of our decisions, down to the colors of your wardrobe, the importance of baths, and your choice of footwear, and now, on top of that, would like him to interrupt his urgent efforts to prove his place as king so he can make you feel part of a team … then by all means, Princess. Let’s see what he has to say.”

Agatha swallowed, her neck rashing red. Her eyes drifted down to her clumps. “No … that’s okay. I’m sure I’ll see him tomorrow,” she said softly, looking back up.

But Lady Gremlaine was gone and all that was left were her pastel minions, ready to whisk the princess to a breakfast she would have no time to eat.

Halfway through the day, Agatha was about to turn runaway bride.

She’d endured weeks of this with a forced smile—the same deadly dull routine of inspecting a thousand place-cards and cakes and candles and centerpieces, even though they all looked the same to her and she’d be happy marrying Tedros in a bat cave (she’d prefer it actually; no room for guests). Interspersed with all this tedium were appearances for “Camelot Beautiful,” a queen-led campaign to raise funds for the broken-down castle that had been left to blight after King Arthur had died. Agatha believed in the cause wholeheartedly and had a high tolerance for nonsense—she was friends with Sophie after all—but Lady Gremlaine seemed determined to humiliate her with each day’s schedule, whether making her sing the anthem at the Woods Rugby Cup (even the Camelot team covered their ears) or ride a bull at the Spring Fair (it bucked her into a mound of poo) or kiss the highest bidder in a Smooch-the-Princess auction (a toothless hoodlum who Lady Gremlaine insisted had won fair and square).

Guinevere had warned Agatha to expect resistance from her new warden. Lady Gremlaine had been Chief Steward when Guinevere was Arthur’s wife, until she and Guinevere had a falling-out and Guinevere had her dismissed. But after Guinevere’s disappearance and Arthur’s death, his Council of Advisors took over Camelot since Tedros wasn’t yet sixteen—and these advisors brought Lady Gremlaine back. Now with Guinevere returned to the castle, surely Gremlaine would be prickling to exert control over Guinevere’s son and his new queen. Even worse, the old fusspot couldn’t be fired until Tedros’ coronation was sealed.

Knowing this, Agatha had tried to befriend her steward, but Lady Gremlaine hated her at first sight. Agatha had no idea why, but clearly the woman didn’t want her marrying Camelot’s king. It was as if Lady Gremlaine thought if she just tried hard enough, Agatha would give up her groom before the wedding.

I’d sooner die, Agatha vowed.

So for the last six months, she’d woken up each morning ready for the fight.

But today was the day that broke her.

First there was the florist, who shoved Agatha’s face in so many effluvious bouquets over the course of an hour that she’d left red-eyed and nose dripping. Next there were the six tailors who showed her dozens of linens that looked exactly the same. Then came the reporter from the Camelot Courier, a miserably cheerful young girl named Bettina, who arrived sucking a red lollipop.

“Lady Gremlaine already scripted all your answers, so let’s have an off-the-record chat for fun,” she diddled, before launching into an array of startlingly personal questions about Agatha’s relationship with Tedros: “What does he wear when he sleeps?” “Does he have a nickname for you?” “Do you ever catch him looking at other girls?”

“No,” Agatha said to the last, about to add, “especially not fart bubbles like you,” but she held her tongue through nearly an hour of this before she’d had enough.

“So do you and Tedros want children?” Bettina wisped.

“Why? Are you looking for parents?” Agatha snapped.

The meeting was over after that.

She nearly lost her temper again at the Spansel Club fundraiser when she had to read The Lion and the Snake, a famous Camelot storybook, to rich, bratty children, who kept interrupting her because they already knew the story. Now in her carriage after picking wedding doves at the zoo, Agatha slumped over in her sweaty gown, thinking of the waltz and etiquette lessons ahead, and sucked back tears.

“The king hasn’t mentioned your name once,” Lady Gremlaine echoed.

She’d tried to pretend that the meddling bat had lied. But Agatha knew she hadn’t.

Even when Agatha had run into Tedros in the castle these past few months, he’d tell her how pretty she looked or prattle something inane about the weather or ask her if she was comfortable in her quarters before shuttling away like a spooked squirrel. Last night in her room was the first time she’d seen him without a flushed, plastic smile on his face that told her not to ask how he was doing because he was doing just fine.

But he wasn’t fine, of course. And she didn’t know how to help him.

Agatha dabbed at her eyes. She had come to Camelot for Tedros. To be his queen. To stand by him in his finest and darkest hours. But instead they were both alone, fending for themselves.

It was clear he needed her. That’s why he’d crawled into her arms last night. So why couldn’t he just admit it? She knew deep down it wasn’t her fault. But she still couldn’t help feeling rejected and hurt.

Reaper curled up in her lap, reminding her he was there.

She rubbed his bald head. “If only we could go back to our graveyard before we ever thought about boys.”

Reaper spat in agreement.

Agatha gazed out the window of her blue-and-gold carriage as it rolled into Maker’s Market, the main thoroughfare of Camelot City. Given the conditions of its roads, her driver normally avoided it and took the longer route back to the castle, but they were already running late for her wedding waltz lesson and she didn’t want to make a poor impression on her new teacher. Dirt kicked up around the carriage from unpaved streets, clouding her view of the bright-colored tents, each carrying a flag with Camelot’s crest: two eagles, flanking the sword Excalibur on a blue shield.

But as the dust cleared, Agatha noticed a stark divide between the rich villagers in expensive coats and jewels as they shopped along the main street and the thousands of grimy, skeletal peasants living in crumbling shanties in the alley-ways adjoining the market. Royal guards patrolled these slums, forcefully blocking any peasants who drew too close to wealthy patrons entering or leaving the tents. Agatha slid down her window to get a better view, but her driver rapped his horsewhip on the glass—

“Lay low, milady,” he said.

Agatha pushed the window back up. When she first rode into her new kingdom six months ago, she’d seen the same slum cities smack in the middle of Camelot. As Tedros explained then, his father had led Camelot to a golden age, where every citizen improved his or her fortune. But upon Arthur’s death, his advisors had allied with the rich, passing shady laws to reclaim land and wealth from the middle-class, plunging them into poverty. Tedros had vowed to undo these laws and resettle those without homes, but in the past half-year, the divide between rich and poor had only gotten worse. Why hadn’t he succeeded? Had he not seen how far his father’s legacy had fallen? How could he let his own kingdom languish like this? If she was king—

Agatha exhaled. But she wasn’t, was she. She wasn’t even queen yet. And from the way Tedros acted last night, he was clearly frustrated too. He was managing Camelot by himself and had no one to help him: not her, not his father, not his mother, not Lancelot, not even Merlin, the last three of who’d been gone for the past six months—

SPLAT! A black, mashed hunk of food hit the window. Agatha spun to see a filthy peasant yell, “SO-CALLED KING AND HIS ALMOST QUEEN!”

Suddenly, others in the slum cities spotted her carriage and globbed onto the chant—“SO-CALLED KING AND HIS ALMOST QUEEN!”—while pelting her vehicle with food, shoes, and handfuls of dirt. Her driver beat the horses harder, racing them out of the market.

Blood boiling, Agatha wanted to leap out of the carriage and tell those goons that none of this was her or Tedros’ fault—not the slum cities, not the coronation, not a once-legendary kingdom gone to shambles—

How would that help anything? Agatha scolded herself. If she were starving in the streets, wouldn’t she blame herself and Tedros too? They were the ones in power now, even if they hadn’t caused the kingdom’s fall. The poor and suffering had no time for the past, only for progress. But this wasn’t school anymore, where progress could be charted with rankings and a scoreboard. This was real life and despite the dismal results thus far, they were two teenagers trying to be good leaders.

Or Tedros was, surely.

She was on her way to dancing lessons.

Agatha sulked as the carriage rumbled up the hill towards the bone-white gates of Camelot, which the royal guards pulled open for their arrival. It didn’t matter that the gates were streaked with rust or the towers ahead faded by weather and soot. Camelot Castle was still a magnificent sight, built into jagged gray cliffs over the Savage Sea. Under the August sun, the white spires took on a liquid sheen, capped with rounded blue turrets that speared through low-flying clouds.

The carriage stopped short of a gap in the cliffs, leading to the castle’s entrance.

“Drawbridge is still broken from the coronation, milady,” the driver sighed, pulling into a carriage house at the edge of the cliff. “We’ll have to use the ropes to cross.”

Agatha barreled out of the carriage herself before the driver could open her door. Enough whining, she thought, as she wobbled along the unsteady rope bridge that even honored guests had to use until the embarrassing drawbridge problem could be fixed. Tedros wasn’t haggling over when they would have time alone. Tedros wasn’t hounding her about being a team. Tedros was working for his people, like she should be.

Maybe Lady Gremlaine was right, Agatha confessed. Maybe she should stop obsessing over what she couldn’t do as queen and start focusing on the one thing she could. Indeed, a wedding filled with love and beauty and intention might be just the way to restore the kingdom’s faith in them after the coronation. A wedding could show everyone that Camelot’s best days were to come … that her and Tedros’ Ever After had brought them here for a reason … that they could find a happy ending not just as King and Queen, but for the people too, even those who’d lost hope. …

Head held high, Agatha marched back into the castle, eager for her wedding lessons now and determined to do her very best.

That is, until she found out who was teaching them.







2


(#ufbb744f3-9255-5abf-b94b-3b5380a3750d)

TEDROS (#ufbb744f3-9255-5abf-b94b-3b5380a3750d)

How Not to Throw a Coronation (#ufbb744f3-9255-5abf-b94b-3b5380a3750d)


Though he had no time for himself, no time for Agatha, no time at all, Tedros refused to get soft.

In his knee-length black socks and cut-off breeches, he snuck through the dark, muggy halls of Gold Tower, a towel slung over his bare, tanned chest. He knew it was vain and obsessive, this getting up at half past four to exercise, but it felt like the only thing left he could actually control. Because at six on the dot, Lady Gremlaine and four male stewards would barge into his room and from that moment until he slogged back into bed at night, he was no longer in charge of his own life.






He passed Agatha’s room, tempted to slip in and wake her up, but he’d gotten in trouble for that last night and he didn’t need any more trouble. His kingdom was already on the verge of revolt. That’s why he’d ceded Lady Gremlaine total control over the castle. As Arthur’s once-steward, she was a known face and gave people faith that the new king would be well-managed. But there was another reason he’d let Gremlaine keep him on a tight leash, one he could never say out loud.

Tedros didn’t trust himself as king.

He needed someone like Lady Gremlaine who could watch his every move, who would check his every decision. If he’d only listened to her at the coronation, none of this would have happened. But he was listening to her now. Because if there was one thing he knew, it was that there could be no more mistakes.

Last night had already been a serious blunder. Lady Gremlaine had warned him not to repeat his father’s errors and let a girl interfere with his duties as king. Tedros took this warning seriously. Up until yesterday, he’d done well to concentrate on his tasks and let Agatha concentrate on hers, even if it meant he’d had more freedom to see Agatha at school than he did now as king in his own castle. But then he’d gone and snuck into her room dead-tired, defenses down, and acted like a sniveling child. Tedros cringed, replaying the moment in his head. He’d brought Agatha to Camelot away from everyone and everything she knew, and he wanted her to feel safe and taken care of. He couldn’t let her see how weak and scared he was. He couldn’t let her see that all he wanted to do was run away with her. To hold her tight and shut the world out.

But that’s exactly what he had done last night.

And for the fleeting relief he’d found in her arms, he left his future queen anxious and worried for him and his steward angry and disappointed.

Stop acting like a boy, Tedros chastised himself. Act like a king.

So today he let Agatha sleep, even if it left a big black hole in his heart.

Tedros scuttled through the hall’s colossal gold passage and soaring arches, sweat sopping his wavy blond hair, his breeches sticking to his thighs. He couldn’t remember the castle ever feeling this stifling. Two mice darted past him into a hole in the plaster. A procession of ants wove around the friezes of famous knights on the wall, now damaged and missing limbs. When his father and mother were king and queen, this hall used to be minty clean, even in the August doldrums. Now it smelled like dead cat.

Down three flights he went, socks slippery on dull gold stone, before he hustled through the Gymnasium, a lavish collection of training equipment surrounded by weapons and armor from Camelot’s history, enclosed in glass cases. One would assume this was Tedros’ destination, but instead he scurried right through, his pure blue eyes pinned to the dusty floor, trying not to look at the large glass case in the center of the room … the one case that happened to be empty. Its placard read:



EXCALIBUR



He was still thinking about that large, empty case when he arrived at King’s Cove, a sunken bathing pool in the bowels of the castle. When he was a young prince, this manmade grotto had flowering vines around tall piles of rock and a steaming-hot waterfall. The balmy water once shimmered with a thousand purple and pink lights from fairies who tended the pool in exchange for safe shelter at Camelot. Tedros remembered his mornings here as a child, racing the fairies around his father’s statue at the center of the pool, his tiny opponents lighting up the water like fireworks.

King’s Cove was different now. The pool was dark and cold, the water algae-green. The plants were dead, the waterfall a drip, drip, drip. The fairies were gone too, banished from the castle by Arthur after Guinevere and Merlin had both abandoned him, destroying Arthur’s faith in magic.

Tedros looked down at the kettlebells he’d stolen from the gym and stashed by the pool, along with a sad, lowly rope he’d tied to the ceiling to practice climbing.

He couldn’t exercise in that other room. Not if he had to be near that empty case and think about where the sword was now.

Slowly, his eyes rose to his father’s statue in the murky pool, caked with moss and dirt—King Arthur, Excalibur in hand, staring down at him.

Only he wasn’t staring. At least not anymore. His eyes were gone, violently gouged out, leaving two big black holes.

Tedros endured a wave of guilt, more intense than the one he’d felt in the gym.

He’d done it.

He’d carved out his own father’s eyes.

Because he couldn’t bear the old king looking at him after what happened at the coronation.

I’ll fix it, Father, he vowed. I’ll fix everything.

Tedros tossed his towel onto the mildewed floor and dove into the pool, thoughts wiped out by the harsh, stabbing cold.

Six months before, the day of the coronation had been brilliant and warm.

Tedros was utterly spent after everything that had happened leading up to it—reconciling with his mother, fighting a war against an Evil School Master, and making an all-night ride from school to Camelot in time for him to be crowned king the next day.

And yet, despite feeling like a sore, sleepless zombie, he couldn’t stop smiling. After so many false starts and twists and turns, he’d finally found his Ever After. He was the ruler of the most legendary kingdom in the Woods. He’d have Agatha by his side forever. His mother (and Lancelot) would live with them in the castle. For the first time since he was a child, he had a full family again—and soon a queen to share it with.

Any one of those would be a wonderful enough gift on this, his sixteenth birthday. But the best present of all? Sophie, his old friend-enemy-princess-witch, had been appointed Dean at the School for Evil far far away, where she’d remain at a safe distance from him and Agatha. Which meant no more Sophie thuggery, no more Sophie skullduggery for the rest of their lives. (He’d learned from experience that he and that girl couldn’t be in the same place without killing each other, kissing each other, or a lot of people ending up dead.)

“Hmm, can’t Merlin do a spell to make this smell better?” Tedros said in front of his bedroom mirror, sniffing at his father’s old robes. “This thing is rancid.”

“Whole castle is rancid,” groused Lancelot, gnawing on a slab of dried beef. “And I haven’t seen Merlin since he hopped out of the carriage in Maidenvale. Said he’d meet us at the castle. Should be here by now.”

“Merlin runs on his own time,” Guinevere sighed, sitting next to Lancelot on her son’s bed.

“He’ll be here soon. Can’t possibly miss my coronation,” Tedros said, holding his nose. “Maybe if we spritz this with a little cologne—”

“It’s a coronation gown, Teddy. You only have to wear it once,” said his mother. “Besides, I don’t smell anything except whatever it is Lance raided from the pantry.”

“Oh be serious, Gwen,” Lancelot growled, smacking at the bedsheets and spawning a dust storm. “What happened to this place?”

“Don’t worry. Agatha and I will fix everything,” Tedros declared, combing his hair. “We knew what we were coming back to. Dad’s advisors let the castle go to waste and lined their pockets with the kingdom’s taxes. Would’ve loved to have seen their faces when Lance threw them in the dungeons.”

“Oddly calm, to be honest. As if they expected it—or at least knew better than to fight,” Lance said, with a loud belch. “Insisted I don’t have the authority to jail them until Tedros is king. Told them to sod off.”

“They’re right,” Guinevere clipped. “And if you can’t eat like a proper human, I’ll have the kitchen put you on a vegetable diet.”

Tedros and Lancelot gaped at her.

“They’re right?” Tedros asked incredulously.

“Vegetables?” Lancelot blurted, mouth full.

“Until your coronation as king is official, the Council of Advisors appointed by Arthur has full authority to decide who runs Camelot,” Guinevere explained. “But in a few hours you will be king and it’s not like there’s a rival with a claim to the throne they can summon out of thin air. That’s why the guards didn’t stop Lance from jailing them.”

Reassured, Tedros went back to assessing his reflection.

“Darling, enough with the mirror. You look beautiful,” his mother said. “Meanwhile, poor Agatha is getting ready by herself and surely needs a lady’s help. Why don’t I go to her and leave you here with Lan—”

“Agatha’s fine,” Tedros said, picking at an annoying pimple near his mouth. God, I’m almost as bad as Sophie, he thought. But he was about to have an entire kingdom judging him. Who wouldn’t be self-conscious? “Besides, it’s my birthday,” he added, “and I want to spend time with my mother.”

He saw his mother blush, still unused to him being nice to her.

“Sounds more like Little King’s afraid of being alone with me,” Lancelot cracked.

“Call me ‘little’ again and I’ll run you through,” Tedros flared, tapping Excalibur on his waist. “No one on earth would choose to be alone with you anyway.”

“Except your mother. Likes our alone time just fine,” said Lancelot tartly.

“Oh good lord,” Guinevere mumbled.

“In any case, Agatha has that strange steward woman helping her get ready, the one who greeted us when we arrived last night and reeks of perfume,” said Tedros, checking his teeth. “Wanted to help me get ready but I said I had you two. Didn’t seem happy about it.”

“What’s the story there, Gwen? Looked about as thrilled to see you as you did her,” said Lancelot.

“There is no story. She was my steward until after Tedros was born. I had her dismissed. Now she’s back,” Guinevere said curtly.

“Well, clearly something happened between you two—”

“Nothing happened.”

“Then why are you making the same face about her as you made around Millie?”

“Who’s Millie?” Tedros asked.

“A horny goat that used to chase your mother around the farm,” Lancelot said.

Guinevere kicked him.

“God, you two had a lot of free time out there,” Tedros muttered into the mirror.

“Lady Gremlaine is irrelevant,” said Guinevere, sobering. “A steward only has responsibility over a prince until his coronation. After you seal your coronation, you’re in charge and can remove Lady Gremlaine from the castle once and for all.”

“So what does that mean, ‘seal my coronation’? I repeat a few vows and give a speech?” Tedros asked, finally tired of looking at himself. He plopped on a sooty armchair next to the bed.

His mother frowned. “You said you knew what happened at a coronation.”

“That you didn’t need a ‘lecture’ from us,” sniped Lancelot.

“Well, is there something special about the speech I should know about?” Tedros said impatiently.

“There is no speech, you twit,” Lancelot retorted.

Tedros blinked. “Then when do I introduce you two as part of my royal court?”

His mother and Lancelot exchanged looks. “Um, Teddy, I don’t think that’s a good move—”

“It’s the right move and the right move is the Good move,” said Tedros. “It’s been years since what happened between you two and Dad. I’m sure the people have moved on.”

Lancelot drew a breath. “Tedros, it’s not that simple. You’re not thinking about all the—”

“If we live in fear, we’ll never get anything done,” said Tedros, cutting him off. “I’ll tell this Gremlaine woman to seat you on the stage next to me.”

“I’m sure that will go over well,” his mother said cryptically.

Lancelot gave her another curious look, but Guinevere didn’t elaborate.

Tedros let the point go. From his one interaction with Lady Gremlaine, he was confident his new steward would abide by his wishes.

“So if there’s no speech, then what is there?” he asked, reclining against the chair.

“The chaplain will swear you in and make you repeat your vows in front of the kingdom,” his mother said. “Then you have to complete a ceremonial test.”

Tedros’ eyes widened. “Like those written tests we had in Good Deeds class?”

“You really are clueless,” Lancelot grouched. “It’s a test of your father’s choosing, written in his will and revealed at the coronation.”

“Pfft, Dad told me about that. That’s not a ‘test,’” Tedros scoffed. “It’s a token gesture. Said he’d never pick something I couldn’t do. That he’d pick something to make me look as strong and commanding before my people as possible.”

“Make you look strong and commanding? That’s a test in itself,” Lancelot murmured.

Guinevere glared at him and moved next to her son.

“So I have to perform the test Dad left for me?” said Tedros. “And then … I’m king.”

“Then you’re king,” his mother smiled, ruffling his hair.

Tedros smiled back, his heart light as a cloud (even though he’d have to comb his hair again).

“But first there’s dancing monkeys,” said Lancelot.

“Oh hush,” said Guinevere, chortling.

Tedros glanced between them. “Very funny.”

His mother was still laughing.

“Very funny,” Tedros repeated.

“Presenting the Mahaba Monkeys of Malabar Hills!” the courtier shouted.

A cannon blew confetti on the crowd and the people cheered, at least 50,000 of them, packed onto the hills beneath the castle. Per tradition, the drawbridge had been lowered, inviting citizens of Camelot onto royal grounds. They’d been crossing over since the morning to witness the coronation of King Arthur’s son and yet there were still thousands who wouldn’t fit, leaving them stranded on the drawbridge or below the cliffs, peering up at the castle balcony and the beautiful stone stage built for the occasion.

Sitting onstage, however, Tedros knew full well it wasn’t stone. It was cheap, rickety wood, masked with paint that made it look like stone and it creaked hideously under the weight of his father’s throne. Even worse, hot wax dripped onto his sweltering robes from wobbly candelabras they’d nicked from the castle chapel to save on ceremonial torches. Still, he’d kept his mouth shut: Camelot was broke and splurging on a coronation would be irresponsible. But now, watching hapless performers from neighboring realms, he was beginning to lose patience. First there was a fire-eater from Jaunt Jolie who accidentally set her dress aflame; then a tone-deaf chanteuse from Foxwood who forgot the lyrics to “God Save the King”; then two portly young brothers from Avonlea who fell off a flying trapeze into the crowd …

And now apes.

“If they weren’t trying so hard, I’d think they were mocking me,” Tedros grumbled, itching under his robes.

“I’m afraid the more skilled acts were out of budget,” Lady Gremlaine said from her seat beside him, sipping at a goblet of sparkling water. “We did pay for the monkeys, however. They were your father’s favorite.”

Tedros peered downstage at the six monkeys in red sequined fedoras, scratching their privates and wagging their bums out of synch.

“Was this before or after he started drinking,” Tedros said.

Lady Gremlaine didn’t laugh.

Agatha would have, he thought peevishly. Not only that, but for a woman who’d been determined to spend time with him, Lady Gremlaine didn’t seem to like him much.

When they first met last night, he’d assumed she thought him handsome and charming and would do anything he asked. But now that they were seated together, she kept throwing him skeptical looks any time he spoke as if he had the brain of an oyster. It was undermining his confidence right when he needed it most.

“I don’t understand why Agatha can’t sit here with me,” he said, squinting at the royal gallery below on the lawn where she was just a shadow, cooped up with the dukes, counts, and other titled nobles. “Or my mother for that matter.”

Lady Gremlaine straightened her turban. “Agatha is not your queen yet. After you’re married, she can join you at official events. As for your mother, given her and Lancelot’s ignominious flight from the castle, I thought it best to keep them out of sight and withhold news of their return until a more appropriate time.”

Tedros followed her eyes to a white scrim curtaining off the balcony behind them. Through the scrim, he could see his mother and Lancelot watching the ceremony with a few maids and kitchen boys.

“It’s a wonder news hasn’t leaked,” Lady Gremlaine added. “Lancelot made a spectacle throwing those advisors into the castle jail last night.”

“Who cares if it had leaked?” Tedros countered. “The sooner we tell the people my mother and Lance have returned the better.”

“Once you are crowned king, you can make your own decisions.”

“It’s just stupid having my own mother confined like a leper while I sit here with you,” Tedros badgered, glancing up at a cloud blocking the sun. “As if you’re my queen or something.”

Lady Gremlaine pursed her lips.

“When Merlin gets here, give him your seat, as he’ll be my real advisor once I’m king,” Tedros piled on.

“Merlin won’t breach the gates of Camelot. After he deserted your father, Arthur had him banned from the kingdom,” said Lady Gremlaine.

Tedros gave her a bewildered look. Neither Merlin nor his father had ever told him that.

“Well, Arthur also put a death warrant on my mother’s head and she’s very much alive,” Tedros said brusquely. “I don’t follow an ex-king’s edict and neither does Merlin, even if it was my father’s.”

“Then why isn’t Merlin here?” Lady Gremlaine challenged.

Tedros bristled, wondering the same thing. “He’ll be here. You’ll see.”

He has to be, the prince thought. The idea of ruling Camelot without Merlin was unfathomable.

“I wouldn’t bet on it. Defying banishment is punished by death,” said Lady Gremlaine crisply.

Tedros snorted. “If you think you can execute Merlin while I’m king you’re as clueless as those monkeys.”

A sequined hat hit him in the face and he swiveled to see the chimps in a violent brawl, pummeling each other as the crowd tittered.

“Is this really the best we can do?” Tedros moaned. “Who planned this idiocy?”

“I did,” said Lady Gremlaine.

“Well, let’s hope you’re not planning the wedding.”

“The wedding is planned entirely by the future queen,” Lady Gremlaine said, her face a cold mask. “I hope she is capable.”

“That’s a bet I’m willing to take,” said Tedros defiantly, trying not to frown.

Agatha: the wedding planner? Hadn’t she dressed as a bride for Halloween? If it were up to her, they’d marry at midnight in a boneyard, with that satanic cat presiding. …

She’ll be fine, he thought. Agatha always found a way. She’d no doubt share his opinion of Lady Gremlaine and his determination to prove her wrong. Plus, once Agatha saw how he handled his coronation, with royal decorum and integrity, she’d follow his example for the wedding. Soon Lady Grimface would be eating her words.

A long while later, after the monkeys had been soothed with a vat of banana pudding and dragged from the stage, Tedros took his place before Camelot’s chaplain, perilously old, with a bright red nose and wiry hair growing out of his ears. The chaplain put his hand on Tedros’ back and guided him to the front of the stage, overlooking the teeming hills.

On cue, the sun broke out from behind the cloud, spilling onto the young prince.

An awed hush fell over the crowd.

Tedros could see the legions gazing up at him with wide-eyed hope: the boy who vanquished the School Master … the boy who saved the Ever kingdoms … the boy who would make Camelot great again.

“I’m king of all these people?” Tedros rasped, the weight of responsibility finally hitting him.

“Oh, oh, your father asked the same thing, lad! Fear is a very good sign,” the old chaplain said, hacking a laugh. “And luckily, no one can hear us from way up here.”

The chaplain turned to a skinny, red-haired altar boy, who carefully handed him a jeweled box. The chaplain opened it. Sunlight ricocheted through five spires like a web of gold, eliciting gasps from the mob. Tedros gazed down at King Arthur’s crown, the five-pointed fleur-de-lis, each with a diamond in the center.

Once, when he was six, he’d stolen it from his father’s bed table and worn it to his lessons with Merlin, insisting the wizard bow and call him King. He assumed Merlin would put an end to his mischief—but instead the wizard obeyed his command, bowing eminently and addressing him as Your Majesty, all the way through math and astronomy and vocabulary and history. Perhaps the old wizard would have let him be king forever … but soon the young prince removed his crown and sheepishly returned it to his father’s table. For it was too heavy for his soft little head.

Now, ten years later, the chaplain held out the very same crown. “Repeat after me, young prince. The words might sound a bit funny, given it’s an oath that harkens back two thousand years. But words aren’t what make a king. That fear you feel is all you need. Fear means you know this crown has a history and future far bigger than you. Fear means you are ready, dear Tedros: ready to quest for glory.”

Legs quivering, Tedros repeated the chaplain’s oath.

“By thy Lord, on wrest that Godes doth place on my head, I swear to uphold the honor of Camelot against all foel. I swear to be a beacon in the darknell to thy enlightened realm …”

Like the old man warned, he tripped over the strange syllables and sounds, without knowing what he was saying. And yet, somewhere in his heart he did. His eyes welled up, the moment getting to him. Just a few years ago, he was a first-year boy at the School for Good and Evil, full of bluster and insecurity.

Now the boy would be a king.

A husband.

And someday a father.

Tedros made a silent prayer: that he would do Good as all three, just like the man who had made him. A man who he loved and missed every single day of his life. A man he’d give anything to touch one last time.

The chaplain placed the crown upon Tedros’ head and tears streamed down the young king’s cheeks while the crowd roared a passionate ovation that lasted long after he’d managed to get his emotions under control.

The chaplain patted his shoulder. “And now to seal the coronation and officially make you king, you must complete the ceremonial tes—”

“Do you mind if I say a few words first?” he asked the chaplain. “To my people, I mean.”

The chaplain furrowed. “It is a bit unusual to speak before the proceedings are complete, especially since no one will hear you.”

Something fell from above, right into the folds of Tedros’ oversized robe: a small five-pointed white star, like the ones Merlin used to lay in tribute at his father’s tomb in Avalon.

“Strange,” Tedros said, studying it closely. “Why would one of these be …”

His voice instantly amplified for miles.

The crowd gaped in astonishment, as did the chaplain, but Tedros knew full well where such sorcery had come from.

He looked up into the big blue sky and smiled. “Thanks, M,” he whispered.

Then he put the magic star on his shoulder so it would broadcast him far and wide.

“Felt funny looking down at all of you without saying hello,” he spoke, his voice resounding over the cliffs. “So, um, hello! I’m Tedros. And welcome to the … show.”

Crickets.

“Right. You know who I am. Same boy who used to stand here and fidget when my father gave speeches. Just older now. And hopefully a bit better looking.”

A ripple of laughter.

Tedros smiled, feeling the warmth of the crowd. They wanted to hear from him. They wanted him to do well.

He searched for Agatha below, but the sun washed out the faces. He was so used to having his princess by his side when it mattered. But after all they’d been through, he could feel her inside him even when they were apart. What would she tell him to say?

The same thing she always told him to say: the truth about what he was feeling.

Only he was never very good at that.

Tedros took a deep breath.

“When I was a boy standing up here with my dad, Good and Evil seemed so black and white,” he said, his voice steadying. “But of all the things I learned at school, one lesson proved the most important: no one knows what is good or bad until after the story is written. No one knows if a happy ending will last or if a happy ending is happy at all. The only thing we have is the moment we are in and what we choose to do with it.

“And so here we are at this moment. A moment where riding into Camelot doesn’t feel the same as it used to when I was a boy. We aren’t the shining kingdom by which all others are measured anymore. The streets are dirty, the people are hungry, and I can feel a rot at our core. Even the king’s chamber smells a bit moldy.

“Part of it is neglect, of course,” Tedros went on, “and those responsible have been removed from power and punished. But that won’t fix our problems. Even if we could bring back my father, King Arthur couldn’t make things the way they were. The Woods have been changed forever by an Evil School Master. And though he is dead now, the line between Good and Evil has blurred. Enemies disguise as friends and friends as enemies. Look at our own Camelot, decayed from the inside.”

The masses were rapt as they listened, their bodies like trees in a windless forest.

“I may be young. I may be untested. But I trust my instincts,” Tedros declared, confidence growing. “Instincts that helped me find my way back to you even when I had Evil’s sword at my heart and an axe at my neck. Instincts that helped me choose the greatest of all princesses, soon to be your queen.”

Everyone followed his eyes to the royal gallery, where the nobles stepped back, revealing Agatha in the sun’s spotlight.

Tedros smiled, expecting applause.

He didn’t get it.

The crowd took in her pallid, ghostly face, buggy brown eyes, and witchy black helmet of hair and then seemed to look around her, as if she was a stand-in for the great princess Tedros was speaking of, as if they couldn’t believe that this was the Agatha whose fairy tale had grown so famous throughout the Endless Woods. … But then they saw the diadem on her head—the same tiara Arthur once bestowed upon his own wife—and their postures stiffened, a soft murmur building.

“Together, Agatha and I have faced down terrible villains and found our happy ending,” said Tedros. “But after a fairy tale comes real life. This is no longer my and Agatha’s story, written by the Storian. This is the story of ourkingdom, which we must all write together. A history and future you are now a part of, even those who doubted my father, even those who doubt me. Today we turn the page.”

He took a deep breath. “And to prove that this is indeed the beginning of a new Camelot, my first act as your king is to present two members of my royal court. Two people who know our kingdom better than anyone and will protect it with love and courage.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Lady Gremlaine leap out of her seat—

In a flash, Tedros tomahawked Excalibur across the stage, slashing open the scrim over the castle balcony, before the sword planted blade-first in the balcony’s archway.

“Presenting my mother, Queen Guinevere, and our greatest knight, Sir Lancelot!”

Tedros beamed down at the crowd, believing full-heartedly that since he’d learned to forgive Guinevere and Lancelot, his people would do the same.

But now there was a collective wide-eyed gape as if they’d all stopped breathing, and a cold, deathly silence.

“Come, Mother. Come Lance,” Tedros prodded, hurrying over to his mother and yanking at her hand—

Gobsmacked, Guinevere stumbled over the fallen scrim, losing a shoe and almost face-planting before Lancelot caught her and glared daggers at Tedros. “What the hell are you doing!”

“Sit down!” Tedros hissed, shoving his one-shoed mother into his throne and Lancelot into Lady Gremlaine’s seat, while Lady Gremlaine gawped in horror.

Something in the crowd changed too. Tedros felt it in his gut: the way the once warm, hopeful air had turned wary upon his unveiling of Agatha and now had become menacing and tense. Sweat pooled beneath his crown.

His heart had told him welcoming back his mother and Lancelot was the right thing to do … the Good thing …

Did I make a mistake?

He swallowed his doubt. No going back now.

“Let’s get to the test,” Tedros pressured the chaplain, eager to seal this coronation and get his mother and Agatha inside.

“Yes—uh—of course,” the chaplain stammered, his eyes darting to Guinevere and the knight as he fumbled a faded parchment card from his robes. “Uh, hear ye, hear ye. As all prior kings, King Arthur Pendragon conceived this test to prove his successor be worthy of—”

Tedros ripped the card from his hands and read it out loud, his voice booming through the magic star:

“To seal his coronation, the future King of Camelot must pull Excalibur from an ordinary stone, as I once did.”

“Wow. That’s easy,” he blurted, voice echoing.

He hadn’t meant for the crowd to hear that.

“CAN SOMEONE FIND ME A STONE?” Tedros puffed, glancing uselessly around the stage.

Lancelot shifted in his chair, which made the stage creak so loudly the audience’s eyes went to him.

“Preferably one that isn’t made out of wood,” the knight said.

A ruckus echoed behind him and everyone turned to see the red-haired altar boy careen through the fallen scrim onto the stage, having tripped on Guinevere’s shoe. “Sorry! That’s my cue!” he squawked, dragging an iron anvil behind him. “Behold! The stone from which King Arthur once pulled Excali—”

The heavy anvil splintered the wooden platform. The edge of the stage imploded and the anvil plummeted straight through the hole like a cannonball, down to a cliff, where it bounced off the rock and fell into the ocean.

“This is going well,” said Lancelot.

Tedros scorched pink.

His mother’s eyes were glued to her one shoe. Lady Gremlaine wasn’t on the stage anymore. And he couldn’t even look in Agatha’s direction. He’d wanted the coronation to show her what kind of king he’d be. Instead, she was probably as mortified as he was.

“Merlin … some help?” he peeped desperately, glancing upwards.

A pigeon pooed, just missing his head.

“Enough,” Tedros boiled, jaw clenching. “To seal the coronation, I have to pull a sword from a stone? Well, the sword’s in one right now!”

He stamped to the back of the stage and the once-curtained-off castle balcony, where Excalibur was still lodged blade-first into the stone archway.

“So if I pull my sword out of this stone, it’s done, right? We can all go home,” he barked at the chaplain.

“Well, I don’t believe your father meant—”

“IS IT DONE OR IS IT NOT,” Tedros bullied.

The chaplain quailed. “Oh, yes … I suppose. …”

Tedros grabbed the hilt, practically screeching into the star on his shoulder, deafening the crowd: “Then in the name of my father, my kingdom, and my people, I hereby accept my place as Leader, Protector, and King of Camelot!”

He pulled at the sword.

It didn’t move.

“Huh?”

Tedros jerked harder. Still didn’t budge.

He could hear the restless mob shifting.

Putting his foot on the wall, he pried at the blade with all of his strength, his biceps straining against his skin—

Nope. Nothing.

Tedros was sweating now. He pulled right, left, front, back, trying to make the sword slide, but with each pull it seemed to bury harder into the stone. It didn’t make sense. Excalibur wasn’t wedged that deep and the archway’s stone was loamy and weak. Why wasn’t it moving?

People in the crowd were clutching each other, pointing at him open-mouthed. They knew what was happening. They knew after promising to save them as king, he was failing the first test that would make him king, a test that shouldn’t have been a test at all—

“Merlin … ,” he pleaded, but the sky was clear overhead, the white star on his shoulder lost and gone.

He couldn’t breathe, his wet grip on the hilt making his pulls shallow and frantic. His crown skewed on his head. His coronation gown ripped at the seams—

Please, he begged, heaving at the sword. Please!

Lancelot ran up. “Just yank the damn thing out!” he said, helping him jostle the hilt—

Tedros shoved him away. “It’s my test—I have to do it—”

But he pushed Lancelot too hard, who knocked backwards straight into the chaplain, upending the old man over the balcony. His priestly gown caught on the railing, leaving him dangling upside down, robes over his head, exposed save for his saggy pantaloons. Gold coins showered out of his pockets onto the crowd, causing a stampede for them as the chaplain howled. The altar boy ran to help his master, only to plunge through the hole in the stage left by the lost anvil.

Paralyzed, Tedros scanned the scene: Lancelot hoisting the chaplain over a balcony; Guinevere lurching to rescue a squealing altar boy hanging off a beam; his kingdom’s people punching each other for a handful of coins …

And six monkeys straddling a sword stuck in stone, slathering it with banana pudding, and sliding up and down the blade.

Tedros dropped to his knees.

“IT’S THEM!” a woman bellowed down below, pointing at Lancelot and Guinevere. “THEY’VE CURSED US! THEY’VE CURSED CAMELOT!”

“RIGHT FROM THE BEGINNING!” an old man yelled.

“WHY’D YOU THINK ARTHUR WANTED ’EM DEAD!” his wife shouted.

“TRAITORS!” a young boy heckled.

“FINKS!”

From the masses exploded a murderous mob, climbing up the stage’s beams towards Guinevere and Lancelot—

“GET THEM!”

“KILL THEM!”

But the beams couldn’t support their weight and shattered like sticks, sending the remainder of the stage timbering down over the crowd, the candles igniting the wood and pooled wax and detonating the stage like a fireball into the drawbridge. Shrieking villagers fled for their lives just as royal guards came smashing out the balcony windows, armed with swords and spears, led by Lady Gremlaine.

“TRAITORS!” the terrible cries echoed below. “MONSTERS!”

As people hurled things at the balcony, guards grabbed Guinevere and Lancelot and spirited them inside to safety, along with the others.

Only Tedros stayed behind, pulling and pulling at Excalibur, his bleeding hands slick with pudding, his face streaked with tears, before he suddenly felt the arms of men throw him over their shoulders—

“No! I can do it!” he choked, hands flailing for the sword. “I can do it!”

He screamed those words again and again, voice crumbling to rasps as they dragged him into the castle, until all that remained of Camelot’s Great Hope was a sobbing little boy, crown slid down over his eyes, hands stabbing wildly into the dark.







3


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SOPHIE (#ulink_56278e68-af2c-5532-bb0b-6bd95a884901)

Flah-sé-dah (#ulink_56278e68-af2c-5532-bb0b-6bd95a884901)


“So is he king or isn’t he?” Dean Sophie asked, nose buried in the Royal Rot. “According to the Camelot Courier, he is, but according to the Rot, he isn’t. What both agree on, however, is that once Tedros finds a way to pull Excalibur out of that balcony, then it’s settled and he’s king once and for all. But if someone else were to pull Excalibur out before Teddy … well, it wouldn’t matter, would it, since only the blood of Arthur can sit upon the throne … which means Tedros is king, now and forever, though it sounds like he’s only a ‘half-king’ without respect or support … or a sword.”






Draped in a plushy black bathrobe, Sophie leaned back, picking at the curlers in her blond hair as she scanned more articles:

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH CORONATION MONKEYS!

AGATHA: LOYAL PRINCESS … OR WITCH WHO CURSED THE CORONATION?

HORRO-NATION FALLOUT: IS LANCELOT PLOTTING TO STEAL THE CROWN?

“Six months later and it’s all anyone still talks about,” Sophie sighed, folding the newspaper and fingering a vial of gold liquid hanging from her necklace. “Poor, poor Teddy.”

“If Teddy’s so poor, why are you smiling,” grunted Hort.

Sophie looked out at her shirtless, raven-haired friend and two first-year Neverboys in sleek black uniforms lugging a marble statue of her across newly refurbished Evil Hall. “Are you implying that I’m happy about my two best friends being the laughingstock of Camelot? Are you implying that I take secret delight in whatever strains this humiliation has put upon their relationship?”

“You stalked Tedros for three years, tried to marry a murderous sorcerer to make him jealous, then held the whole Woods hostage when Tedros wouldn’t kiss you,” Hort said, rippled muscles shining as he slid Sophie’s statue through the red-and-gold ballroom. Above him, a few Nevergirls teetered on ladders to hang a chandelier, each crystal shaped like an S. “Plus, you’ve been writing Agatha for months trying to hijack the wedding planning and she won’t write you back and now you secretly want the wedding to bomb,” he added. “So yeah, not really implying. More just saying it.”

Sophie stared at him. “I want to be helpful to Aggie, Hort. She’s far away in a whole new kingdom, preparing for the biggest day of her life, and I want to be there for her. Am I hurt she hasn’t responded? A little, perhaps. But I’m not mad.”

“When you’re hurt, you get mad,” said Hort. “You get so mad that you turn witchy and start wars and people die. Check the history textbook.”

“Oh sweetie, that’s the past,” Sophie groaned, reclining against her glass throne, shaped like a five-pointed crown. “It’s a new year now and I’ve moved on, just like our former classmates who are off in the Woods, pursuing their fairy-tale quests. Look …”

She slipped the lid off the vial attached to her necklace and turned the vial upside down, emptying the gold liquid. But instead of falling to the floor, the liquid suspended midair, creating the outline of a large square before it magically filled in with a magnificent three-dimensional map of the Endless Woods. Scattered across kingdoms near and far were dozens of brightly colored figurines, like an army of toy soldiers, each resembling a fourth-year student from the School for Good and Evil and labeled with their name.

“And from the Quest Map, it looks like our friends are doing quite well,” said Sophie. “See, here’s Beatrix in Jaunt Jolie, fighting with Reena and Millicent as her sidekicks. … Here’s Ravan in Akgul, plundering the Iron Village with Drax as his henchman and Arachne as his mogrified newt. … Here’s Hester, Dot, and Anadil in Kyrgios on some ‘important’ mission they won’t tell me about, though it can’t be that important if they’re never in the same kingdom for more than a day. … And here’s Chaddick, off on Avalon Island by himself—mmm, strange; I thought he’d gone to Camelot to be Tedros’ knight. Why would he be in Avalon? Nothing but snow and tundra. No one even lives there. Well, except the Lady of the Lake, but she seals her castle’s gates to everyone except Merlin and Camelot’s king. … But it looks like Chaddick’s figure is inside her gates, doesn’t it? Maybe he’s flying over the island on a stymph or something. …”

“Blue means they’re winning their quest?” Hort asked.

“And red means they’re losing. That’s why my name is in blue,” preened Sophie, pointing to her figurine by the miniature school towers on the map. “My quest as Dean was to bring Evil into a new age, and clearly I’ve succeeded.”

“Well, my name’s in blue too,” said Hort, spotting his figure obscured by Sophie’s. “My students love me, I work out every night, and I’ve even started getting fan mail. Just the other day I got a note in a girl’s handwriting saying I was her favorite character from your story and that they didn’t make boys like me in Woods Beyond. Must be a Reader from your old town—”

“Or Castor playing a prank,” Sophie sniffed.

The puff went out of Hort’s chest. “Hey, wait a second. Isn’t it weird that every single name on this map is blue? Shouldn’t someone be losing their quest?”

“Ever since Clarissa gave me this map, we’ve been nothing but winners,” Sophie crowed. “So either I’m good luck or we’re a very talented group.”

“Or your map is broken, which would explain why it says Chaddick is inside the Lady of the Lake’s gates when that’s impossible,” said Hort. “Look, even Tedros and Agatha are in blue, which means, according to the Quest Map, they’re doing just fine.”

Sophie peered at him, then at Agatha’s and Tedros’ names in Camelot, just as blue as the others.

“That can’t be right,” she murmured. “How can Tedros be winning? I read Camelot’s papers every day. He’s the town fool! He’s a disgrace!”

She saw Hort smirking at her.

“Poor Teddy,” he said.

Sophie rose from her throne and sashayed past Hort. “Oh please, for all we know, Clarissa hexed his name to make him look good. Fairy godmothers love to cheat.” She swept her hand through the map, dispersing it to liquid and back into the vial on her neck. “And honestly, I can’t worry about a failed king and a princess who isn’t even queen and yet is somehow too busy to write her best friend. I have my school to run: 125 new Nevers who think Tedros and Agatha are old news and have their eyes on me. Plus, I have these pesky Readers we’ve accepted, who don’t have a clue. Why, on the very first day, a girl from Gavaldon caved in an entire classroom. So my hands are quite full, thank you. And even if I could spare a thought for Tedros—or any boy, for that matter—it would be a wasted one. I’m completely happy on my own, unattached and untroubled by the vagaries of love. Flah-sé-dah, that’s my new mantra: a blissful mélange of ‘laissez-faire’ and ‘la-di-da.’ Who needs the stress of love when there’s important work to do? I prefer a modest life now, dedicated to my students.”

“Um, throwing a Dean’s Dance the second week of school with the theme ‘Night of a Thousand Sophies’ where people have to dress up in outfits inspired by your fairy tale doesn’t seem modest to me,” said Hort, his Neverboy helpers murmuring assent as they polished the statue of Sophie in hooded robes, a crown of flowers upon her head. “Nor does taking half the Evil students out of class to decorate for it serve anyone but you,” Hort added, surveying the ballroom filled with Nevergirls in chic leather dresses and high black boots and Neverboys in stylish leather coats and skinny black pants, all hard at work: hanging tapestries of Sophie’s best moments as a student, polishing stained glass windows of Sophie’s face, and scrubbing the marble floor branded with a red S circled by olive leaves and topped with a gold crown.

“And yet here you are, helping them,” Sophie said, simpering at Hort.

“Yeah, so you’ll take me to the dance.”

“A Dean doesn’t need a date to her own dance,” Sophie bristled.

“But maybe she wants one,” said Hort, sweat dripping.

“What I want is for you to put on a shirt,” said Sophie, eyeing his sculpted torso.

“I seem to have lost it,” said Hort.

Sophie arched a brow. “Indeed.”

“Um, Professor?” a voice peeped.

Hort and Sophie turned.

Fifty first years blinked at them. “Someone’s knocking on the door,” a vampiric-looking girl wisped.

A barrage of loud raps echoed through the Hall.

Sophie waited until the knocking stopped. “Really? I don’t hear a thing.”

“By the way, I liked the castle better how it was before, when it was crumbly and dirty,” Hort said, rubbing out a stain on Sophie’s statue with his hand. “Everything’s too clean now. Like we’re trying to hide something.”

“Hogwash. How could anyone possibly prefer the old Evil,” Sophie pooh-poohed, glancing out the window at the renovated towers of Malice, Mischief, and Vice, lit up with red-and-gold paper lanterns. “Evil was so dark before. So morose and unattractive. No wonder we were always the losers. We acted like losers!”

“So Evil’s been around since the dawn of time, waiting for you to save it?” said Hort, stonefaced.

“Darling, if it wasn’t for me, Evil would have kept playing second fiddle to Good, dying in every story for no other reason than it made a tidier ending for the sweet, pretty Ever to win. But now look at us: new uniforms, new classes, new castle. … A new brand of Evil. Which is why I’ve invited the students from Good to join our dance tonight. I want them to see Evil is no longer the ugly stepsister. Evil is young and glamorous and en vogue. Tonight isn’t just a celebration; it’s a flag in the sand. A flag that says: it’s Evil’s time now. And if we happen to bring a few Evers into our ranks along the way … well, then, flah-sé-dah.”

She snapped her fingers—a scrawny, brown, rat-faced boy ran in from the wings and handed her a glass of green juice.

“Isn’t that right, Bogden?” Sophie smiled, sipping her juice.

“Flah-sé-dah,” he squeaked, fanning her with a palm frond.

Hort glared at the rat boy. “Why is he here?”

More loud knocks assaulted the Hall.

“Bogden of Woods Beyond?” said Sophie innocently, ignoring the knocks. “Didn’t you have him in class, Professor Hort? You are our school’s teacher of Evil history, are you not? Or do you make it a habit of not paying attention to the students you teach?”

Hort clenched his teeth. “First of all, I’m here to teach history as a last-minute favor to you since no one wanted a job where everybody who takes it ends up dead. Second, I shouldn’t even be here since Lady Lesso assigned me a normal quest like everyone else, which means my little soldier on your magic map should be in Maidenvale, fighting dragons and elves and maybe even getting my own fairy tale. But instead I left my quest to help you—”

“As Dean, I have the right to modify your quest as I see fit,” said Sophie.

“—and third, I know perfectly well who Bogden is,” Hort plowed on, “because he flunked my challenges and every other teacher’s the first week, which means he should have been expelled, since by your new rules, anyone who fails three challenges in a row is sent packing.”

“I know my rules, thank you. I just couldn’t bring myself to fail a fellow Reader,” Sophie sighed. “I too came from humble beginnings. I too craved a life better than Gavaldon’s, where I would have to churn butter and wash clothes and marry an obese man who expected me to obey him and you know … cook. It’s why I started accepting applications from Readers. They deserve to live out their fairy tales.”

“Then why have you been complaining about Readers the past two weeks?” Hort asked.

“Just that one Gavaldon Girl who destroyed a classroom and gives me the Evil eye every time she sees me. And not in a Good way. Bogden, on the other hand, treats me like a goddess,” Sophie said, beaming at the rat-faced boy. “So after his poor first week, I gave him the choice between being sent home or being my personal steward for the year. Looks a bit like the old you, doesn’t he, Hort? Before you started lifting weights to look like Tedros, I mean.”

Harder knocking now.

“If this is what you’re like as Dean, I can’t imagine what you’d have been like as Camelot’s queen,” said Hort.

“Psshh, no way,” Sophie said, lounging against her throne. “Presiding at court while people present their problems … that’s not me.”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Oh, let them in, for heaven’s sake!” Sophie moaned.

Instantly Bogden snatched a rolled-up red carpet from behind Sophie’s throne and unfurled it across Evil Hall, shunting Nevers out of the way with catlike hisses before he flung open the doors with a courtier’s bow—

A gaggle of adults flurried down the carpet, waving wild arms and shouting so loudly that Sophie peeked around for a window to jump out of.

“You can’t yank students out of class willy-nilly!” Professor Bilious Manley yelled, pimply head flushing red.

“You can’t invite Evers into Evil castle without School Master approval!” scolded Professor Sheeba Sheeks, shaking her fists.

“You can’t turn the School Master’s tower into your own private residence!” said Yuba the Gnome, white beard twitching.

“YOU THINK THAT’S BAD? SHE MADE BATHS MANDATORY!” Castor the Dog bellowed. “FOR TEACHERS TOO.”

The others gasped.

Sophie cinched her bathrobe tighter, curlers bouncing like Christmas ornaments. “First of all, I can do whatever I want with our students since I’m Dean. Second, seeing there is no School Master, I could invite Evers to a tarheeled hootenanny if I felt like it and no one could stop me! Third, even if we have a fleet of new fairies watching the Storian, I felt more secure living beside it, given that the protection of the enchanted pen is our school’s top priority—”

“And this protection includes renovating the tower to be a five-star hotel?” Manley barked, pointing out the window at scaffolding encasing the School Master’s spire. “The stymphs’ construction on the tower has been going on for months and nearly suffocated us all with dust! We’ve had enough!”

Sophie glared. “You expected me to live in that old stone cell like Rafal once did? Without silk carpeting or a proper bathtub or 360-degree lighting?”

The teachers were speechless.

Wolf howls echoed in the hallway.

“I believe that’s your cue to get back to teaching and mine to get ready for a Dean’s Dance,” said Sophie, rising from her throne—

Evil Hall’s doors flung open once more and Clarissa Dovey marched in, silver hair fraying from her high bun, beetle wings flapping on her green teacher’s gown.

“If it is, in fact, a Dean’s Dance, then one would assume I’m invited, since I am a Dean,” she said, gliding down the red carpet, a gold vial identical to Sophie’s dangling around her neck. “Only I received no such invitation.”

“Tonight is a celebration of glamour, charisma, and hope. Despite the rather maleficent entrance, I’m afraid you’d feel quite out of place,” said Sophie coolly.

“And yet you invited my students,” said Dovey.

“Who have RSVPed in remarkable numbers,” said Sophie. “I can assure you that none of my first years would attend a dance in your castle. And if they did, the fusty old smell would surely drive them away.”

Dean Dovey’s eyes flashed. “Oh, how the School Master will cook your goose.”

“Too bad there is no School Master,” Sophie purred.

Clarissa leaned in, eye to eye. “That will soon change.”

Sophie turned dead white.

The Dean of Good swept out of the Hall, Evil’s teachers following her, until the doors slammed behind them, shaking the chandelier. A clump of S crystals fell and shattered against Sophie’s glass throne.

She hardly noticed as Bogden picked shards out of her hair, her big, spooked pupils fixed on the door.

“New School M-M-Master?” she croaked.

She saw Hort, barechested against her statue, grinning like a weasel.

“Flah-sé-dah,” he sang.







4


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THE COVEN (#ulink_e862ef8d-d20d-5a16-99e5-ef94f1c42bc8)

Mission Diverted (#ulink_e862ef8d-d20d-5a16-99e5-ef94f1c42bc8)


“Let’s say a new Dean steps out of bounds—” started Hester.

“And becomes a menace to her own school,” added Anadil.

“And throws parties in honor of herself and forces everyone to take baths and makes kids eat boiled asparagus and wheatgrass,” said Dot.






“What would you do if you were School Master?” Hester finished.

The three witches each held a notebook open, feathered pen at the ready.

Seated in his rickety hut at the top of a very tall pea-tree, the Grand Vizier of Kingdom Kyrgios scratched his long, curly black beard, speckled with gold flakes like the strands of his flowing black hair. “I’m assuming this new Dean is … young?”

“And blond,” said Dot.

“I see,” mulled the Vizier in a deep baritone. “I would encourage this Dean to think closely about what is going on in her personal life that is affecting her professional one. Sometimes a Dean thinks a life of service is enough to bring fulfillment. And when it isn’t, they begin to push boundaries as a cry for help. A School Master can look that Dean in the eye and ask: ‘What is it you really need?’ Sometimes it’s as simple as a vacation to the salt baths in Shazabah. But sometimes it’s more than that. Much more. And it takes someone wise—deeply wise—to draw that out.”

Hester saw Anadil’s eyes flick to her before finding the Vizier’s once more. “But why would a Dean of Evil listen to you if you were School Master?” the albino girl asked. “You’re from an Ever kingdom, and no offense, even if you pledge to be ‘impartial,’ most Nevers think Evers are half-brained, milk-livered airtraps.” (Three black rats poked out of her pocket and hissed agreement.)

“Well, having two School Masters, one Good and one Evil, didn’t work out, did it?” the Vizier answered, glancing at the wooden clock on his mantel. “I suggest this time you focus on quality over quantity. Also, as I’d hope you’d have learned in your history classes, Kingdom Kyrgios was once a Never kingdom. Which means given my long life span, I’ve served both Ever and Never kings with equal success.”

Dot scribbled a few notes, her stomach burbling loudly. “Speaking of life spans, from our research, it seems you’ve been able to stay alive this long by using a variety of life-extending magic. Excuse my bluntness, but we don’t want a School Master who will drop dead his second week on the job. How much longer do you expect to live?”

“Are the crisps stale? None of you have touched them,” the Vizier said.

Hester followed his eyes to the green-colored chips stacked on a plate. Like everything else in Kyrgios, they smelled of peas, since peas were the lifeblood of the kingdom. The Kyrgians even slept inside the pea pods that hung off trees like the one they were in now. Luckily, the witches weren’t staying the night since they had another interview scheduled in Pasha Dunes the next morning.

“Not hungry. Had a big breakfast,” Hester snipped, though Dot’s stomach was rumbling like a kettledrum now. “Now if you don’t mind answering Dot’s question …”

“I’m confused. When is Dean Dovey joining us?” the Vizier asked, frowning. “I need to get back to work. We’ve had strange attacks of late: a rogue carriage deliberately running over people, along with reports of pirates lurking near the Four Point, which is sacred land. I made the time to come here, assuming your Dean would be present.”

“And we thank you for making that time. But as we informed you in our letter, Dean Dovey entrusted us with the task of researching, locating, and interviewing possible School Master candidates as our fourth-year quest,” Hester spouted, as if she’d had to say this many times before. “Though we check in with Dean Dovey regularly, she will only be meeting with our final nominees.”

The Vizier smiled blandly. “So Dovey remains in her glass towers fussing over lunch menus and school dances while she leaves the crucial work of choosing a School Master, protecting the Storian, and defending the balance of our world to … children.”

“Children who have spent the last six months meeting with some of the most illustrious heroes and villains in the Woods,” said Anadil.

“Children who have sought out candidates in floating mountains, cloud forests, piranha lakes, active volcanoes, ice castles, mermaid lagoons, elephant graveyards, and the belly of a very large whale,” said Dot.

“Children who will do whatever it takes to find the right person for the job, because this is our fairy-tale quest,” said Hester, demon tattoo twitching on her neck.

“Wouldn’t you rather be fighting a giant or elf-prince so you can get your name in a storybook?” the Vizier said, becoming serious. “This all feels like a leader sending their henchmen to get the job done. And that never turns out well.”

“Unless the leader knows we are the only people who can get the job done,” said Hester. “Because this is a quest that will shape Good and Evil for a long time to come and our coven cares more about that than having our names in a storybook, which is precisely why Professor Dovey picked us in the first place. And if she—the Dean of our enemy school—is willing to put the fate of the Woods in our hands rather than her own or anyone else’s, then I suggest you stop worrying about our ages and start worrying about how to best respect the students you so wisely expect to lead.”

The Vizier gaped at her.

“That’s all,” chimed Dot, turning a pea-crisp to chocolate and flouncing with her friends out of his hut.

A moment later Dot shuffled back in. “Can you help us get down from this tree?”

Dovey checked in with them each day at one o’clock, so the witches found a place to settle for lunch in Eternal Springs, a small jungle kingdom fifteen miles from Kyrgios. Eternal Springs was populated entirely by animals since it rained nearly every day of the year, and despite the abundance of greenery and food, no human or sentient creature wanted to live in a place that wet. As the witches waded through lush thickets and colorful flowers in their dumpy black dresses and boots, Hester could see deer, storks, and squirrels watching them as if they were an eclipse of the sun.

They’d been on foot most of these past six months, since the Flowerground had restored only limited service after being ravaged during the previous School Master’s reign. Along the way, they’d seen wonderful, curious things: the kingdom of Kasatkina, ruled entirely by cats; the Night Pools in Netherwood, which brought your worst fears to life; the Living Library in Pifflepaff Hills, which had ancestry scrolls on every soul in the Woods, kept by a very large bat; and the Caves of Contempo in Borna Coric, where time ran backwards. They’d even taken a ride aboard the legendary Blue-Boned Stymph, from which they’d had a rare view of the Four Point: a small, square plot of land at the intersection of four kingdoms. It was the site of King Arthur’s last battle, where he’d been mortally wounded, and was now considered a truce mark between Good and Evil, explained Hester, who’d read about it in A Student’s History of the Woods. Camelot’s flag flew high over the land, whose boundaries were guarded by four walls made of rushing waterfalls, enchanted by the Lady of the Lake. If anyone got close enough that even a drop of water touched their skin, the Lady would reach out and drown them. The girls had made sure to stay at a safe distance as they flew on to their next interview in Hamelin.

But that was back when they’d first started, when the search for a School Master was marvelous fun, no matter how tiring or dangerous. Endless travel in the summer heat had taken its toll: Dot had blisters and an aching lower back, Hester’s demon had a perpetual frown, and even Anadil’s albino-white skin had the hint of a tan. At least they were safe here in Eternal Springs, if a little damp, and after six months of crossing in and out of new kingdoms, all in pursuit of the best possible candidates they could take back to their Dean … well, safety was about as much as they could ask for.

Finding a spot under a well-canopied palm, Hester whipped up a lunch of avocados and custard-apples that she’d snapped off trees, while Anadil cracked open a few coconuts filled with sweet water and Dot spread out sheets of crumpled old newspaper she’d dug out of her bag so they wouldn’t have to sit in wet dirt. For ten minutes, they ate silently as rain spritzed around them, the three witches lost in their own heads, before they came out of their fugue all at once, like best friends often do.

“I thought this last one was the most promising so far,” Anadil said, watching her rats wrestle over a dead caterpillar.

“Pea-man?” Dot snarfled, mouth full.

“Calm, reasonable … I can see him in the School Master’s tower,” Anadil continued, slurping coconut water. “Even more than the Ice Giant from Frostplains, the fairy-rights activist from Gillikin, or that monkey king from Runyon Mills.”

“None of them have been right,” muttered Hester. “We can do better.”

“At some point, we have to pick someone, Hester. It’s been six months,” said Anadil. “Without a School Master, the Storian is vulnerable. So are the Woods.”

“I liked the Augur of Ladelflop,” said Dot. “He told me I was pretty.”

“He was blind,” snapped Anadil.

“Oh. Pea-man was better, then,” said Dot.

“We have to pick someone by the wedding,” Anadil resolved, giving Hester a wary look. “We’re not missing the wedding, right?”

Hester paused, picking at her food before looking up. “No. We’re not missing the wedding.”

Anadil sighed softly.

“No letters from Agatha in months, though,” Dot said, sliding off her boots. “Not since the one where she pretended like everything at Camelot was peaches and roses. Hope the wedding’s still on.”

“Dovey would have told us if it wasn’t,” said Anadil.

“I knew we should have been at the coronation. Maybe we could have stopped everything from going belly-up,” said Dot.

“Finding a new School Master was more important than watching Tedros make an ass of himself … again,” said Hester, pulling back her red-and-black hair. “I’m sure he’ll give a repeat performance in two months.”

“The wedding’s that soon?” Dot said.

“Here comes the ‘wedding diet.’ Let me guess: everything you touch will turn to kim-chi,” Anadil cracked.

“Noooo ma’am. No more diets. I’ve been fat, I’ve been thin. Fat is better, no matter what Daddy says,” Dot piped, digging into her chocolate-avocado pudding. “I just mean time is going fast and we haven’t found a School Master yet.”

They suddenly noticed Hester had gone quiet, squinting at her food.

“Hester?” Dot prodded.

Hester lifted her half-eaten avocado and studied the newspaper beneath the dish. “How old is this paper?”

“Um, got it in Gillikin … so like three weeks ago?” said Dot.

Hester leaned in, inspecting the headlines on the crusty parchment:

PIRATES TAKE OVER PORTS IN JAUNT JOLIE; NUMBERS GROWING

KIDNAPPING FOILED IN RAINBOW GALE

FIRE AT GLASS MOUNTAIN ORCHARD

Her stomach twisted. Every single headline involved one of their classmates’ quests. Beatrix was leading the charge against vicious pirates in Jaunt Jolie; Vex and Mona were supposed to kidnap the Seer of Rainbow Gale who’d been helping Evers cheat their happy endings; Kiko was with the group tending the consecrated orchard atop Glass Mountain. …

And from the headlines, it didn’t sound like any of it was going well.

“What’s wrong?” Anadil asked, her rats peeking up from their meal.

Hester put her own food down, obscuring the parchment. No use worrying her friends over old news. Besides, was it her fault if her classmates were incompetent twits and failing their missions? Right now, she had her own quest to worry about.

She turned to her friends. “Are you sure we’re asking the right questions?”

“You mean should we be asking candidates if they like candlelit dinners and walks on the beach?” said Anadil. “After six months, eighty interviews, and I don’t know how many nights listening to Dot fart in her sleep, now you’re wondering if we’re asking the right questions?”

“It was those lentil cakes in Drupathi,” Dot lamented.

“I just keep thinking about what Lady Lesso would do if she was here,” Hester said, “because it feels like everyone we meet is saying exactly what we want to hear. Like how do we know Mr. Calm and Reasonable won’t turn into psychotic Rafal the moment he gets near the Storian?”

Dot and Anadil had no defense.

“Look, I know some are definitely better than others,” said Hester, “but this is the future School Master we’re talking about—the protector of the pen that rules all our lives—and we can’t make a mistake.”

“But we also can’t read their minds,” pushed Anadil. “And the longer we wait, the more chance there is that someone swoops in and tries to fill the School Master’s place on his own. Someone as bad as Rafal. Or worse. And then who are the Woods going to turn to for help? The King of Camelot, like they used do? Tedros? You think he can lead? You think he can unite Good and Evil? He couldn’t even get through his own coronation!”

Hester watched her avocado turn black.

“Besides, it’s not like we’re making the final decision. We just have to give Dovey a shortlist. The final decision is up to her—” Anadil persisted.

“It’s up to both Deans,” Hester shot back. “Do you really want Sophie picking the next School Master? After she fell in love with the last one?”

“Mmm, he’d be pretty at least,” Dot mused. “Sophie does have good taste in men.”

Hester gave her a putrid look.

“What? It’s true,” Dot said. “She’s probably sneaking gorgeous Everboys into Evil as we speak.”

“Maybe the oldSophie would have,” Anadil countered. “But she’s Dean now. She’s the face of Evil.”

“Ani’s right. She has changed,” Hester admitted. “I mean we hated her as Dean those last months of school, but she really did seem happy without a boy.”

“For now,” said Dot.

“For now,” Anadil conceded.

“And from what Dovey’s told us, she’s getting worse,” said Dot. “Moving into the School Master’s tower … adding beach cabanas to Halfway Bay … turning the Doom Room into a dance club on Saturday nights … morphing the castle into a living memorial to herself … Sounds like she’s starting to ‘push boundaries,’ just like Pea-man said. I mean, how long before she decides she needs a date to Agatha’s wedding?”

Hester and Anadil goggled at her.

“Um, hellllloo, you don’t think Sophie would show up alone, do you? To her best friend’s wedding to a king?” Dot asked.

Hester looked at Anadil. “Every once in a while, she says something worth thinking about.”

“Not enough to keep her around,” said Anadil.

“Next time I’m eating all the lentil cakes,” Dot huffed.

Suddenly a tiny spray of white light appeared above them, as if the air had ripped open, giving them a peek into a new dimension. The light distended and wobbled like a sack of water before it slowly took the shape of a circle and Professor Dovey’s face appeared in the middle, blinking at them from inside a crystal ball.

“Girls, I have news,” she said breathlessly.

Immediately Hester noticed something was wrong. Dovey’s eyes were rimmed red, her hair frazzled and greasy, and the lines around her mouth rutted deep.

Her office was a mess, littered with newspapers and scrolls. The gold vial that Dovey had recently been wearing around her neck was now empty and there was a map floating in the air like a wandering balloon, covered in red lettering Hester couldn’t make out. There was even a food stain on the Dean’s green gown, which made Hester think the situation was dire indeed, since no one had ever seen Professor Dovey look anything but spotless.

“Uh, are you okay, Professor?” Hester asked, struggling to muster sympathy, an emotion she didn’t really have. Though she had zero respect for fairy godmothers (and Dovey had been Cinderella’s before becoming Good’s Dean), the fact Dovey trusted them with this mission had softened Hester’s opinion of her. She’d even begun to see Clarissa Dovey as a friend. “You look a little … um …”

“Girls, your quest is over for now,” Professor Dovey declared. “I need you to return to school.”

The witches gasped.

“You can’t do that—” Dot started.

“After all we’ve—” Anadil overlapped.

Hester cut them off. “Professor, I know we haven’t brought you a shortlist of candidates, but we’re working like dogs to find someone we believe in and trust me when I say, we’re all deeply grateful for this responsibility—”

“Hester,” said Professor Dovey.

“You can trust us to finish the job. Please don’t punish us by taking our quest away, not when we’re finally starting to figure out—”

“Hester,” Professor Dovey snapped. “This is not about punishing you. On the contrary, I have complete faith in your abilities. That’s why I need your help on an urgent matter. A matter that supersedes all else.”

Hester stared at her. “But what can be more urgent than finding a new School Mas—”

Behind Dovey, the door to her office swung open and Professor Emma Anemone peeked beneath the floating map, slathered in a green beauty mask. “Clarissa, do you mind if I attend Dean Sophie’s Dance this evening? Given how many of our students are going and with Princess Uma still on leave, surely someone from Good should be—”

“Not now, Emma!” the Dean barked.

Professor Anemone fled.

“Professor Dovey—” Hester started.

“I don’t have time for questions, Hester. I need you to return to the castle at once. The Peony line on the Flowerground is up and running from Eternal Springs and can get you back by nightfall.”

“Of course. Anything to help,” Hester said feebly, still upset their quest would be cut short. “But can I at least ask … Is this about Sophie?”

“And Everboys?” said Dot.

“Oh shut it, Dot,” Hester ripped.

“Girls, our troubles are far bigger than the antics of a fellow Dean,” Professor Dovey said, glancing up anxiously at the magic map. “But I will say this …”

She leaned in, glaring hard into the crystal ball. “I’m hoping you can take care of two birds with one stone.”







5


(#ulink_611e5f8f-bf23-5770-9c91-9eca5d512c2e)

AGATHA (#ulink_611e5f8f-bf23-5770-9c91-9eca5d512c2e)

Intervention (#ulink_611e5f8f-bf23-5770-9c91-9eca5d512c2e)


“One two three, one two three … Buttocks in, child! And head up! You’re waltzing, not scouring the floor for lost coins!” Pollux barked at Agatha, his dog’s head attached to a fat sheep’s carcass. Wobbling around the Gold Tower ballroom, Pollux kept time with a willow stick as Agatha danced with the skeletal, red-haired altar boy who’d made a spectacle of himself at Tedros’ coronation. “Don’t rush, girl … one two three … and stop gripping Willam like he’s the last lifeboat out of Ooty! And smile, Agatha. This isn’t a devil’s haunt. Dance like this and you’ll be egged at your own wedding!”






“How are you even here!” Agatha growled, exasperated by her clumsy feet, her hapless partner, and the return of a prissy, scant-furred, snub-nosed canine she thought she’d left behind at school. Pollux was one half of a two-headed Cerberus who taught at the School for Good and routinely lost the battle to use the body to his Evil brother Castor. Which meant that whenever the two siblings were apart, Pollux had to find dead animals to attach his own head to—in this case, a rotting ewe’s.

“Clarissa Dovey and I had a falling out,” Pollux sniffed. “After Sophie was appointed Dean of Evil, I encouraged Clarissa to consider her own succession plan just as her friend Lady Lesso did before her untimely death. As I explained to Dean Dovey, not only is she ripe in age, but it’s time for Good to have a fresh face at the fore rather than one sagging past its prime. Of course I pointed this out in the most tactful manner, but Clarissa ignored my many missives. … Spine straight!” He swatted Willam with the stick and the boy yelped—

“So, I circulated a petition advocating for a mandatory retirement age, which Dean Dovey is well past. Naturally, I also nominated myself to replace her, but the shrew caught wind of the plan and had me fired—” Pollux jabbed Agatha with his stick. Agatha snapped it in two and handed it back to him.

“I see royal life has done nothing for your attitude,” Pollux glowered. “Do you want your wedding to be as pathetic as the coronation? Imagine the Royal Rot: ‘WORST BRIDE EVER!’ Is that what you want, Agatha? More embarrassment?”

Agatha’s anger fizzled. “No.”

“Good, because when Lady Gremlaine heard of my travails at school, she brought me here to help you,” said Pollux. “Specifically to teach dance, etiquette, and history in preparation for your wedding. She’s even planning to make me your permanent steward, given your need for constant supervision.”

“Stewards are for kids,” Agatha frowned. “I won’t need a steward once I’m officially queen—”

“Only you can’t be officially queen until Tedros is officially king and right now there’s a sword hanging over that prospect,” Pollux said, gazing through the ballroom window at Excalibur, sticking out from a Blue Tower balcony across the catwalk. Two royal guards stood on either side.

Pollux met Agatha’s eyes. “So until your dear unofficial king finds a way to pull that sword and seal his coronation, he has Lady Gremlaine watching his every move and you have me.”

Agatha nearly retched.

Willam stepped hard on her toe.

“Ow!” Agatha blared, knocking Willam into Pollux.

“Who needs a wedding when you can have a circus?” Pollux scowled.

After two more insufferable hours, Agatha moved to etiquette training, where she had to learn the names of 1,600 wedding guests from fat albums of portraits, with Pollux spraying her with stinging lemon juice every time she missed one.

“For the last time, who is this?” Pollux crabbed, pointing at a hook-nosed face.

“The Baron of Hajebaji,” Agatha said confidently.

“Baroness! Baroness!” Pollux yelled.

Agatha goggled at him. “That’s a woman?”

By then she was dripping in lemon juice, still distracted by the sight of the sword in the balcony and unable to focus on anything else. Thankfully the dog was interrupted by a courier crow (with a message from Castor), which gave Agatha time to think.

She’d always assumed that Tedros would pull Excalibur from the stone eventually.

Sooner or later he’d jolt the blade free or he’d figure out it was a clue to another puzzle or riddle and then he’d solve it. She’d yet to consider that Tedros might never complete his father’s coronation test … that the sword might stubbornly hang in that balcony for the rest of their lives, an eternal reminder of his failure. In which case, Tedros would never feel like a true king. He’d be trapped in this cycle of shame and isolation, so different from the gallant, open-hearted boy who once looked to her as his partner.

But what can I do to help him? Agatha thought, gazing out the window at the rain. This wasn’t like a Trial by Tale at school, where she could sneak in to save him. The sword was Tedros’ test and his alone.

And yet, if she could help him somehow … wouldn’t that fix everything?

Agatha watched the storm gust across the castle—

Something caught her eye through the rain.

Agatha leaned over the windowsill to get a closer look.

Across the catwalk, a boy had emerged onto the Blue Tower balcony in beige breeches and a gray hooded shirt with the hood pulled over his head. He dismissed the guards and stood there all alone, drenched clothes clinging to his muscular frame. He peeked around to make sure no one was watching—Agatha ducked out of sight—before he began stretching each of his arms and shaking the tension out of his legs.

Then, with a deep breath, he gripped Excalibur by the hilt and began to pull.

The past six months, she’d watched Tedros do this every night: the same skulking onto the balcony, the same dismissing of the guards, the same diligent warm-up before he did battle with his father’s sword. In the beginning, there had been sword masters, blacksmiths, and ex-knights who coached him as he pulled, while Lady Gremlaine looked on with narrowed eyes. Back then, the kingdom had been on the verge of war, with half the people supporting Tedros as king and half calling for his deposal. Six months later, both sides had settled into a stagnant détente, the trapped sword a symbol of a king they were stuck with. Now there were no more coaches or watchful stewards, but still Tedros tried at the sword, again and again. This was the first time Agatha had ever seen him during the day, though, for he’d always waited until the sun was down, when no one beyond the castle would be able to spot him. Perhaps he thought the storm was camouflage enough or perhaps today he didn’t care who saw him as he heaved and sweated, ripping at the blade from every angle. …

Excalibur didn’t budge.

This too was part of the routine, and Tedros would react to defeat like he had every day these past six months: by getting up at dawn and working out even harder, as if it was his strength that was failing him and nothing else. Truth was Agatha had never seen him so strong, ripped muscles stretching his shirt, like he could shotput a ship out of the ocean. He tore at the hilt with this new strength, bright blood streaking his palms, dripping down steel, before he threw back his head and let out a single, futile cry—

Agatha closed her eyes and exhaled.

When she opened them, he was looking right at her.

She could hardly make out his face through the lashes of rain, but he was frozen still, gazing at her from beneath his hood. It was a dead, empty look, as if their shared past had been erased. As if this was the first time he’d ever seen her.

“You won’t learn the Empress of Putsi’s name by mooning into the rain,” a voice said.

Agatha turned to see Pollux and his sheep corpse lording over her. He glared down at her soggy album, a mess of runny colors.

“I know you’re not one for ceremony or celebration or nice things, Agatha. But this is your wedding,” said Pollux.

“And I thought it was a Leprechaun’s Ball,” she said.

“If you’re going to treat this as a joke, then maybe I should call Lady Gremlaine—”

“Run to mommy like you always do.”

“You are a sad little girl,” Pollux retorted.

“Says the dog puppeting a sheep.”

Pollux sighed. “I’m not here to torture you, Agatha. I’m here to help you get married. You have to care.”

“I care,” Agatha said quietly.

“You have to care because it’s a timeless tradition and because it’s the first time your people will see you as a queen—”

“I care,” Agatha repeated.

“You have to care because this is your legacy—”

“I care,” Agatha said.

“Do you?” said Pollux incredulously. “Based on what I see, you don’t. Tell me why I should believe you care about your wedding—”

Agatha looked at him. “Because I need to remind Tedros that we were happy once.”

Sorrow softened Pollux’s face.

Agatha turned back to the rain, hoping her prince was still there. …

But all she could see were two guards, wiping his blood off a sword.

Agatha ate dinner in the queen’s bathroom, where no one could bother her.

She still had her Wedding History lesson, but Pollux let her eat before it without alerting her chambermaids—a clear breach in protocol, since they had to know where the princess was at all hours.

Instead, Agatha had barreled into the kitchen herself, sending ten cooks into coronary shock.

“Princess Agatha,” Chef Silkima gasped, her rich brown skin flecked with flour. “What’s happened? … Is everything all r—”

“Can I get spaghetti with cheese for dinner?” said Agatha. “Lots of cheese. Tons. Like enough to ruin the dish.”

Chef Silkima and the cooks gaped down at their finished platters of cumin-spiced coconut soup, curried chicken in a green chili sauce, potato tikkis with peas and scallions, black-lentil salad with salmon crumbs, and a five-layer kulfi pistachio cake.

“Spaghetti with … cheese?” Chef Silkima croaked.

“To go, please,” said Agatha.

One of the cooks dropped his spoon.

Now, as she sat dangling bare feet into a bathtub of hot water, surrounded by mirrors and peeling gold wallpaper, Agatha twirled creamy-white spaghetti from a porcelain bowl into her mouth, savoring the melted mozzarella.

Everyone had their comfort in times of stress: Sophie had sea-salt facials, juice fasts, yoga poses, and deep-tissue massages; Tedros had dumbbells and climbing ropes and anything to work up a sweat. …

Agatha had food.

More precisely: so much food that it induced a warm, velvety coma that dulled her senses and made her unable to think beyond the gurgles of her stomach.

Reaper moseyed into the bathroom and sniffed at a scrap of cheese. He gave Agatha a curdled look, as if he thought she’d outgrown all this, and shuffled away.

Agatha and Tedros had certainly had fights before. Fights that made Agatha doubt whether he loved her or she loved him or whether they even belonged together. But this wasn’t a fight. She was sure Tedros loved her now—or at least as sure as she could be. …

Except relationships aren’t just about love, Agatha realized. Relationships are about taking off the mask you wear to make someone like you and letting them see the real you. The one you hid all along. The one you never thought was good enough to find love in the first place.

Tedros had helped her peel off her mask in her years at school. He’d seen her at her most vulnerable and her absolute worst and loved her even more for it.

But now it was Tedros’ turn to do the same and he was acting like most boys do when asked to face their feelings. …

They run.

There was another thing that also made this rift different than the others, Agatha thought, spotting the pile of letters on her desk. She could see the latest one, which she’d read so many times, yet left unanswered.

Darling,

I know you’re not reading this. I know you’re not reading any of my letters. You’re in love and have a wedding to plan and have no time for silly old me, but if you do read this, just know that you are in my heart always. And living without you has been far harder than I could ever admit out loud. So let me say it here. I miss you.

Love,

Sophie

P.S. Did you know Hort has been getting love letters from a girl?

Agatha wiped her eyes. Back at school, she’d always had Sophie by her side, the third point in the triangle between her and Tedros.

A hollow loneliness overwhelmed her and for the first time she saw it wasn’t just her old, chivalrous prince she was yearning for, but her bold, beautiful best friend too. A best friend she’d been avoiding, just like Tedros had been avoiding her.

Now she was all alone.

Outside, she heard wind and rain batter the ships in the harbor. Glancing through a small window, she saw none of these ships could sail; they were broken, neglected, and falling apart, like the rest of Camelot. Well, not all the ships: there was one that looked sturdy, with brilliant blue-and-gold finishes and milky white sails. Along the bow, she read the ship’s name … IGRAINE.

“Agatha?” Pollux’s voice echoed outside. “Shall we resume our—”

A loud hissing noise interrupted, followed by dog barks and crashing furniture.

Pollux had met Reaper.

Twenty minutes later, Agatha was in the Library, a two-story collection in the Gold Tower that must have once been impressive, but was now a heap of cobwebs, moth-eaten books, and so much dust she could hardly breathe. There were colorful sheets slung over the bookcases and desks, as if someone had started renovating a decade ago and never got around to finishing. Agatha slouched at a desk shrouded in a purple sheet, trying to take notes as Pollux scrawled on a squeaky chalkboard, his face slashed with claw-marks, suggesting he’d lost the battle with her cat.

“You certainly don’t want to be like Princess Kerber, who was so overwrought on her wedding day she ate an entire jar of peanut butter and vomited on her poor groom’s shoes. Conversely, learn from the example of Princess Muguruza, who married a commoner, nearly prompting a revolt, until she revealed her bridal gown, made entirely out of pink pearls she’d dredged from the Savage Sea. No one dared attack a girl who’d braved such treacherous waters and in time, every last dissenter forgave her. …”

Agatha glazed over, her head drooping into the purple sheet. She tried to force herself awake, prying her eyes open—

That’s when she saw the pattern stitched on the fabric.

Tiny, silver five-pointed stars in a purple night sky, like they’d been drawn by a child.

It wasn’t a sheet at all.

It was a cape.

Agatha held in a smile, her eyes on Pollux’s back. She put her nose to the purple velvet and inhaled the scent of fresh cocoa, as if someone was brewing it right now. …

“Then there was Princess Mahalaxmi, whose father kidnapped her during the ceremony and sold her to a Never warlord in Ravenbow,” Pollux rattled. “Which goes to show all family entanglements should be sorted before the wedding. …”

Agatha rose from her chair, careful not to make a sound, and slipped her palms into the cape, vanishing her hands like a magic trick … then her arms … then her shoulders. …

“I don’t hear your pen, Agatha. This is for your own good,” Pollux tutted—

But by the time he turned, all that remained of his student was a single clump, somehow left behind.

The moment Agatha put her face through the cape, she felt herself swaddled in velvet, then plummeting through darkness, pulses of blinding white light streaking by. She closed her eyes and let herself free-fall, her arms raised, her one-shoed feet splayed, her mind untethering from her thoughts, her fears … until at last she crashed face-first into something fluffy and soft and tasted sweet cloud in her mouth.

Agatha opened her eyes and craned up to a purple night sky lit by thousands of silvery five-pointed stars, as if the childish pattern on the cape in the Library had come to life in heavenly dimension.

“The Celestium,” Tedros once called it. The place where wizards go to think.

Agatha rose to her knees and saw there was indeed a wizard peering thinkingly at her, sitting cross-legged on the cloud with purple silk robes, a droopy cone hat, horn-rimmed spectacles, and soft-furred violet slippers.

“Merlin,” she smiled.

“Sorry to interrupt your lessons, dear girl, but I’m afraid we have more important ones at the moment,” the old wizard said, sipping at a mug of cream-topped cocoa. “First, tell me: Do you want whipped cream in your chocolate? Provided my hat complies. A third mug of cocoa might be too much to ask. He’s been rather insubordinate of late, insisting on a minimum wage and a month of paid vacation—”

“A ‘third’?” asked Agatha, confused. “But there’s only you and me here.”

“Goodness, you two really do have a hard time seeing eye to eye, don’t you?” Merlin murmured.

He leaned back, revealing a boy sitting next to him, who’d been obscured by the wizard’s profile.

Tedros didn’t look at Agatha. He held his own undrunk mug of chocolate, heaped with cream and rainbow sprinkles, his bare legs dangling off the cloud. He wore a sleeveless white undershirt and pajama shorts, his gold king’s crown sunken into his wet hair.

“Agatha and I have work to do, Merlin. Not that you would know since you’ve been gone for half a year, but we’re in charge of a kingdom now,” Tedros said, dumping his steaming mug over the cloud. “Our coffers are empty. We have no knights. Mother and Lance are missing. There’s unrest all over the Woods. We don’t have time for a wizard’s games.”

“You used to share your chocolate with Agatha. Now you’re wasting it,” Merlin upbraided him.

“I didn’t ask for chocolate,” said Tedros, yanking his crown tighter. “I’m too old to be bribed with sweets.”

“But not too old to let your dear princess go hungry?” Merlin asked.

“I’m stuffed from dinner,” said Agatha, trying to play both sides.

“Where’s the girl’s cocoa!” the wizard bellowed into his hat.

“You can’t keep me here all night,” Tedros scorned. “Air’s too thin in the Celestium.”

“I can keep you here until you’re as white-haired as me. I’ll just turn you into a goldfish and put you in a bowl. Agatha can feed you,” said Merlin, giving his hat a good shake. “That is if she doesn’t dump your food off a cloud.”

The hat spat chocolate at Merlin, who promptly sat on the hat in return. “Now let’s begin,” the wizard harrumphed.

“Begin what?” asked Agatha.

“We don’t need this, Merlin,” Tedros hounded.

“Need what?” asked Agatha.

“You need this more than your obsessive workouts and overdeveloped stomach muscles,” said Merlin, sitting harder on his squirming hat.

“You don’t know anything about me anymore,” Tedros snapped. “You disappeared when I needed you like you always do, haven’t sent so much as a postcard in six months, and then drop in acting like you can help me when you don’t have the faintest clue. Just go back to whatever hole you were hiding in.”

“Because you were doing such a fine job as king without me,” said the wizard.

Tedros snarled. “My father was right to banish you from the castle.”

“Well, you’re certainly seeming more and more like him each day,” said Merlin.

“Stop it! You’re like squabbling hens, the both of you!” Agatha yelled, echoing into the night. “What is this? What are we doing? Why are we here!”

The two men gaped at her sheepishly.

But it was the hat that spoke from beneath Merlin’s rump, scowling at them all—

“Couples therapy!”







6


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TEDROS (#ulink_2b2d5d3e-b837-54ea-a95c-b4f62d40efb1)

Two Theories (#ulink_2b2d5d3e-b837-54ea-a95c-b4f62d40efb1)


Somewhere inside, Tedros knew this would happen. He couldn’t continue the way he’d been going, treating Agatha like a distant cousin while wrestling his own demons down down down into the basement of his soul.

These past six months, he’d told himself it was the only way forward—that Agatha was best left to the hopeful, happy duties of wedding planning while he reassured his castle staff that Camelot would return to glory. But he could only lie to himself for so long. There was nothing reassuring about his guards looking at him with pity and doubt, their eyes darting to his sword jammed in a balcony. And there was nothing hopeful or happy about a princess planning a wedding to a boy who was doing everything he could to avoid her.






Someone had to intervene. Someone had to save him from himself. But now it was happening and he wasn’t ready.

The worst part was that he’d been through this before—only he’d been the one ignored and abandoned. He’d been the one in Agatha’s place.

He was nine years old. His mother had fled the castle with Lancelot, deserting both him and his father. But right when he needed his dad most, his father turned to drink instead, slowly poisoning himself rather than admit how much pain he was in. He’d begged his father to stop, but Arthur insisted it was Tedros’ mother who needed help, not him. Yet in the end, it was his mother who’d been honest with herself, giving her a second chance at life, while his father numbed his feelings all the way to the grave.

Now, sitting with Agatha and Merlin, Tedros felt his own buried pain return. He didn’t want Agatha to suffer the way he once did, shut out by someone she loved. And he didn’t want to be like his father, refusing help until it was too late.

“I thought everything was going to be okay when we left school,” he said finally, unable to look at his princess. “I didn’t want her to worry for the rest of her life. She’s been through enough. But then I saw her watching me this morning when I was on the balcony and I could see she was hurting—”

“‘She’ meaning … me?” Agatha asked.

Tedros saw Merlin squeeze Agatha’s wrist, telling her this wasn’t her turn to talk.

“Merlin, where were you all this time?” Tedros said, clearing his throat. “No one’s seen you since the coronation. Not that I really ‘saw’ you then either.”

“I’d hope not. It took a meticulous spell to turn me into a mosquito that could last a decent amount of time without sucking someone’s blood,” said Merlin.

“Too bad it couldn’t be Lady Gremlaine’s,” Agatha offered.

The wizard frowned at her.

“You watched the coronation as a mosquito?” Tedros asked.

“I was hoping to avoid detection and have all attention be on you, my boy. If anyone saw me, they would have foolishly tried to execute me and it would have led to quite the spectacle indeed. But then you created your own spectacle by presenting your mother and Lancelot to the people against all reasonable advice. It was a stunning act of stubbornness, something a swaggering boy at school would do rather than a new king trying to build faith with his kingdom.”

“And I’m sorry for it,” said Tedros softly. “I thought it was the right thing at the time.”

“I could have helped—” Agatha started.

Merlin’s hat bit her bottom.

“Maybe I did do everything wrong and messed it all up. Maybe I am the worst king in the world. But isn’t that punishment enough?” Tedros fought. “You didn’t have to punish me too by disappearing for six months!”

“Punish you?” Merlin said, aghast. “Tedros, dear, I’ve been gone keeping two people you love safe.”

Tedros gaped, suddenly understanding. “You were with Mom and Lance! I’ve been going crazy trying to track them. … I got these mysterious cards from different parts of the Woods—”

“And she would have sent far more had I let her,” said Merlin.

“I knew it! There wasn’t anything written on them, but they smelled like honeysuckle, which she knows is my favorite. Where are they? When can I see them? I need to see them—”

“Patience, boy. Your mother and Lancelot still have Arthur’s rich bounty on their heads: a bounty you can’t rescind until you pull the sword and finish your test. Getting them to safety was difficult enough. As soon as they were dragged into the castle at the coronation, I turned them to fruit flies and hustled them into the Endless Woods. We couldn’t return to the old safe house in Avalon; The Tale of Sophie and Agatha had revealed its existence to our whole world, which meant Avalon Island would be crawling with your mother’s enemies. So to both hide your mother and Lancelot and distract them from worrying about you, I took them on a tour of kingdoms they’d never seen, given their years of exile. We traveled by enchanted ship: the Igraine, which obeys any ‘lady’ of Camelot, princess or queen, and can fly through the air or turn invisible on that lady’s command. Soon news started spreading of what happened at the coronation, with WANTED posters for Guinevere and Lancelot tacked up everywhere we went. I had to be creative about disguising them. But that, as you know, is a specialty.”

“So they’re … safe?” Tedros asked anxiously.

“The Igraine is returned to Camelot harbor and your mother and Lance are hidden close by, rested and at ease. Except for the fact they’re missing you. Well, your mother more than Lancelot,” the wizard winked.

“Hope you disguised Lance as a girl,” Tedros said, remembering his own time as a girl named Essa. All of a sudden he was craving his favorite hot cocoa and he wished he hadn’t dumped out his mug. Why did he always act first and think later? He tried to catch Agatha’s eye, wanting to somehow start a conversation, but he’d ignored her too long and now she was ignoring him.

“Merlin, if you were touring other kingdoms, surely you saw some of our classmates on their quests?” the princess asked.

“Indeed,” the wizard said, finally acknowledging her.

Tedros’ face fell. “And have they, um, you know … heard about me?”

The wizard paused. “Let’s just say you’re not the only one encountering obstacles on their quest.”

“Huh? But I’m not even on a quest—” said Tedros.

“Every fourth-year Ever or Never from the School for Good and Evil is on a quest, Tedros,” the wizard corrected. “A quest to discover if they have the strength, wit, and will to become a legend and have their name remembered for all time. It’s just your classmates’ quests for glory took them to faraway lands, while yours brought you back home.”

“Doesn’t feel like much of a quest to me,” Tedros murmured. “I’m supposed to be king. It’s what I was born to do.”

Merlin peered at him as if he’d missed the point entirely. “You may have been born to do it, but that doesn’t mean you’ll do it well.”

Tedros said nothing, two hot spots appearing on his cheeks.

“Tedros, have you thought about why your father’s sword is stuck in the stone?” Merlin asked.

“Well, at first I thought it was caught at the wrong angle, then I thought maybe there was a riddle or a game that if I solved, the sword would pull loose.”

“That was my theory too,” said Agatha.

Tedros looked at her, wondering why she hadn’t said something to him before, only to realize he’d never given her the chance.

“And now?” asked Merlin.

“I’m back to thinking it’s caught at the wrong angle,” Tedros sighed.

“What if we consider it from Excalibur’s point of view?” Merlin asked.

“You think Excalibur doesn’t want me to pull it out?” Tedros asked, surprised.

“More like it doesn’t want you to be king,” said Merlin.

“But I am king—”

“Only because someone else who has a rightful claim to the throne has yet to pull the sword. And no one does, since you are King Arthur’s only child. So again: Why won’t Excalibur let you complete your father’s test?”

Tedros crossed his arms. “How should I know what a sword thinks?”

“Excalibur is a weapon of immense power, forged by the Lady of the Lake to fight Evil. It does not want to spend its days trapped in a balcony,” said Merlin. “Perhaps the sword is trying to be sure you are ready to be king and is waiting for you to prove it. In which case, the question is … how?”

Merlin wiped his spectacles with his robes, making them even dustier. “That’s theory #1.”

“And theory #2?” Agatha asked.

“That it isn’t the sword making these decisions at all,” said Merlin. “That someone else has found a way to control it, like a master controls a puppet, preventing you from sealing your own coronation. In which case, the question is … who?”

“But no one is powerful enough to control Excalibur,” Agatha rebutted. She slowly turned to Tedros. “Unless …”

“No way. The School Master is dead!” Tedros scoffed.

“Like forever dead,” Agatha agreed.

“Like really forever dead,” said Tedros.

They goggled at each other, then back at Merlin. “Right?”

“These are the same questions I have,” said the wizard, looking troubled. “But it is up to Tedros to find the answers, since it is his test. The sooner he retrieves his sword and seals his coronation, the better. Not just for Camelot, but for the sake of the entire Woods.”

“Entire Woods?” said Tedros. “What do you mea—”

“Are you talking about the attacks in the papers, Merlin?” Agatha cut in. “I’ve been reading about problems in Ever and Never kingdoms: pirate raids in Jaunt Jolie; a poisoned wishing well in Bremen; a band of werewolves looting families in Bloodbrook … but none of it seems connected.”

“It isn’t. Just a bunch of petty crime,” said Tedros. “Leaders of neighboring kingdoms think it’s more than that, but they just want Camelot to come in and clean up their problems like Dad used to. We have our own problems, thank you. But kings and queens keep writing me letters, demanding meetings.”

“Which you clearly haven’t answered,” said Agatha. “I heard two chambermaids whispering about why you haven’t investigated the fire on Glass Mountain.”

Tedros turned to Merlin quickly. “Well, are the attacks connected? You said our classmates are having trouble on their quests. What’s happening out there in the Woods?”

“Are they okay?” Agatha pressed.

“Dear girl, maybe you’d know the answer to that if you’d been answering your letters,” the wizard replied. “Your best friend’s included.”

Tedros looked at Agatha, dumbfounded. “You haven’t written Sophie?”

Agatha’s big brown eyes turned wet.

“But why?” Tedros blurted against all better judgment. “I’m happily rid of that girl, but you two have so much history. You can’t just cut her off—”

“She seems so excited about the wedding … and you don’t,” said Agatha, choking up. “Any time I tried to write her, all I could picture is me walking down the aisle to a boy I used to share everything with and now acts as if he barely knows me. But Sophie knows me: she’d see through anything I wrote … she’d see how I was feeling … and I didn’t want anyone to know—”

She covered her face, muffling her sobs.

Tedros looked at Merlin, sitting between him and his future queen. “M, do you mind if I talk to Agatha alone?”

“Thought you’d never ask. Even wizards need the toilet,” Merlin breezed. “Just jump off when you’re finished and you’ll find yourselves back where you started.” He snatched his sleeping hat, which startled awake, spurting rainbow sprinkles, before the wizard dove off the cloud like a champion swimmer and vanished into the darkness.

Tedros scooted across the cloud, silky white fibers tickling his legs as he moved next to Agatha, who was crying into her palms. Gently he put his hand on her back.

“I love you, Agatha. No matter how stupid I can be, nothing will ever change that.”

“I could only bring myself to write one letter—to Hester—and it was full of lies. I couldn’t let anyone know how you were treating me,” Agatha sniffled. “That’s why I didn’t write anyone else or ask about their quests. Six m-m-months. You made me feel so alone.”

“I didn’t want you to worry about me,” Tedros said guiltily.

“Y-y-you made me worry more.”

“I told you I was stupid.”

“S-s-stupider than a tree s-s-stump,” Agatha piled on.

“Stupider than a tree stump,” Tedros conceded.

“Stupider than one of Rafal’s zombie villains with no brains.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that—”

“It wasn’t a question.”

Tedros smiled and rolled back his eyes zombie-style, playfully sinking his teeth into her neck. Agatha yelped and shoved him away, but she was snickering now too.

She leaned against him and clasped his arm.

“You know, I’m surprised Sophie’s still alive, let alone writing you letters,” Tedros said. “Figured Dovey would have turned her into a pumpkin by now.”

“Not sure fairy godmothers are allowed to be Evil,” said Agatha.

“But wouldn’t it be awesome if they could?”

Agatha laughed: that hissy, throaty laugh he’d missed for so long. He pulled her in closer.

“Though from Sophie’s letters, it sounds like Dovey is out of sorts,” said Agatha. “She insists it’s because Dovey’s threatened by her; Sophie claims she’s turned Evil into the hot new thing and now all the first-year Evers want to go to her side.”

“But you think it’s something more sinister?”

“I’m sure Dovey wouldn’t mind if a stymph dropped Sophie on her head, but I doubt she’d get too worked up over a former student’s theatrics. Plus, you heard what Merlin said. If our classmates are having trouble on their quests, Dovey has her hands full. The Deans are responsible for all fourth years once they leave for their missions. Especially with no new School Master in place.”

“Wouldn’t Sophie have mentioned something in her letters? She’s Dean too.”

“It doesn’t make sense, does it?” Agatha agreed. “What do you think is happening out there that has Dovey stressed?”

“And Merlin worried?” said Tedros.

“And why would it be connected to you not pulling your dad’s sword?” said Agatha.

Tedros glanced away, tensing, and he could feel Agatha tighten too, knowing she’d said the wrong thing. He didn’t want to talk about the sword with her. Not just because it made him feel inadequate, but because he didn’t want her pity.

“I’m still imagining what Lance would look like if Merlin turned him into a girl,” said Agatha, mercifully changing the subject.

“No way Merlin would go for it,” said Tedros. “Lance would make such a beastly female that it would only call attention to itself.”

“You were a pretty beastly female yourself, Essa.”

“Wasn’t I the one who had boys whistling at me in the halls?”

“Boys who like their girls hulking, hairy, and belligerent.”

“Now you’re just jealous.”

“Well, if you want to be a girl so badly, maybe you should plan the wedding,” Agatha teased.

“Honestly, I found it sexist too at first: the new king focuses on governance, his princess on the wedding,” said Tedros. “But the more I thought about it, the more I realized traditions exist for a reason. I grew up in Camelot. The people have known me since I was a baby. You, on the other hand, are brand-new to them. The kingdom knows nothing about you. Planning the wedding is your coronation test.”

“And I want to pass it with flying colors, not for me, but for the both of us,” Agatha said earnestly. “But I’d rather be helping you.”

Tedros exhaled. “Help me manage our debts to other kingdoms that will take centuries to repay? Or help me find out where all Camelot’s gold went when the three advisors who handled this gold refuse to speak to me? Or help me fight rampant thieving by the poor, even though it helps them survive? Which would you like to help me with?”

“All of it. Any of it,” Agatha said. “I know how hard it is—”

“No, you don’t,” he said. “You can’t know how hard it is to watch your father’s kingdom turn its back on Good.”

“Just like you can’t know how hard it is to watch your one true love turn his back on you,” said Agatha.

Tedros didn’t argue.

Finally he looked at her, tears gleaming. “You really want to help me, Agatha? Then tell me how to pull my sword out of that stone. Tell me how to pass my father’s test.” He wiped his nose. “Why do you think I’ve been avoiding you? I knew this would happen. I knew I’d break down and ask you for help. Can’t even finish my coronation on my own. Maybe Merlin’s right. Maybe the sword doesn’t want me to be king.” He slouched into a sealed-off ball. “Not now. Not ever.”

He felt Agatha’s hand slide across his back and wrap him into her. She tipped his face upwards.

“Who says a good king can’t get help when he needs it most?”

His eyes met hers and a wall inside him crumbled, feelings rushing through. How had he gone this long without coming to her—she, the only person who ever truly understood him?

“I can see him looking at me in my dreams. My father,” said Tedros. “Staring at me as if he knows why I’ve failed. He’s part of this and I don’t know how.”

Agatha wasn’t listening; she was deep in thought, already pouncing on his ask for help.

“Let’s be smart about this,” she said. “Merlin had two theories: either the sword wants you to prove you’re king or the sword is being controlled by someone who doesn’t want you to be king. In any case, grabbing at the sword day after day isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

“But loafing around on a cloud isn’t going to solve the problem either,” he said, sitting up.

“You’re forgetting the most important thing Merlin said. He said it isn’t only our quest that’s run into trouble. It’s our whole class.”

“That would explain all those strange attacks in the Woods,” said Tedros. “So you think whoever is messing up their quests is messing up ours too?”

“Maybe Merlin’s two theories are actually one,” Agatha nodded. “The King of Camelot is supposed to be the leader of the Woods. If something Evil is happening out there, you have to go and find it. You have to figure out what—or who—is disrupting our missions and set things right again. Maybe then you’ll be able to pull the sword loose. Maybe that’s your real quest.”

Tedros’ face glowed with hope … then dimmed. “Agatha, a king can’t just desert his people and go questing in the Woods. Not when they already doubt me. Who knows how long I’d be out there? Look what became of this place while I was gone at school. Total chaos. Even if my reign has begun badly, if something happened to me, Camelot would end up in the wrong hands again. Maybe forever this time.” He shook his head. “I can’t go.”

“But I can,” Agatha jumped in, as if she’d known this would be their conclusion.

“Agatha, I asked you for help. Not to take over my test,” said Tedros impatiently. “You heard Merlin. This isn’t your quest. It’s mine.”

“And my quest is to be your queen. Helping seal your place as king is more worthy of a queen’s attention than picking frosting for our cake. All I need is a few knights for the journey. Chaddick will be back any day with a new fleet for your Round Table—”

“He hasn’t answered my letters in weeks,” Tedros said. Then his face changed. “You don’t think something went wrong on his quest too?”

“Even more reason for me to go, then, and to go right away,” Agatha replied. “I need to find out what’s stopping all of us from fulfilling our missions, Good and Evil. This is as much my test as it is yours, Tedros. You’re not in this alone anymore.”

Tedros saw the steely resolve in her big brown eyes and suddenly he knew that if he didn’t let her go, she would go on her own.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to butt in,” he muttered.

“We’re going to be married soon, Tedros,” Agatha reminded him. “I’m supposed to butt in.”

Tedros said nothing, picking at his shorts. “So how long would you be gone?”

“A few weeks. I’ll send you letters each night.”

“A few weeks in the Woods … alone?”

“But I’d see all our friends again,” Agatha pressured. “And it would mean I can get away from Lady Gremlaine.”

Tedros bit his lip, as if he couldn’t deny her such a pleasure. “Even so, it’s too dangerous,” he said, shaking his head.

“I survived Aric. I can survive anything.”

Tedros grimaced at the name of Lady Lesso’s sadistic son. “Questing in the Woods alone is a death sentence, Agatha—”

“Then I’ll take someone with me. Like … Willam.”

“Willam? The altar boy? He can’t even look me in the eye, let alone fight.”

“Do you make it a habit of looking altar boys in the eye?”

“All I’m saying is—”

“The matter’s settled. I’ll leave tonight,” Agatha declared. “And I suspect that’s what Merlin wanted all along, because he dropped a clear hint of how I could escape the castle without anyone knowing. …”

Baffled, Tedros started to ask what this was, but Agatha added: “The only question is who will take over wedding planning.”

She looked at him hopefully.

“You’re joking,” said Tedros. “I have enough on my plate, thank you.”

“I could hire someone.”

“With what money?”

“Someone who would do it as a favor to the kingdom.”

“And this someone would have good taste, be as invested in the wedding as you and me, manage all facets of a royal occasion that has to go off without a hitch, and also work for free?” said Tedros incredulously.

“I should think so.”

“It will take months of searching to find such a person, Agatha. If such a person even exists.”

“Mmm, not really.”

Tedros cocked his head. “You have someone in mind?”

“Do you trust me?” Agatha asked, eyes twinkling.

“You know I do.”

“And I can pick anyone I choose?”

“Of course. You’ll be queen soon.”

“Then promise me this is my choice and no one else’s.”

“I promise, but honestly—”

“Good,” said Agatha, climbing into his lap, “then I’ll pay her a visit on my first stop into the Woods.”

Tedros peered at her, mystified. “Pay who a visit? Who’s ‘she’—”

He choked.

“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR DAMNED MIND!”

“You said it yourself. We can’t just cut her off,” Agatha replied, hands sliding up his chest.

“Not we! You!” Tedros shouted. “You think I’ll let her plan our wedding? I’d rather eat glass for a month—I’d rather drown myself in hot lava—no no no no no—”

But now she was clasping his cheeks and kissing him, long and slow, and it’d been so long since she’d kissed him that suddenly he could think of nothing else … only her soft lips on his and his beautiful, brilliant bride-to-be …

“I love you, Tedros,” she whispered.

“And I love you too,” he breathed. “But no.”

“If only a king’s promise wasn’t stronger than a prince’s,” she said, smiling like a cat.

“A promise doesn’t count if you tricked me!”

“And does that mean your trust doesn’t count either?” Agatha asked intently.

Tedros gawped at her, knowing he’d been beaten. “But … but …”

He barked with frustration and kissed her again, hard and deep, because he couldn’t possibly think about everything he’d just agreed to. He kissed her so long they ran out of air until Agatha pulled him backwards, dragging him off their perch, and they fell through clouds, the two of them still kissing, tangled in each other’s limbs like interlocked stars.







7


(#ulink_67bdff77-3b5b-58cd-9a49-94a9566565e1)

CHADDICK (#ulink_67bdff77-3b5b-58cd-9a49-94a9566565e1)

The Liege and the Lady (#ulink_67bdff77-3b5b-58cd-9a49-94a9566565e1)


He had been stabbed twice in the back and once in the flank, but he was still alive.

Concealed behind a white wall, Chaddick listened for his attacker, but all he heard was a faint crashing of waves. Blood leaked through his shirt into his lap. He felt no pain, just cold, prickly shock.






It had happened so fast.

Five minutes ago, he’d been riding his horse on the snowy shores of Avalon, searching for the entrance to the Lady of the Lake’s castle. He’d bought a map of the island from a nosy beaver, but the map only seemed to take him round in circles. At last, when he was frostbitten and ready to give up, he’d found it: towering iron doors as high as a mountain, guarded by two stone lions, concealed in shadow on either side.

He didn’t expect the gates to open for him. They opened for no man except Merlin and the King of Camelot. The stone lions would devour anyone else who tried to enter.

But Chaddick hadn’t come to enter the gates. He’d traveled long and hard across the Woods for only one reason: to make sure that these doors were still sealed tight. That no one had breached the Lady of the Lake’s realm. That his fears were unfounded.

But as he’d approached, he’d seen his fears had come true.

The doors weren’t sealed.

One was hanging off its hinges, the other splintered into pieces.

Who could splinter iron?

He’d gazed at the stone lions, motionless and piled with weeks of snow. If someone had broken in recently, they’d done so untouched.

Why would the lions let an intruder through?

Moving quicker, Chaddick had dug an iron shard into the snow and tied his horse to it before he’d cautiously stepped between the lions and onto castle grounds, scanning the towers and cliff rock for signs of Evil—

His attacker had come from behind.

Chaddick had tried to turn but his assailant jammed his cheek to a rock with one hand, the other on the boy’s back. Even in his wrestling matches against Tedros, Chaddick had never felt such strength.

“Who—are—you—” Chaddick had choked.

But his attacker just hissed in his ear.

Dead calm, he’d slipped Chaddick’s sword out of his belt and stabbed him in the back while Chaddick screamed with pain. As he’d stabbed again, Chaddick kicked with primal instinct, his boot connecting with bone. His attacker buckled and Chaddick broke free, limping past Avalon’s towers until he’d found a place to hide.

It had all happened in five minutes.

Now he waited behind that white wall, listening to the echo of waves, stab wounds soaking his shirt red. Panic set in, his muscles slacking. He was losing too much blood.

Chaddick tensed.

Footsteps.

Coming down the path.

Crackle, crackle, crackle against the snow.

They stopped.

Chaddick held his breath.

He squinted up at the circle of pearl-white towers, coated in snow, for it was always winter in Avalon. The towers had no windows or doors to sneak through. The best he could do was dart from wall to wall like a hunted deer.

Rising from his crouch, he saw zigzagging staircases ahead leading from the towers down to a calm lake.

He had to get to the water.

The Lady of the Lake would hide him.

Just like she’d done for Guinevere and Lancelot.

Run for it?

He’d be in the open for his attacker to spot him. The stairs were slick with snow. His bloody shirt would be like a flag to a bull. And he didn’t have his sword.

Chaddick stripped off his shirt. The frigid air flayed his skin as he tried to wipe clean. But the gash in his ribs kept gushing and he didn’t even know where the blood on his back was coming from. Shock wore off, giving way to soul-crushing pain. Hands shaking, he scraped snow off the ground and packed it into the wounds to staunch them. It didn’t work. Pain throttled from every direction now. He couldn’t breathe—

Crackle, crackle, crackle.

The killer was coming.

Without thinking, Chaddick darted from his hiding spot and sprinted to the next tower, diving behind its wall.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then a soft, hissy laugh.

Crackle, crackle, crackle.

Tears stung Chaddick’s eyes.

Two weeks earlier, he’d sent Dovey a note by crow: he’d been seeing strange things in the Woods. Ever and Never kingdoms attacked … unrest and fear spreading everywhere … classmates’ quests sabotaged …

Something was happening.

He knew he was supposed to be collecting knights for Camelot. But he was Tedros’ liege and a knight himself. If he could find out why things were going wrong in the Woods, maybe he could find out why Tedros’ sword had gotten stuck too. … Maybe he could help Tedros free Excalibur and seal his crown. … Tedros would be so grateful to him. It would be Chaddick’s first step to becoming a legendary knight, as precious to Tedros as Lancelot once was to Arthur … well, until a girl had come between them.

He’d be better than Lancelot, then.

Except Dovey had appeared via her crystal ball. “I received your note, Chaddick. And I see from my Quest Map you’re already deviating from your quest without my permission,” she’d declared through a wobbly bubble in the sky. “Go back to your quest. Do you understand? Leave the rest to me and Merlin.”

Chaddick had ignored her. It didn’t matter that Dovey had assigned his quest. A knight’s first loyalty is to his king. That’s why he’d spent the last two weeks following clues in the Woods. That’s how he came to discover everything.

It was all connected.

Tedros’ trapped sword.

His friends’ failed quests.

The attacks.

It was all the work of a new villain. More powerful than the School Master. More powerful than anything their world had ever seen.

Each new attack was part of a bigger plan.

A plan to destroy Camelot and its king.

A plan to take down Good and Evil.

A plan to rule the Endless Woods.

Chaddick heard footsteps get closer.

He’d tracked this villain all the way to Avalon.

He thought he could vanquish him on his own like a real knight.

He didn’t know the villain was tracking him too.

Chaddick wiped his eyes. He couldn’t go down like this. Not when his friends needed him. Not without a fight.

He focused on his fear … his loyalty to Tedros … his love for his fellow Evers and Nevers …

His fingertip glowed silver—

Now.

He leapt out of his hiding spot to face his attacker and shot him with a stun spell, not waiting to see if it hit before he dashed for a staircase thirty feet away. Chaddick hurtled down the steps towards the lake, slipping on snow and tumbling to the next landing, almost knocking himself out. Bleary with pain, he could hear his attacker’s hissy laughter, his footsteps descending the stairs. …

Wheezing, Chaddick lurched to his feet, leaving a smear of blood in the snow, and continued to limp down. The lake … I have to make it to the lake. …

He staggered off the last steps and slid through icy mud on the shore—

“I need the Lady of the Lake!” he choked, dripping blood.

The clear, gray surface stayed still.

He looked back and saw a shadow moving down the stairs in no hurry at all.

Chaddick swiveled to the water. “I’m Camelot’s knight!”

Now the lake changed. It spun into a whirlpool, mirroring the circle of towers above. The waters churned faster, faster … so fast that a thick foam spewed from the pool’s eye, coalescing into human shape. …

A ghostly, silver-haired nymph in white robes floated out of the lake. She had pale skin, a long nose, and big black eyes that honed in on Chaddick.

Smiling with relief, he rushed towards the water, but the instant his foot touched it, it repelled him, flinging him to the ground.

The Lady of the Lake’s expression didn’t change.

“What are you waiting for!” he cried. “You have to protect me!”

“I protect those most loyal to Camelot,” the Lady of the Lake replied.

“I am loyal! I’m Tedros’ liege!”

Again he crawled for the water—

Again it repelled him.

“What … what are you doing … ,” he gasped.

But the Lady of the Lake wasn’t looking at him now. She was looking past him.

Slowly Chaddick turned to see his assailant coming off the stairs, dressed in black, his face covered by a scaly green mask. He was holding Chaddick’s sword, coated with Chaddick’s blood.

Chaddick dropped to his knees and clasped his hands towards the nymph. “Don’t you see? He’s going to kill me! Help! Please!”

But she didn’t.

Instead she did something that made Chaddick sick.

She looked back into the eyes of his green-masked killer …

And smiled.







8


(#ulink_3799ed63-cd30-57da-b327-deafce674907)

SOPHIE (#ulink_3799ed63-cd30-57da-b327-deafce674907)

One Quest to Save Them All (#ulink_3799ed63-cd30-57da-b327-deafce674907)


“Where is the cake, Bogden? Where are the gift bags? Where is the bouquet?” Sophie berated, barreling towards Evil Hall in her white taffeta gown, crystal tiara, and spiked silver heels.

“Um, you need those things for a school dance?” Bogden asked, holding her train and stumbling behind.






“All Tedros had to do to seal his reign was host a coronation and now look where he is. You know why kingdoms fall, Bogden? Because of bad parties,” Sophie flared. “How long until the doors open?”

“Five minutes. The Welcome Committee is almost done decorating—”

“Why don’t I hear music, then? Why don’t I smell cucumber-and-dill-butter canapés?

Bogden gaped at her.

“Were you taking notes when we went over this?” Sophie squawked, trundling towards the ballroom. “No wonder you failed all your classes!”

“Dean Sophie, I’ve been knocking on your bathroom door for five hours to ask questions—”

“As if anyone has time for questions! First Gavaldon Girl caves in a classroom and now you with your questions! Why did I bring Readers into this school at all?” Sophie moaned. “This is the first time a Dean has ever thrown an Evil party, the first time the Evers will see our castle, and the first time Clarissa Dovey will realize there’s no need for a new School Master when the students already follow me. I’ve even invited the Royal Rot in case they want to write a story about Tedros’ former flame, moved on to a life of staggering success and fawning fans, unlike her once-prince and now maligned king.” She flung open the doors to Evil Hall with dramatic flourish—

The ballroom was lit dungeon-brown by two dying torches. The six first-year Nevers of the Welcome Committee beamed proudly at her as they hung wispy tinsel and laid out a cloudy punch bowl on a crooked wooden table along with a hunk of misshapen cheese. In the center of the room, under a dented mirror-ball, two bats perched on top of Sophie’s statue, swiping and eating circling moths attracted by the weak, pulsing lights. A banner drooped between two walls—“DEAN SOPHIE WELCOMES U”—with the U looking more like a V since the painters had started their letters too big and run out of space. A wolf slumped on the floor beneath the banner, burping loudly and playing a dirge on a broken violin.

Sophie clutched her throat. “It’s like one of Honora’s garden parties!” She whirled to Bogden. “Where’s Hort?”

“Um, Professor Hort said if he can’t be your date, he’s not coming.”

Sophie curled her fists. “That whiny, mangy rodent …”

Through the windows, she saw the lights of fairies leading the Evers through Good’s glass castle towards Halfway Bridge.

“Oh, I try to empower you fools like I’m supposed to and make you feel supported and involved and appreciated,” Sophie seethed, shaking her fists. “But if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

In a flash, she whirled into action, pointing fingers at the Welcome Committee. “Fatima, fetch an enchanted pot from the kitchen! Barnaby, get a pouch of lizard tongues and a vial of cat tears from Professor Manley—if he won’t give them to you, steal them! Vladimir, remember that putrid band you formed?”

“The one you sent us to the Doom Room for because you said we ruined your beauty sleep?” he peeped, blinking beneath his unibrow.

“It’s legal for one night only,” Sophie commanded. “Rex, open up the windows! Bharthi, borrow Professor Sheeks’ spellbook (the password to her office is ‘Ooty Queen’), and someone tell Professor Hort if he doesn’t get here in the next ten seconds, I’ll tell the whole school their history teacher sleeps with a stuffed turtle!”

Her finger glowed pink and she thrust it at the mirror-ball, which blinded all of them in an explosion of red.

Five minutes later, Sophie sat on the shoulders of Hort’s giant man-wolf, cheerily greeting awed Evers and Nevers as they came through the doors. Towering seven feet tall, Hort made sure to roar for each one and beat his hairy chest while the first years moved into Evil Hall, glittering with magical red and gold fireworks that ripped across the ceiling, spelling “NIGHT OF A THOUSAND SOPHIES.” On the walls, scarlet shadows played scenes from Sophie’s fairy tale, occasionally reaching out to spook passing kids. In the corner, Evers and Nevers filled their cups with sparkly soda from a fountain made out of two hundred crystal goblets; the glittering liquid changed colors and flavors every minute: green apple, golden honey, red raspberry, blue winter mint. … Nearby, a horde of kids raided a table with trays that magically replenished with wasabi shrimp, herbed biscuits, persimmon bruschetta, dill-stuffed cucumbers, pork-wrapped mushrooms, baked potato bites, salmon pinwheels, olive crostini, and vanilla-sage canapés. But most of the revelers were jam-packed in the center around Sophie’s statue, headbanging to Vladimir’s band (“VLADIMIR AND THE PLAGUE,” the drums said), while Good’s fairies sprinkled fairy dust on band members, levitating them over the crowd. (A few intrepid Nevers scooped fallen fairy dust off the floor and gobbed it under their tongues, sending them shooting across the dance floor like comets, earning raucous cheers.)

“And they’ve all dressed for the theme!” Sophie marveled, high atop Hort’s shoulders, as both Evergirls and Nevergirls thronged in, flaunting Sophie’s most famous looks from The Tale of Sophie and Agatha. There was a Kimono Sophie, with shimmering makeup and ruby-red hair; a Babydoll Sophie, in a black lacy dress and licking a pink lollipop; a No-Ball Sophie, complete with pink gown, bald cap, and stick-on warts; an Evil Queen Sophie in full-black leather and snakeskin cape; a Rebel Sophie, in a dazzling slit-back black dress, with red sequins that spelled “F is for Fabulous.”… There were even a few Filips.

Not to be left out, several boys had dressed like Tedros, with some in his creamy white breeches and royal-blue lace-up shirt from the first-year Evers Ball, a few in his loose ivory shirt and black pants from his night with Sophie in an Avalon cave, and two tall Neverboys who’d worn the tightest of shorts and forgone shirts entirely.

“Hort, darling, there’s even one of you!” Sophie said, pointing to a bone-thin, rabbit-faced boy in handmade frog pajamas, who’d just spilled his drink on a girl.

“Got the pajamas wrong,” Hort’s man-wolf grumped.

“Oh, don’t be a louse. You know, they’re all having so much fun I can’t tell the Evers from the Nevers anymore,” said Sophie, watching more of Good’s students flood in with giddy smiles, as if they’d secretly been waiting their whole lives for an Evil party. “Even the teachers have stopped searching for a reason to shut it down.”

Professor Manley and Professor Sheeks were snickering as they stealthily shot flames across the soda fountain every time an Ever reached for a glass. Nearby, Castor and Professor Anemone shook their rumps on the dance floor while students of both schools hooted them on.

“Listen, I can’t last much longer like this. I’m hot, hairy, and hungry,” Hort grouched, drool dripping from his snout. “Any second, I’m going to shrink back to human without any clothes on.”

“You can’t go now. The Room 46 boys are almost here!” Sophie said, squinting at a pack of Everboys crossing the bridge. “I knew Bodhi, Laithan, and the rest of their delicious little clan would come, even if they didn’t RSVP. Handsome boys never RSVP. They just grace you with their presence like a balmy day in winter.”

“What? Who’s Bodhi? Who’s Laithan?” Hort growled. “How do you know Everboys’ names—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Everybody knows the boys of Honor Tower, Room 46. Besides, I’m sure you can last as a man-wolf for as long as you want. Think of first year when you could only do it for five seconds. Now you can go all night if you put your mind to it.”

“I’m not lasting all night for a bunch of Everboys,” Hort snapped.

“Don’t be irrelevant, darling,” Sophie wisped. “For six months, I’ve been obsessing over Agatha and Tedros, wondering how they were doing in Camelot. I know I said I hadn’t given them the slightest thought, but we both know that’s a lie, so I might as well be honest. I couldn’t bear the idea that they could be happy without me, even after that hellfire of a coronation. But tonight’s the first night I haven’t thought of them at all. Which goes to show: if Agatha doesn’t want me to help her plan her wedding, then I’ll happily throw a party for myself. And I assure you, mine will be far better.”

She smiled as the fireworks over the dance floor arranged into a vision of her own face and students from both schools hollered their approval. Nearby, kids dug into a red velvet cake shaped as a giant S and flanked by piles of oat-ginger cookies frosted with sayings like “S is for Sublime,” “S is for Succulent,” “S is for Sophie.” A pimply, sharp-toothed Neverboy climbed her statue and kissed it triumphantly, eliciting whistles and cheers, but Sophie didn’t mind it in the least, soaking in the Ever-Never chants from the dance floor: “SOPHIE! SOPHIE! SOPHIE!”

“If you think about it, Aggie and I don’t even have much in common anymore,” Sophie added, waving back at the adoring crowd. “She has her life with Tedros, the two of them about to marry and become each other’s family. And I have my own life: wedding-less, family-less, date-less, but so filled with possibilities. …”

“I thought I was your date,” Hort said.

“Look at my little peaches. Aren’t they scrumptious?” Sophie gushed, nodding at a few awkward Nevergirls in hip-hugging black leather talking to a shrimpy Everboy. “Spent all week teaching them how to fake self-esteem. What do you think? They’re all your age. Any of them catch your fancy?”

“My what? Are you insane!” Hort retorted. “Not only are they first years, but I’m their teach—”

“Put me down!” Sophie gasped.

“What?”

“Down, Hort! Down!”

Hort quickly swung her to the floor and Sophie lunged in front of him—

“Bodhi, darling, welcome to my school,” Sophie purred, holding out her hand to a tall, reedy boy in a royal-blue coat with dark-caramel skin and big black eyes, who gently took it and kissed it like a prince.

“And hello, Laithan, you’re looking exceptionally handsome tonight,” she said to his short, muscular friend with chestnut hair and freckles. Laithan smiled flirtily and kissed her on the cheek.

“Well, if that’s how you’re going to say hello, I’ll say hello to all of you,” Sophie cooed, presenting her cheek to the rest of their Everboy gang: swimmery, silver-haired Akiro; dark, wavy-haired Valentin; bald-headed, ghostly Devan. … “Save a dance for me,” she whispered to each one.

“A dance!” Hort hissed in her ear, apoplectic. “You’re a Dean, not a hostess at the Pig and Pepper! You can’t dance with students!”

“I’ve combed The Ever Never Handbook thoroughly and see no rules against it. And besides, some of these boys look far older than I do,” Sophie said, turning to greet the next boy—

Only it wasn’t a boy at all.

It was a Dean.

And she wasn’t alone.

Dean Dovey clacked past Sophie into Evil Hall, green gown sweeping behind her, as if this was her school and Sophie the intruder. The silver-haired professor was flanked by three witches, each of who glared at Sophie one by one.

“Everboys in our castle,” said the tattooed witch.

“Everboys in our school,” said the albino witch.

“Told you, told you, told you,” huffed the jolly witch, turning Sophie’s tiara into chocolate and gobbling it down in one bite.

“You lied to me?” Sophie mewled, gaping at Clarissa’s Quest Map, floating over the sand on Evil’s side of Halfway Bay. All her classmates’ names were colored red beneath their moving figurines instead of blue like they were on her map. “But I’m supposed to know everything! I’m a Dean! I’m your equal! Instead, you give me a false map … you make me think all our quests are going well … you keep me in the dark on the fact my friends are failing miserably—”

“‘Friends’ is a loose term,” Hester murmured.

“And you being ‘equal’ to Dovey is like Dot being ‘equal’ to me,” said Anadil.

“We’ll see who’s equal when I turn your rats to fudge,” said Dot.

“Oh be quiet, girls,” Professor Dovey said, sitting gingerly in one of Evil’s cabanas that Sophie had added when she turned the once-barren shores of Halfway Bay into a beach. Music and laughter from the party carried down the hill. With the August nights sultry and fresh, the elder Dean had recommended they speak outside, where students wouldn’t overhear. But now Dovey was peering around at the torchlit huts decorated with glamorous portraits of Sophie … the golden sand speckled with S-shaped conchs … the once-sludgy black moat of Evil turned royal blue with a statue of Sophie astride a dragon spraying water from its mouth. …

“I honestly don’t know where I am,” she murmured.

Sophie cleared her throat harshly.

“I know you’re upset, Sophie, and you have every right to be,” Professor Dovey sighed, massaging her knees. “Fairy godmothers don’t make it a habit of using magic to deceive. But fairy godmothers also have a duty to protect the greater Good. If you’d known what was happening, it was only a matter of time before word of the older students’ struggles leaked through the school and distracted the first years. I know you’ll say you can keep a secret, but frankly, you seem incapable of setting boundaries with your new charges at the moment.”

Sophie put her hands on her hips. “What in heavens makes you say that?”

Dovey turned towards the castle’s open windows. Inside Evil Hall, two Neverboys danced saucily on Sophie’s statue, while an Everboy spotted Sophie watching and yelled: “DEAN SOPHIE, WILL YOU MARRY ME?”

Sophie stabbed out her glowing pink finger, shutting the windows and drawing the curtains. “Well, if you were so scared of telling me about these failing quests, why are you telling me now?”

Professor Dovey turned to her. “Because I need you to lead a quest into the Woods and save your fellow classmates before any more of them die.”

Every trace of defiance melted out of Sophie’s face. She saw the three witches staring at Good’s Dean the same way.

“Die?” Sophie rasped.

Professor Dovey looked away, mouth quivering.

Sophie could hardly get the word out. … “Who?”

The elder Dean watched the waters of the bay roll between Good and Evil, thin to thick, water to slime.

“The map,” Dovey whispered.

Slowly Sophie and the witches raised their eyes to the Dean’s Quest Map, its names in red-alarm red, so different from the cool, serene blues Sophie had seen across her doctored one.

But one name was different.

Its ink was darker red than the others and dripping off its label, as if seeping blood.

A thin black line ran through the name, scratching it out.

The name was CHADDICK.

Sophie’s breath caught. In a single mark, a soul lost.

For a long while, no one spoke, the silence broken only by the festive buzz behind them and the snores of sleeping stymphs overhead, perched on the scaffolding shrouding the School Master’s tower. Dot wiped her eyes while Anadil focused on the ground. Even Hester looked unsteady.

Gazing across the lake at Good’s glass castle, Sophie thought of the burly, gray-eyed Everboy who’d once swaggered down those halls and been Tedros’ most faithful liege, just like Agatha had been her own. But Agatha was still alive, of course, even if she was somewhere far away. …

Tedros’ best friend was dead.

“H-h-how?” Sophie stammered.

“We don’t know,” said Professor Dovey emptily. “His body must be in Avalon. Otherwise his figure would have moved on the map.”

Avalon, Sophie remembered. On her Quest Map, she’d seen Chaddick’s figurine there when he should have been off seeking new knights for Tedros’ kingdom. What was Chaddick doing alone in Avalon, which was perpetually cold and uninhabited? It’s not like he could get into the Lady of the Lake’s castle—only Merlin or the King of Camelot could do that. And yet, she distinctly remembered seeing Chaddick’s figurine inside the castle gates. … Still, even if he did get in somehow, wouldn’t the Lady of the Lake have protected him? Chaddick was Camelot’s knight—

Dovey’s voice severed her thoughts: “He sent me a note by crow a couple weeks ago. He’d been hearing reports of attacks in the Woods and wanted to find out who was behind them. I ordered him not to make a move. To stay on his original mission. Clearly he disobeyed.”

Sophie looked at her.

“Whatever he found must have gotten him killed,” the Dean said quietly.

“And now you want me to go and get killed too?” Sophie asked.

“Unlike Chaddick, you will have friends at your side,” the Dean replied, eyeing the three witches.

“There’s that word ‘friends’ again,” Hester murmured.

Dovey ignored her. “I’d been looking into the news of attacks long before Chaddick wrote. The moment students’ names started turning red on my map, I’d asked Merlin to investigate. It’s common for students’ quests to go badly at first—we’ve certainly dispatched rescue teams before—but for all to be failing was unprecedented. At the same time, we’d been hearing reports of unrest in the Woods, prompted by seemingly random crimes against Evers and Nevers alike. And then there was the matter of Tedros’ sword, stuck in that stone. I thought Merlin could get to the bottom of all this. … Well, a few days ago, he finally returned to my chambers. He asked only one question: what fairy tale had the Storian been writing.”

“Nothing of substance. I’ve told you that,” Sophie said, glancing up at the School Master’s tower, now her private quarters, which was connected to Evil’s castle by a catwalk. She saw the Storian through the window, hovering over a stone table littered with crumpled paper. “Ever since it finished mine and Agatha’s fairy tale, it’s been starting and discarding tales of our classmates’ quests.”

“And whose story is it working on now?” said Dovey.

“It stopped writing completely last week, which after all that frantic scribbling and crumpling the past few months, is actually letting me sleep,” Sophie puffed. “But you said that the Storian often suspects a fairy tale will be a good one, only to scrap it midstory … that it’s perfectly normal—”

“To a point,” Professor Dovey replied. “The Storian only writes tales that we need: stories that will redress a balance between Good and Evil that is constantly in flux. But six months is a long time for the Storian not to put a new tale into the Woods. Perhaps it sees no story in your classmates’ failing quests worth telling. Merlin, however, believes all these failures are connected and that there is a bigger quest waiting to be undertaken. That this is the fairy tale the Storian needs to tell.”

“Yet you have no proof of this bigger quest or fairy tale?” said Sophie.

“And yet we still have to go with her?” Hester said, leering at Sophie.

“A student is dead, girls. I’d think at the very least you’d want to bury his body, let alone find out what killed him,” said Professor Dovey frostily. “I do.”

Sophie and the witches fell silent.

“There is also the fact that according to the map, you are all failing your quests too,” Professor Dovey said.

Sophie and the coven gawked at her before swiveling to the map.

They’d been so focused on their classmates that they hadn’t noticed their own names were in red.

“How can I be failing?” Sophie protested. “My quest is to be Dean of Evil. That’s the quest Lady Lesso gave me—”

“And how could we be failing?” said Hester, looking at her witch friends. “We didn’t do anything wrong on our quest—”

“Unless, of course, your quests no longer apply,” said Professor Dovey.

Sophie and the witches exchanged confused looks.

“You see, your names only turned red on my map yesterday. Within minutes of Chaddick’s death,” said Professor Dovey. “I highly doubt it’s a coincidence. The Storian creates a Quest Map every three years once the new class goes into the Woods. The fact the pen has stopped writing combined with your names turning red only strengthened Merlin’s and my conclusion: that a new, more important quest awaits each of you. Only then will the Storian begin its next tale.”

She paused, expecting questions, but Sophie and the witches still looked dazed.

“If it was up to me, Merlin and I would go into the Woods ourselves,” Dovey went on. “But teachers cannot directly interfere in a student’s quest just as we cannot interfere in a fairy tale. Which means you will represent the Nevers on this new quest, and Merlin will be sending an Ever contingent tonight to join your team. Given Chaddick’s demise, all of this was too sensitive to be transmitted in any way other than in person, so that’s why I brought you back to school. You must leave as soon as possible to prevent more casualties. But you’re not just a rescue team. You’re a detective team. Something out there is hurting our students and your new quest is to find it. … One quest to save them all.”

Sophie couldn’t focus, a single thought haunting her. “Has anyone told Tedros about …”

“No,” Professor Dovey answered, rising from her seat. “Telling Tedros will surely lead to him doing something rash, especially since we’ve yet to learn how his friend died. The island of Avalon, then, should be the first stop on your new quest. Even if you can’t get through the castle’s gates, you might find clues as to what Chaddick was doing there.”

Sophie’s mind went gauzy, as if she was trying to wake from a dream. Dead friends … bodies to be buried … a mysterious threat …

How quickly things change in a fairy tale.

A few minutes ago she was the host of a rollicking party that finally helped her turn the page and begin a new chapter. But now she was facing a new quest far away from school, where her life would be as much at risk as the friends’ lives she had to save.

Only she wasn’t ready to leave this place. After three years, she’d found her way out of a fairy tale and wouldn’t let herself be dragged back into one. And the best part about being Evil was that she could admit this without guilt. The new and improved Sophie could accept the selfish shades of her soul as much as the generous ones. Which meant that no matter how terrible she felt for Chaddick and the rest of her old friends out there in the dark Endless Woods … Sophie wouldn’t be the one to help them.

“I’m afraid I’m Dean of a school just like you, Professor Dovey, entrusted with more than a hundred students. I can’t just abandon them,” Sophie decided. “I don’t care what your map says. Hester, Anadil, and Dot will do just fine on their own.”

The three witches blinked at each other, as if they’d telepathically made a wish and had it granted.

Professor Dovey tightened her silvery bun. “Sophie, you might be a Dean, but you are also a fourth-year student, which means I can change your quest just like you changed Hort’s. And once a Dean assigns your quest, you must accept it or be sent to the Brig of Betrayers—”

“Don’t you threaten me, Clarissa,” Sophie retorted, watching Dovey wince at her first name. “You can’t tell me what to do. I know you want to get rid of me, given how fond of Evil your ‘Good’ students are, and this gives you the perfect excuse.”

“You think this is about you. I should have known. Every time it seems you’ve changed, I’m reminded how selfish you can be,” said Professor Dovey. “Your first three years you trampled on students of both schools to further your own arrogant, often cowardly, goals. You punished them, tormented them, betrayed them … and yet they forgave you and even obeyed you as their Dean in the remaining months of their third year. They showed you the loyalty you never once showed them. Now these same classmates are in peril and need your help. Which means the story isn’t about you anymore, Sophie. It’s about them. But if you would like to make it about you, then think of it this way. This is no longer a tale about whether you will find fame or fortune or your perfect little happy ending. This is a tale about whether you are capable of growing from the snake of your own story into the hero of someone else’s. That is your new quest. That is the tale the Storian is waiting to write.”

Sophie went quiet, her emerald eyes fixed on the elder Dean. A dark crimson spread into her cheeks and for a moment, she looked less like Evil’s leader and more like a chastened child.

“She’s coming, isn’t she,” Hester mumbled, her demon making faces.

“Please tell me you can turn a person to chocolate,” Anadil asked Dot.

“I have enough trouble with lentil cakes, thank you,” Dot nipped.

Sophie wasn’t listening, her focus drifting to the party uphill. “But who will take over as Evil’s Dean?” she asked weakly.

“Professor Manley,” said the elder Dean, adding before Sophie could object, “and I suspect his unpopularity will only increase your status once you return.”

“If I return, you mean,” Sophie corrected.

She expected Professor Dovey to reassure her, but the Dean said nothing.

“And what about the new School Master?” asked Hester. “We spent the last six months combing the Woods for someone who would best serve the school—”

“New School Master? That was your quest? To find a School Master?” Sophie asked, whirling to Professor Dovey. “You left the choosing of the one person who has control over you and me to them?”

“And I still would,” Professor Dovey said. “But that’s not to say that part of their assignment is over. You may very well come across the right candidate on your new quest, girls. And if you do, I expect a full report so I can interview them myself.”




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