فصل 10

Chapter 10

SOPHIE

Blessing in Disguise

“If any of them move, kill them,” Rhian ordered the scim on Hort’s ear, leaving Hort, Willam, and Bogden trapped in the carriage with the sadistic eel. The second the door closed, Sophie could see the scim start slashing at the boys for sport and Hort fending it off with kicks and punches as the driver moved the carriage down the road and out of sight.

Rhian was guiding her towards the church now, past the pen of royal transports from other kingdoms, including crystal carriages, magic carpets, flying broomsticks, levitating ships, and a giant, slobbery toad. A cool wind blew through the darkening courtyard and Sophie hunched deeper into her white dress. She could feel Rhian puff his chest, posturing for the crowd outside, but their attentions suddenly seemed distracted, their eyes fixed overhead.

“What’s happening?” Rhian murmured to Beeba, his pirate guard at the door, as he pulled Sophie into the church. Beeba hustled to find out.

Meanwhile, the leaders from other kingdoms rose from the pews as Rhian took the time to greet each one.

“You say you’ve caught Tedros’ princess,” spoke an imposing black-skinned elf with pointed ears, dressed in a ruby-and-diamond-jeweled tunic. “No truth to the stories of a ‘rebel army,’ then?” “The only truth is that Agatha’s whimpering in my dungeons as we speak,” said Rhian.

“And you still think that she and Tedros were behind the Snake’s attacks? That they were funding his thugs?” the elf asked. “It’s a bold claim that you made to the Kingdom Council. I can’t say that all of us believe it.” “The attacks have ceased, haven’t they?” said Rhian briskly. “I’d think Agatha and Tedros being in my prison has something to do with it.” The elf scratched his ear, mulling this over. Sophie noticed a silver ring on his hand, carved with unreadable symbols.

“While we’re on the subject of the Kingdom Council,” Rhian probed, “have you given any further thought to my proposal?” “No further thought is necessary. Lionsmane may be inspiring the people of the Woods, but the School for Good and Evil is our history,” said the elf, his accent firm and crisp. “Dismantle the school and the Storian has no protection. It has no purpose. Its tales of the graduates of the school are the bedrock of the Woods. Its tales teach our world the lessons we need to learn and move our Woods forward, one story at a time. Your pen can’t replace that, no matter how much people are taken with your message.” Rhian smiled. “And yet, what if Lionsmane wrote a story in the sky for all to see about the mighty Elf King of Ladelflop and how nobly he rules his people? A people who I hear were quite resentful that you didn’t do more to stop the Snake’s attacks? Perhaps I’ll have your vote then.” The Elf King stared at Rhian. Then he smiled big white teeth and thumped him on the back. “Politics on your Blessing day, eh? Shouldn’t you be introducing me to your lovely bride?” “I only save her for allies,” Rhian teased, and the Elf King laughed.

Smiling blandly behind them, Sophie found herself distracted by the church’s facade, newly painted, and its lavish stained glass, depicting Rhian’s slaying of the Snake with holy reverence. Stone airways painted with gold Lions beveled along the walls, cooling the hot summer drafts. A perilously old chaplain with a red nose and hairy ears waited at the altar, and behind him were two thrones, where the king and princess would sit while he gave the Blessing. To the left of the altar huddled the church choir in white uniforms and page-boy hats and to the right hung a cage of tweeting doves, which the priest would free into the Woods at ceremony’s end.

Lucky little doves, Sophie thought.

Suddenly Beeba rushed forward and accosted Rhian as he greeted the King of Foxwood— “Lionsmane, sire! Yer new message . . . i-i-it’s movin’ . . .” Sophie’s eyes widened.

“Impossible,” Rhian snorted, releasing Sophie and prowling back through the church doors as Sophie hurried after him.

The moment she stepped outside, she saw the crowd’s faces cocked towards the sky, watching Lionsmane’s message about Agatha’s capture. The letters seemed to be quivering against the black storm clouds.

“Definitely moving,” Sophie wisped.

“Things move in the wind,” said Rhian, unconcerned.

But the message began to quiver faster, faster, as if ungluing from the sky, a pink scar appearing behind each of the dislodged letters. Then all of a sudden, the gold letters lost their shape, melding into each other, one by one, until Lionsmane’s message had collapsed into a single gold ball, swelling bigger, bigger, bigger, as big as the sun. . . .

Lightning ripped through the clouds. The ball detonated, splashing four letters in gold across the sky— images

The gold and clouds dispersed, revealing clear morning blue.

Silence gripped the courtyard.

All down the road, thousands gaped upwards, wondering what they’d just seen, along with the visiting leaders, staring in shock through the church doors. Together, they looked at the king, but he was already dragging Sophie inside the church— “You did something to that message!” Rhian hissed. “You corrupted it!” “I did, did I? Just like I poisoned you in the Throne Room?” Sophie hissed back. “I’ve been here with you this whole time. When did I have time to conduct a matinee performance of ‘Sorcery in the Sky’? It’s obvious who did it. The same person who made your tea. The same person who chose to stay behind.” She arched a brow. “I wonder why.” Rhian considered this, his eyes searching hers. . . . He turned to his pirate guard.

“Bring my brother here. Now.”

“Yes, sire,” Beeba mumbled, rushing away.

Sophie, meanwhile, did her best to suppress a smile.

Because it wasn’t Japeth who was responsible for what just happened.

It was her.

She’d snuck a code into Lionsmane’s stories. The one about Young Hristo and the one about Agatha today.

A code only one person in the entire world could understand.

Rhian had searched her work for hidden messages and she’d mocked him for it, insisting she couldn’t possibly be capable of hiding a distress call right under his nose. . . .

But anyone who truly knew Sophie would have known better.

Because Sophie was capable of anything.

Not that she’d expected her hidden code to reach its target. It was a shot in the dark, a last-ditch Hail Mary, which is why she’d committed to Hort’s nut-brained plan.

Yet in the end it was her plan that had worked.

Which meant that her friend had not only read her message . . .

But that help was on the way.

A dove zipped by—“Agatha’s been caught! Have you heard!” Sophie spun to see the cage near the altar emptied of its doves, which dispersed over the theater, tweeting in dignitaries’ ears: “We saw her captured!” “She cried for mercy!” “She’s rotting in the dungeons!” Confused, Sophie looked up and saw Rhian’s fingertip glowing behind his back, stealthily directing the birds as he greeted the Ice Giant of Frostplains.

“Agatha has no army!” “Don’t believe the lies!” “She was alone when we caught her!” “Didn’t even fight back!” Rhian swished his finger and the doves blitzed out the church doors, spreading the king’s lies into the crowd, distracting them from the message in the sky.

A dove crowed in Sophie’s ear: “Agatha’s a traitor! Agatha’s wicked—” Sophie slapped it away, launching it right into the face of a girl in a white dress. “Eep, sorry—” “Excuse me, Your Majesty,” said the girl, her head lowered, with a clipped accent and breathy tone. “I’m conductor of the Camelot Children’s Choir and we’d hoped you might join us in singing a hymn of praise to the noble Lion.” Sophie scoffed. “A princess sing with the choir? Will the king tingle a timpani too? How absurd. I’ll watch you and your friends suck up to the Lion from the comfort of my throne, thank yo—” Her voice broke off, for the maiden had raised her head, revealing dark hair, pencil-thin eyebrows, and twinkling black eyes.

“My choir would really love to have you,” said the girl.

Sophie followed her eyes to the group of teenagers in matching white uniforms and hats at the front of the church, gazing hard at her.

Help wasn’t on the way.

It had already arrived.

As Rhian had a heated discussion with the Queen of Jaunt Jolie, Sophie squeezed his arm. “The choir would like me to sing with them—” “Finally, the famous Sophie,” cooed the queen, draped in a peacock-feather stole. She reached out her hand and Sophie noticed a silver ring with unreadable carvings, just like the one the Elf King of Ladelflop wore. “We were just talking about you.” “A pleasure,” Sophie simpered, shaking her hand stiffly, before pivoting to Rhian. “Now about the choir—” “The queen would like to meet with you,” Rhian said. “But I told her your schedule has filled up.” “Whatever you say, darling. The choir is waiting—”

“I heard you the first time. Stay here and greet the guests,” Rhian ordered.

Sophie’s face fell.

“If my groom had spoken to me like that, I never would have made it to the altar,” the queen mused to Sophie. “Indeed, your schedule only ‘filled up’ once I told the king that he’s turned Camelot’s new queen into a lapdog. No speech at the coronation, no presence at meetings, no comment on Tedros’ capture or those of your friends, no mention by the king’s pen. . . . It’s as if you hardly exist.” The queen turned to Rhian. “Perhaps I’ll take Sophie aside and discuss a queen’s duties in private. Two queens often succeed in solving problems a king cannot.” Rhian glared back at her. “Now that I think about it, Sophie, your singing with the choir sounds like a good idea.” Sophie didn’t need to ask twice. As she escaped, she saw Rhian whispering aggressively to the queen, his hand gripping her arm.

A moment later, Sophie gripped onto the choir conductor’s arm. “Shall we rehearse in the priest’s chambers?” “Yes, Your Majesty,” the conductor pipped, and her choir mates scurried after Sophie like chicks behind a swan.

Sophie listened to the patter of feet, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

The Queen of Jaunt Jolie was right.

It had taken two queens to solve this problem.

And now the king would pay the price.

THE PRIEST’S SANCTUM reeked of leather and vinegar, its mess of books and scrolls veiled by dust. Sophie locked the door and shoved a chair against it before she twirled to the choir.

“My babies. My poopsies. Come to save their Dean!” she cooed, hugging her first years, starting with the conductor. “Miss Valentina, mi amor . . . And hello, Aja.” “You remember my name?” squeaked the boy with dyed red hair.

“How could I not? You dressed like me for Halloween and wore the most divine boots. And Bodhi, Laithan, and Devan, my scrumptious Everboys. And lovely Laralisa, my cleverest witch. And my beloved Nevers, Drago and Rowan and dirty Mali—” Sophie frowned. “Um, who are those?” In the corner of the room, a few kids in shirtsleeves and underpants were helping each other out a high window.

“The real choir,” Devan answered. “Switched clothes with us because they’re from Camelot and don’t trust Rhian and think Tedros is king.” “Plus, you gave us gold,” added the last choirboy, falling out the window with a yelp, coins trailing behind him.

Devan looked at Sophie. “Tried to tell them the Courier’s right: that the Snake is alive and that he’s Rhian’s twin and that Agatha has a secret army . . . but even Tedros’ biggest fans didn’t believe us.” “Would you believe it? It sounds ridiculous,” said Sophie. “But wait: tell me about Agatha! She’s safe, isn’t she? We have to check the Quest Map. . . .” She reached for her shoe, but Valentina grabbed her by the shoulders— “Señorita Sophie, there’s no time! Where is the royal carriage? The one that brought you here.” “Somewhere near the church—”

“Who’s guarding it?” Bodhi asked, pulling a folded-up cape from a bag.

“One of the Snake’s scims. Hort, Bogden, and Willam are there too,” said Sophie. “They’re trapped inside with it!” “Five boys, one eel. We’ll take those odds,” said Bodhi, slipping the shimmery cape over him as he and Laithan swept towards the window.

For a second, Sophie was distracted by the cape, which looked familiar, but then she realized what they were saying. “You’re attacking the royal carriage?” The two boys smiled as they straddled the window, Bodhi hugging Laithan under his cloak. “More like reclaiming it,” piped Bodhi. “For Tedros,” chimed Laithan. They backflipped off the ledge and disappeared like ghosts.

Sophie put a hand to her chest. “Who needs Tedros with boys like that?” A hard knock on the door—

Sophie and her students whipped their heads forward.

“The king wants to begin!” the priest’s hoary voice called as Aja held the door shut.

“Coming!” said Valentina, spinning to Sophie. “We need to get you to school, Señorita Sophie. Here’s the plan. You’ll sing Budhava’s hymn to the Lion with us—” “Can we sing something else? I don’t know that song,” Sophie wisped.

“Dios mío, it doesn’t matter if you know it! Just sing it!” Valentina snapped.

“And when we get to the phrase ‘oh virile Lion’ . . . duck,” said Aja.

“That’s the plan?” Sophie said, perplexed. “Duck?”

A scratching noise echoed overhead and Sophie looked up to see two kids in black masks scooting through a cramped stone airway. They lowered their masks, revealing blond Bert and blonder Beckett.

“Definitely duck,” they said.

“TODAY, WE BLESS young Rhian and Sophie as a reminder that despite all the festivities to come . . . marriage is first and foremost a spiritual union,” spoke the old priest before a quiet audience. “There is no way to tell if a marriage is favored, of course. First, Arthur marries Guinevere in the throes of love, only to have that love be his downfall. Then, I planned to marry Arthur’s eldest son, Tedros, to his own princess, only to discover Tedros isn’t Arthur’s eldest son at all. And now, a stranger from Foxwood and the Witch of Woods Beyond seek my blessing to be King and Queen of Camelot. So what do I know?” The priest hacked a laugh. “But no marriage can outwit the pen of fate. All we can do is let the story unfold. In time, the truth will be written, no matter how many lies someone might tell to obscure it. And the truth comes with an army.” Sophie could see Rhian glaring at the back of the priest’s head as he perched in his throne on the elevated stage. The dignitaries seemed oblivious to the priest’s message, but the king had heard it loud and clear: he may have expunged those loyal to Tedros from the castle, but he’d have no such ally in the church. Rhian sensed Sophie watching him and glanced over at her, ensconced with the choir. He gave her a baffled look, as if he knew he’d agreed to let her sing with them but couldn’t remember why.

“Before I read from the Scroll of Pelagus, we’ll begin with a hymn,” said the priest, nodding at his singers. Sophie’s students tilted their faces beneath their hats, so the priest wouldn’t see his choir had been hijacked. “Ordinarily, Camelot’s choir sings to exalt a sacred power that unites us all,” the priest continued, dwarfed by a giant Lion head casting a glow on his altar, “but today, the choir has chosen to sing about our new king instead.” Rhian’s glare deepened behind him. “And in a further departure from the norm, the choir shall be joined by our new princess . . . I assume, as either a loving tribute to her husband-to-be, or a desire to show off her many talents.” All at once, the congregation turned towards Sophie, who was now the focus of more than two hundred royals, Good and Evil both. Sophie could see the gorgeous dark-skinned King of Pasha Dunes and his chic, bald-headed wife watching her; seated nearby was the Maharani of Mahadeva, dripping in jewels, with her three sons, while in front of them, the Queen of Jaunt Jolie looked anxious and chastened, far different from the bold woman who’d just confronted Rhian. All of their eyes were on Sophie.

She’d always dreamed of a moment like this: spotlit on a grand stage, an audience of luminaries, all of them knowing her name. . . .

Only in her dreams, she’d rehearsed.

Sophie stared at the sheet music in front of her.

OH HOLY LION

(“BUDHAVA’S HYMN OF PRAISE”)

She peeked at her first years—Aja, Devan, Laralisa, and more—their bodies tense, their pupils dilated. Only Valentina looked calm as she presided over the choir and gazed hard at Sophie as if to remind her of her cue. Sophie’s heart thumped so hard she could feel it in her throat . . . not just because she hadn’t a clue what would happen on that cue, but because she was about as good at reading music as she was at building cabinets, which is to say not at all.

Valentina raised her arms and brought them down, commencing the organist. Aja started two beats early, the rest of the choir two beats too late— Glory be, oh holy Lion,

Glory be, our king!

His mercies shall endure,

Ever faithful, ever sure!

Sophie saw Rhian gaping like he’d been shot. Dignitaries rocked back in their seats. The church reverberated with the most strikingly awful sound imaginable, like a family of cats being dragged up a mountain. The worse they sounded, the more rattled Valentina looked, as if whatever plan was coming might be brought down by the singing before it, especially since Aja kept shimmying his hips either out of nerves or in an attempt to distract from the horror. Sophie, for her part, tried to dominate the chorus, but dirty Mali just kept wailing notes louder like a dying mountain goat. Devan, meanwhile, was cute as a button but had a voice like a sasquatch, and his girlfriend, Laralisa, unleashed a string of braying yelps like a broken jack-in-the-box. Worst of all, the stone walls and airways bounced the noise mercilessly, as if it was less a church and more some kind of echo-torture chamber. Mortified, Sophie held her sheet music higher over her face, so she couldn’t see the crowd and they couldn’t see her, but in her new sightline, she caught Bert and Beckett scooting like roaches through an airway overhead.

Sophie’s eyes flicked back to Rhian, who hadn’t noticed the masked spies, because he was already lurching out of his throne to stop this inferno.

Panicked, Sophie whirled to Valentina, who saw Rhian coming, and accelerated her conducting, waving her arms wildly, which led her charges to motormouth through the song like overfed chipmunks, the organist chasing to keep up, as the chorus barreled headlong into their cue.

Glory be, our king!

Glory be, oh virile Lion—

Sophie ducked.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Flaming green-yellow bombs ripped through the theater like fireworks, sending the crowd diving under their pews. Devan and Laralisa tackled Sophie to the ground as sparks sprayed over them and the audience’s screams filled the church. Shell-shocked, Sophie covered her ears, waiting for the next blast. . . .

Nothing happened.

Sophie raised her head. So did the spectators, their screams dissipating.

Then came the smell.

Like the fumes of a flaming dung heap . . . a stench so stultifying that the shrieks began again, this time with mortal urgency, as people fled the church in swarms— “Come on!” Devan yelled at Sophie, dragging her towards the doors as Laralisa tried to clear a path for them, shoving gaudily dressed royals out of the way.

“Use your fingerglow!” Sophie barked, holding her nose.

“Our forest leader didn’t teach us how yet!” said Laralisa, headbutting a witch-queen aside. “We’re behind the other group—” A regally dressed cyclops sideswiped her as he stormed for the exit, flinging Laralisa backwards into the crowd.

“That one-eyed cretin!” Devan seethed, rushing to save her.

“What about me!” Sophie squeaked, trapped in the stampede.

The smell in the church was so putrid now that kings were fainting, queens masking their faces with capes, and princes shattering stained glass to escape with their princesses. Overhead, Sophie spotted Bert and Beckett lighting another dung missile.

I have to get out, she choked, hiking her dress collar over her nose. But the doors were still so far . . .

The Ice Giant of Frostplains thundered by, smacking people away and barreling towards the exit. Instantly Sophie started scurrying behind him like a mouse in the wake of an elephant, while the Giant swatted left and right, his huge, ice-blue hand flashing the same silver ring she’d seen on the Elf King and Queen of Jaunt Jolie. Through his legs, she spotted open doors and clear sky ahead—a comet streaked through the air outside, a helix of navy and pink, like a sailor’s flare— Did Bert and Beckett dungbomb the streets too?

Suddenly she glimpsed Bert and Beckett, using a rope to climb down a stone wall towards the doors, before the boys yelped and reversed direction as Aran, Wesley, and more pirate guards leapt onto the rope to chase them.

Sophie knew she should stay and help the boys; a real Dean would protect her students, Evers and Nevers . . . but instead, she found herself scampering faster for the doors behind the giant, hiding in his shadow, so the pirates tracking Bert and Beckett wouldn’t see her. She didn’t bother feeling guilt over it. She wasn’t Agatha, after all. She wasn’t Good. Those boys needed to fend for themselves. That was the point of fairy tales. And she . . . well, she needed to get as far from Camelot as possible.

She was nearing the exit now, hugging closer to the giant’s boots. If she could just slither out of this church, she could blend into the mob . . . she could disguise herself and find a way back to school . . . to Agatha. . . . The thought of seeing her best friend again made Sophie dump caution; she broke away from the giant and sprinted between his legs, elbowing people out of her path. She felt the heat of the sun flush across her skin and as she crashed through the doorway, she looked up into the heavenly white glare— A hand snatched her backwards and she whirled to see Rhian in the doorway. “Stay with me!” he said, rattled. “We’re under attack!” Suddenly, loud bells jangled in the distance, frantic and high-pitched. . . .

Alarm bells.

Sophie and Rhian swiveled and saw Camelot shrouded by an alien fog, silver and glimmering, that obscured the entire castle. Behind the fog, they could hear shouts echo from the towers, resounding downhill, as the bells clattered wilder and faster.

“What’s happening?” Sophie breathed.

“Intruders,” said Rhian, clasping her wrist tighter. “They’re at the castle too. . . . Japeth. He might still be there! He’s alone . . . We have to help him—” He yanked Sophie through the door, but it was mayhem outside, with dignitaries still fleeing the church now mixing with the hordes of citizens in the streets, who’d smelled the stink bombs and heard Camelot’s alarms and joined the stampede like harrowed geese. At the same time, a heap of these spectators from far-flung kingdoms saw Rhian and Sophie emerge and flooded towards them, desperate to meet the new king and queen. Cornered, Rhian pulled Sophie back to the door, but that only got them caught deeper in the crush, like buoys in a storm.

But now Sophie saw someone streaking through the mob on horseback, smashing people aside. . . .

Japeth.

“The dungeons,” he panted at his brother, his gold-and-blue suit sprayed with white rubble. “They’ve been breached—” A cry tore through the sky overhead.

It wasn’t human.

Rhian, Japeth, and Sophie raised their eyes.

A flock of stymphs ripped out of the fog, carrying Sophie’s friends on their spines—Kiko, Reena, Beatrix, Dot, with fingerglows lit, leaning forward and firing spells at the king and his liege. Three stun spells hit Rhian in the chest, launching him through the open church doors, while another bludgeoned Japeth off his horse. Dot turned the ground beneath Japeth’s feet to hot mocha, sending him plunging headfirst into the deep, steaming moat. Doves tweeted as Japeth flailed in boiling chocolate: “Agatha’s been caught!” “She’s no match for the Lion!” “She’s no match for his liege!” “Praise to King Rhian! Praise to Japet—” A red-skinned demon ate the doves.

Sophie wheeled and saw Hester and Anadil on a stymph, swooping towards her.

“Grab my hand!” Anadil ordered.

The pale witch reached out her palm as Hester steered their bird downwards, with Anadil’s and Sophie’s fingers about to touch— A pirate dagger pierced Anadil’s arm, hurled by Wesley as he surged out of the church. The witch lunged back in pain and her stymph bucked, throwing Anadil off its back.

“Ani!” Hester screamed. Her demon raced to save her friend, but Anadil was falling too fast, her arm outstretched and about to hit the ground first, the dagger in it sure to sever through— A new stymph scooped under her and Bodhi and Laithan seized Anadil into their arms, swinging her up on their bird. The two boys were still in their choir uniforms, their faces and shirts spattered with black eel goo. More stymphs appeared in the fog behind them, carrying Sophie’s friends. Two . . . then four . . . then five . . .

“Help me!” Sophie yelped, hope swelling. But these stymphs were too far into the fog for her to see the riders yet. She jumped and waved at them. “Please! Someone! Anyone!” But now arrows were streaking towards these stymphs as pirates galloped down from the castle on horseback, bows raised. Spooked, the stymphs veered away from Sophie, retreating into the fog. Beeba and Thiago rose upright onto their horses, balancing feet on the saddles, taking shots at Hester’s and Kiko’s and Anadil’s heads, as Sophie’s friends ducked and swerved, arrows soaring through the gaps in the stymphs’ ribs.

“Help! Save me!” Sophie screeched at them, leaping uselessly at the stymphs as her friends tried to maneuver towards her.

More and more arrows flew as pirate guards poured out of the church, firing at the stymphs in the sky. Beatrix, Hester, Bodhi all tried to dodge and make one last dive for Sophie. But the onslaught was too much. Looking stricken, they had no choice but to flee en masse, away from the church, away from Camelot, and away from Sophie.

Sophie’s heart plunged. She swiveled back to the castle, but the silvery fog was dissipating, with no more stymphs to reveal. Tears flooded her eyes. She’d been left behind. Just like she’d left Bert and Beckett, who were surely dead by now. She didn’t know why she was crying. She deserved her fate. She deserved to be punished for her selfishness . . . punished for the bad deeds she couldn’t help doing . . . punished for being herself. . . . That’s why her story could never change, no matter what pen wrote it— “Sophie!” a voice blared from above.

She raised her head to see a stymph throttling out of the fog through a hail of arrows, a shirtless boy reaching out his hand to grab her, his face veiled in mist, his hair white as snow. . . .

Rafal?

He ripped through the fog—

No.

Not Rafal.

Time seemed to slow, her heart pumping hot blood, as if it was the first time she’d ever seen this boy, even though she’d seen him a thousand times before. Only she’d seen him differently all those times . . . not like she was now . . . as a prince who’d patiently saved her again and again and again, until she finally had the sense to notice.

She thrust her hand into the sunlight as he flew down, his hair coated with white rubble, his face and pallid chest streaked in scim wounds, his fingers stretching out to clasp hers— “Got you!” Hort said, starting to tow her onto his stymph.

Holding him tight, Sophie climbed towards him. . . .

But then she froze cold.

So did Hort, following her eyes.

So did the pirates, who lowered their bows in shock.

High over Camelot’s castle, the dissipating fog had congealed into a giant bubble with a girl’s face trapped inside of it, levitating like a ghost. The dark-haired girl was magnified as if reflected by curved glass. Behind her stood an army of students and teachers in the uniforms of Good and Evil, framed by a school crest on the wall. The girl gazed down at Sophie with big, glistening eyes.

“Agatha?” Sophie choked.

But her friend was already vanishing into the sky. “I couldn’t free them all,” Agatha rasped, pressing her hands against the fading bubble. “There’s some left, Sophie. I don’t know who. I tried to save them—I tried—” “Agatha!” Sophie cried.

It was too late. Her best friend had disappeared.

Yet Agatha’s voice seemed to linger, echoing in Sophie’s head. . . .

There’s some left.

There’s some left.

There’s some left.

She felt Hort shake off his daze and clutch her tighter. “Hurry! Get on!” he yelled, yanking her towards his stymph— Only Sophie’s face had changed, her body already pulling away from him. Hort’s eyes widened, seeing what was about to happen, but Sophie moved too fast, wrenching her hand out of his.

“What are you doing!” Hort shrieked.

“I can’t,” Sophie breathed. “You heard Agatha. There’s some left at the castle . . . they’ll die if I leave them behind. . . .” “We’ll come back for them!” Hort retorted, seeing the pirates who’d been watching Agatha suddenly aim arrows at him once more. In front of the castle, Japeth was muscling out of Dot’s chocolate swamp. “You have to come with me!” Hort thundered, nosing his stymph towards her. “Now!” Sophie recoiled. “They’re our friends, Hort. My friends.” “Don’t be stupid! Get on!” Hort pleaded—

Sophie lit her fingerglow and shot his stymph in the tailbone with a pink flare, sending the bird rocketing forward, just as arrows slashed for Hort’s skull. Hort tried to veer back towards Sophie, but his bird ignored him and soared after the other stymphs, as if it knew its duty was to keep its rider safe. With an anguished cry, Hort looked back at Sophie, tears welling, while his stymph whisked him into the horizon without her. Pirates strung their bows one last time, but their arrows fell short, snapping against the church tower brick and showering wooden shards over the crowd.

Everything went quiet.

Sophie stood alone, rock still.

She’d given up a chance to be free.

To be with Agatha again.

To be safe at school.

So she could help people.

Her. Evil’s once-queen.

She didn’t even know who she was saving.

Or how many.

The real Sophie would be halfway to freedom by now.

The real Sophie would have saved herself.

A prickling dread snaked down her spine. Not just because she felt like a stranger in her own body.

But because someone was watching her.

She raised her head and saw Rhian in the church doorway, battered and bruised, his bluish eyes dead cold.

And then she knew.

He’d seen Agatha in the sky.

He’d seen her army.

He’d seen everything.

But he wasn’t the only one.

Thousands of people from other kingdoms, including their leaders, stood downhill, their eyes pinned upwards on the clear air as the last flecks of Agatha and her army disappeared.

All at once, their eyes moved to the king, watching Rhian the way he was watching Sophie, as birds circled overhead, tweeting brightly into silence— “Agatha’s caught!” “She has no army!” “Did you hear?” “Praise the Lion! Praise the King!”