فصل 11

Chapter 11

AGATHA

Friendship Lessons

As Agatha paced Merlin’s Menagerie on the roof of the School for Good, she kept her eye on the sunset, waiting for the first sign of her friends.

She glanced back and saw the Good and Evil faculty silently fanned out behind her and the spying eyes of first years peeping through the frosted glass doors from inside the castle.

Agatha paced faster between the hedge sculptures from King Arthur’s tale. She looked up again.

Still no stymphs.

What’s taking them so long? she thought, shuffling past a leafy scene of Guinevere with baby Tedros.

She needed to know who’d escaped from the dungeons.

More importantly, she needed to know who hadn’t—

She paced right into a hedge of Arthur pulling the sword from the stone, the rough shrubs slapping against her face.

Agatha sighed, remembering the moment when Tedros tried to pull a sword from the stone at his coronation. The moment that had precipitated everything that followed. And she still had no answer for why he’d failed and Rhian had succeeded.

She looked into the sky once more.

Nothing.

This time, however, she could see purple detonations of light over the school’s North Gate, challenging the bubble of green fog around the school.

Rhian’s men must be attacking Professor Manley’s shield again.

She peered closer at the purple light. Magic, she thought. But Rhian’s pirates couldn’t do magic. So who was helping them?

On the shores of Halfway Bay, Professor Manley cast rays of green mist to reinforce the shield, while the school’s wolf guards herded around the moat towards the North Gate, ready to fight Rhian’s men if they got through.

It’s only a matter of time, Agatha thought. How long until the shield gave way? A week? A few days? Rhian’s men would show them no mercy. She needed to get the students and teachers out before the shield fell. Which meant they needed a new safe house . . . somewhere she and her army could hide. . . .

But first, Agatha needed her prince back.

She knew that she shouldn’t be hoping for Tedros to have escaped over the others. That it wasn’t Good in the slightest to root for someone else to have been left behind. But in times like these, even the purest of souls can’t always be Good.

She leaned against the prickly green blade of Arthur’s sword, out of sight of the teachers and first years.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

She was supposed to have all of her friends back, safe and sound. Sophie included.

But nothing ever went as it was supposed to.

At least not in her fairy tale.

A FEW HOURS earlier, Agatha stood at the window in Professor Sader’s old office—now Hort’s office—watching the stymphs fly off to Camelot, the students of Groups 1 and 6 on their backs. Little by little, the birds receded into the gold glare of Rhian’s tale about Young Hristo, branded against the blue sky.

Agatha glanced down at the remaining first years, cramming in a quick lunch of turkey stew in the Clearing, their eyes pinned to the horizon, anxiously watching their classmates soar towards Rhian’s kingdom.

“Nevers and Evers sitting together at lunch? Things have changed,” Agatha marveled.

“Or maybe they’ve bonded over you sending their friends to die,” Professor Manley’s voice growled behind her.

Agatha turned to see the Good and Evil faculty standing around Hort’s hopelessly messy desk, their faces tense with concern. Amidst the soggy books, ink-spattered scrolls, food crumbs, and strewn underpants lay Professor Dovey’s gray bag, the outline of a sphere visible beneath the worn fabric.

“I agree with Bilious,” said Princess Uma, arms folded over her pink gown. “You pull two groups of students into a corner, whisper with them like a pack of squirrels, and off they go into battle, with a plan you’ve yet to explain to anyone else.” “EVEN THOUGH WE’RE THE TEACHERS,” Castor blistered.

“And even though one of the groups is mine,” snapped Yuba the Gnome, thumping his white staff into the dirty floor.

“Look, the groups will reach Camelot soon. We don’t have time to argue,” said Agatha forcefully. “They wanted to go. They’re not at this school to play it safe or be coddled. They’re here to do what is right. And that means getting our friends out of Camelot. You asked me to lead them and I did. You asked me to come up with a plan and I did. And now, for this plan to work, I need your help.” “A PLAN NEEDS PLANNING,” Castor savaged.

“A plan needs consultation,” Yuba hectored.

“A plan needs time,” Professor Anemone resounded.

“There was no time,” Agatha bit back. “The Blessing is our chance to rescue our friends and I had to take it.” “So you send first years to die?” said Professor Sheeks angrily. “Your fourth-year classmates in the clinic could have gone—you could have gone—” “No, I couldn’t. And neither could any other fourth year,” Agatha retorted. “Rhian’s brother has a map that tracks us. Just like Dovey’s Quest Map. Rhian would see us coming. He can’t see the first years.” Professor Sheeks went quiet.

“You think I wanted to send them into harm’s way?” said Agatha. “I wish they could all be in class right now, with nothing to worry about except Snow Balls and ranking points. I wish they could be practicing their animal calls and weather spells and be immune to anything beyond the school gates. I wish I could be the one flying to Camelot. But wishes won’t save my friends. For my plan to work, I needed them. And now I need you.” She paused. “Well, it isn’t really my plan. It’s Sophie’s.” The teachers stared at her.

“I found it in Lionsmane’s message,” Agatha explained, looking out the window at the gold words in the sky.

Citizens of the Woods! Revel in the tale of Hristo of Camelot, only 8 years old, who ran away from home and came to my castle, hoping to be my knight. Young Hristo’s mother found and whipped the poor boy. Stay strong, Hristo! The day you turn 16, you have a place as my knight! A child who loves his king is a blessed child. Let that be a lesson to all.

“When we were in the theater, I read a news clip that claimed it wasn’t Rhian writing Lionsmane’s tales, but Sophie,” said Agatha. “It seemed absurd at first, and yet something told me it was true. Because the more I read the message, the more it felt off . . . as if whoever had written it had picked their language very carefully. . . . Which meant if it was Sophie who’d written it, she’d chosen her words for a reason.” Agatha smiled. “And then I saw it.” With her fingerglow, she drew circles in the air, marking up the message.

Citizens of the Woods! Revel in the tale of Hristo of Camelot, only 8 years old, who ran away from home and came to my castle, hoping to be my knight. Young Hristo’s mother found and whipped the poor boy. Stay strong, Hristo! The day you turn 16, you have a place as my knight! A child who loves his king is a blessed child. Let that be a lesson to all.

“First letter of each sentence,” said Agatha. “C-R-Y-S-T-A-L. Sophie knows I have Professor Dovey’s crystal ball. And she wants me to use it.” The faculty peered at her, unconvinced . . . except for Professor Manley, whose usually viperous expression had turned curious.

“Go on,” he said.

“When Professor Dovey came to Camelot, she brought her crystal ball,” Agatha explained. “It was making her ill, so Sophie and I kept it away from her, even though Merlin said I should return it. But I wasn’t going to give Dovey back a ball that was hurting her. That’s why I have it now.” She glanced at the Dean’s bag on the table. “Sophie knows the risks of using it, but she also knows it’s the only way to save our friends. Because whatever its side effects, the ball works. When we were on our quest, Professor Dovey used it to communicate with us. I know that for a fact because I talked to her from Avalon. The crystal let her find students anywhere in the Woods. Which means we can use the crystal ball to find whoever is in Camelot’s dungeons.” “No, we can’t,” said Yuba testily, waving his staff, “because anyone with sense knows you can’t use magic in the dungeons—” “The crystal ball can’t get in the dungeons, but it can get our friends out,” Agatha countered. “According to maps of Camelot, the dungeons are against the side of the hill. Meaning the crystal ball can find that exact spot on the hill, which is where our rescue team will break in.” “Where is this spot, then?” Professor Sheeks challenged, pointing a stubby finger at the ball. “Show it to us.” “I can’t. At least not yet,” said Agatha, her confident facade faltering for the first time. “Dovey told us the ball is broken; it can only be used for a short time each day before it cuts off the connection. We need to save that time for when our students make it to Camelot and send us the signal.” “And you know how to use the crystal?” Professor Anemone prodded skeptically.

“Well, um, now that you mention it . . . that’s the other problem . . .” Agatha’s throat bobbed. “I can’t turn it on.” The room went silent.

“WHAT?” Castor blurted.

“It was glowing when I left Camelot . . . I thought that meant it was working . . . ,” Agatha stammered. “But just now I took it in the bathroom and tried waving at it and shaking it and turning it upside down and nothing happens—” Castor stalked towards her, baring his teeth. “YOU JUST SENT MY STUDENTS INTO A LION’S DEN, RELYING ON A CRYSTAL BALL YOU CAN’T USE?” Agatha skirted around the desk. “You’re teachers . . . You know how to use it. . . .” “We can’t use it, you head-dented twit!” Manley assailed, his baleful scowl returning. “No one can use it, except Clarissa! And we would have told you if you’d bothered to ask us before risking our students’ lives!” Agatha turned red as a rosebush. “I thought Merlin used it too!” “You should ‘think’ less and know more!” Manley lashed. “To make a crystal ball, a seer takes a piece of a fairy godmother’s soul and melds it with a piece of their own. That means every fairy godmother can only use the crystal made for her. To activate it, Clarissa would need to keep it still and look into its center at eye level. That is the only way it will work. If a fairy godmother wishes to give another access to her ball, then she can instruct the seer at the time of its making to have the crystal recognize a second person. If Merlin can use Clarissa’s ball, then Clarissa chose him as her Second. No one else can make the ball work. No one. Unless, that is, Dovey happened to name one of us her Second before she ever came to this school to teach.” Agatha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “B-b-but there has to be some other way—” “Oh, really? Let’s see,” Manley mocked, practically foaming at the mouth. He ripped open Dovey’s bag, dug past Tedros’ jacket, and from its folds, pulled out a dusty orb the size of a coconut, blemished with scratches and a long, jagged crack in its blue-tinted glass. Manley held it up to eye level. “Look at that! It doesn’t work! What about Uma? Can you make it work?” He shoved it in front of the princess. “Alas. No. Emma . . . ? No. Sheeba? No. Castor? Yuba? Aleksander? Rumi? No, no, and no. Like I said, completely, utterly worthless—” He thrust it at Agatha, clocking her in the nose— The ball lit up.

Manley dropped it in shock, but Agatha caught it, raising the crystal towards her face. The sphere glowed wintry blue, like luminescent ice, as she gazed into its center, a silver mist brewing inside.

“Guess I should have tried holding it still,” she breathed.

Teachers gathered around her, thunderstruck.

“Impossible,” Manley croaked.

But now the mist was taking shape, snaking towards Agatha from the ball, as her sweaty palms left streaks on the glass.

“Dovey couldn’t have named her as her Second!” Professor Anemone sputtered. “The girl wasn’t born when the ball was made!” Slowly the mist inside the crystal congealed into a phantom face that pressed against the scratched-up glass, peering at Agatha through eyeless sockets. The phantom’s face was foggy in texture and flickered every other second, as if suffering from a magical glitch, but the closer Agatha looked at the face, the more it seemed to shift between the features of Professor Dovey and the features of someone else familiar . . . someone who she couldn’t quite pin down. . . .

Then it spoke, its low, metallic voice glitching too, so Agatha had to string together the words.

“Clear as crystal, hard as bone,

My wisdom is Clarissa’s and Clarissa’s alone.

But she named you her Second, so I’ll speak to you too.

So tell me, dear Second, whose life shall I cue?

A friend or an enemy, any name I’ll allow,

Say it loud and I’ll show you them now.”

Agatha opened her mouth to respond—

Suddenly, she felt the ball ripped out of her hands and the orb went dark.

“Wait,” Yuba the Gnome mulled, the crystal hooked on the end of his staff. He dangled it in front of his brown, leathery face, studying its battered surface. “Clarissa is in Rhian’s dungeons. He could know we have her ball. He could have forced her to teach him its secrets so he can lure Agatha to her doom.” The gnome turned on his former student. “So how do we know it isn’t the king who wants you to use the crystal? How do we know this isn’t a trap?” The faculty quietly considered this.

So did Agatha.

Then shadows rushed through the room, followed by a sunburst, and they all turned to see the sky changing out the window. Lionsmane’s tale about Hristo was fading and in its place, a new message appeared.

Celebrate! Rogue Agatha has been caught! Yet another enemy of Camelot, brought down by the Lion. Scoff at all other reports. There is only one army: the Lion’s Army. And it is made of you: the people of the Woods! Live under the Lion and you will be safe forever.

“Further proof he’s trying to tempt Agatha out of hiding,” Yuba said sternly. “By lying about her capture, he’s daring her to show her face.” “But look . . . there it is again . . . ,” said Agatha, highlighting the message with her glow. “First letter of every sentence. C-R-Y-S-T-A-L.” She turned to Yuba. “It’s Sophie. I’m sure of it.” “And I’m sure it’s the king,” the gnome refuted.

“I know Sophie.” Agatha held firm. “I know my friend.” “We cannot risk our students’ lives on a hunch, Agatha,” Yuba attacked. “All logical evidence points to this crystal ball being a trap. As a student, you always gave Sophie the benefit of the doubt, privileging emotion over reason, while endangering both others and yourself. Sophie may be your best friend, but real friendship is about knowing the limits of that friendship, not foolishly believing it will always be there to save you. That is what got you in all this trouble to begin with. You blindly trusted Rhian as a friend and have paid the price. Rhian knows your instincts all too well. Follow them and you’ll end up dead with your prince.” Agatha could see the teachers nodding, clearly siding with the gnome. Yuba shoved the crystal ball back in Dovey’s bag— Suddenly a row of fairies whizzed into the office, glowing around Princess Uma’s head and unleashing a torrent of high-pitched jabber.

“They say Rhian’s men are returning to the school gates,” Uma recounted breathlessly. “And this time, they have a sorcerer with them.” “I’ll reinforce the shield as best I can,” Manley muttered as he headed for the door. He glanced back at Uma. “Find a way to turn those stymphs around before our students arrive in Camelot. Get them back here now.” He gave Agatha an ireful look and left the office.

Professor Anemone corralled Uma. “Can you call the stymphs?” “It’s too late! They’ve surely reached Camelot by now!” said the princess.

“What if we send a crow, telling them to abandon plan?” Professor Espada proposed.

“Faster if we mogrify ourselves,” said Professor Lukas.

“FASTER IF YOU RIDE ON MY BACK,” Castor harrumphed. “LET’S BRING ‘EM BACK OURSEL . . .” His voice petered out. The faculty followed the dog’s eyes to the window.

Agatha stood in front of it, burning a large circle into the glass with her fingerglow. Then she pulled the glass away, opening up a gaping hole.

“Never took her for a vandal,” Professor Sheeks said.

Professor Anemone blinked overcurled lashes. “She’s gone rogue!” Agatha raised her lit finger to the hole in the glass, her chest filling up with emotion like a river after the rain. Then, pointing her fingertip like a wand, she shot her glow at Lionsmane’s message, feeling all the anger, fear, and determination surge out of her body and into the sky. Over Camelot, black clouds gathered like tentacles around Lionsmane’s message, moving to the beat of a low thunder. The clouds curled around the words as Agatha focused harder, directing the mist to weave around each letter like fingers pulling the strings of a violin. Then all at once, the letters began to quiver, each one trembling in the sky.

“How is she doing that?” Princess Uma rasped.

“First-year weather spell,” said Professor Sheeks. “Yuba would have taught it to her himself.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” the gnome dismissed. “Elementary weather spells can’t touch an enemy’s magic!” Agatha thrust her finger even harder at the sky, the letters shivering faster and faster. She could feel the weight of Lionsmane’s message heavy under her hand, as if pushing a stone lid off a tomb. Clenching her teeth, she thought of Tedros, Sophie, Dovey, Merlin, and all her friends, summoning every last drop of resolve, her glow electrifying the veins down her whole palm . . . until at last, with a ferocious “ummmpph,” she magically stripped the gold off the letters . . .

. . . revealing the pink imprint of the message beneath it, like a fresh scar.

The pink of whoever’s magic had drafted the message in the first place.

A pink so bold and brash everyone knew who it belonged to.

“Elementary weather spells can’t touch an enemy’s magic,” said Agatha, gazing at the remnants of Sophie’s glow, “unless the magic isn’t an enemy’s at all.” In the glass, she could see the teachers goggling at her: Manley, too, from the stairwell outside the office doors.

Agatha stabbed out her hand and shot a spell that collapsed Lionsmane’s message into a golden ball, swelling and detonating it like a rival sun— images

She watched the word burn against the sky.

Too much, she thought.

But she couldn’t help herself.

She had to send a message to that fraud on Tedros’ throne . . . to the Snake at his side . . . to every last dupe that was following him. . . .

And most of all to Sophie.

To tell her that she’d broken her code.

That help was on the way.

Agatha walked up to Yuba, yanked Dovey’s bag from his grubby little hands, and strode out of the office. “Shall we get back to saving people?” She glared back with fire. “Or does anyone else want to teach me lessons about friendship?” Teachers peeked at each other . . . then scampered to follow.

The gnome included.

THEY DID IT in the Library of Virtue, on the highest floor of Honor Tower, so Agatha could have a clear view of the Woods through the library’s windows.

She stood facing the glass, with the crystal ball placed on a lectern in front of her. Behind her, the teachers watched, along with the hushed first years, who huddled against a wall painted with the school crest, their eyes on Agatha too.

Agatha insisted the first years be present, despite the teachers’ misgivings. They deserved to be part of this. They wanted to be part of this. Their classmates’ lives were on the line. If she could bring Groups 1 and 6 home safely, she’d earn the remaining kids’ trust as their leader. And she needed that trust for the war to come.

Over Halfway Bay, fairies flew Manley up to the School Master’s tower, so he could reinforce his shield against Rhian’s men from a closer distance. All the while, Agatha watched the sky beyond the tower, waiting for the signal from Camelot. The library was quiet around her, the only sound the labored breathing of the new librarian, a withered gray-whiskered goat, who stamped books so listlessly that Agatha wondered if he might die before he got through his pile. Nor did he show the faintest curiosity as to why the whole school had herded into his library to stare at a crystal ball. He continued to stamp—fump, fump, fump—the slow pace clashing with Agatha’s restless heartbeat as she pinned her eyes to the empty sky, her breath shallowing, a sense of doom crawling up her throat. . . .

Then a tiny flare appeared far away: a crisscrossing navy-and-pink helix, like an accidental firework.

Agatha exhaled. “Bodhi’s and Laithan’s glows. They made it through Camelot’s gates without being seen.” “They’re safe!” cheered a lively, dark-haired girl labeled PRIYANKA.

First years broke out in applause—

“Premature,” Professor Anemone clipped anxiously. “Now comes the real danger. Bodhi and Laithan have to sneak onto the Gold Tower hill and wait for Agatha’s bubble to appear, so she can show them the precise spot on the hill where they can break into the dungeons. Agatha, meanwhile, has to use the crystal ball to find this spot. And quickly. Every second Bodhi and Laithan spend on the castle grounds waiting for Agatha is a second too many.” The students hushed again.

Agatha focused on the crystal ball.

Nothing happened.

“Look directly into its center,” Princess Uma urged.

“Don’t blink,” Professor Sheeks nagged.

“I know,” Agatha gritted.

But still, the ball didn’t work.

Bodhi and Laithan were looking for her bubble on the hill at this very moment. . . . They were counting on her to appear. . . .

In the crystal’s reflection, she could see students creeping towards her from behind, trying to get a closer look— “BE STILL, PEONS!” Castor boomed.

“Shhh!” Professor Anemone hissed.

Agatha took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

Be still.

Be still.

Be still.

She couldn’t remember how to be still. She couldn’t remember the last time she was still.

Then a memory surfaced.

Her and Sophie by a lake in Gavaldon . . . a breeze rippling the surface, their bodies intertwined on the shore . . . their breaths synched, the silence endless . . . two best friends, basking in a sunset, wishing it would last forever. . . .

Agatha opened her eyes.

The crystal glowed blue.

Strands of silver curled towards her and the phantom appeared.

“Clear as crystal, hard as bone,

My wisdom is Clarissa’s and Clarissa’s alone.

But she named you her Second, so I’ll speak to you too.

So tell me, dear Second, whose life shall I cue?

A friend or an enemy, any name I’ll allow,

Say it loud and I’ll show you them now.”

“Show me Tedros,” she ordered.

“As you wish,” the crystal replied.

The silver phantom dispersed into mist and reassembled, depicting a scene within the ball— Tedros bursting into the Theater of Tales, a rose in one hand, a sword in his other, as he fenced playfully against handsome Everboys, all the while grinning at girls in the audience.

“That isn’t ‘now,’” Agatha said, dismayed. “That’s his first day of school! That was years ago!” The crystal ball glitched, the scene stuttering and breaking apart into a thousand tiny crystal orbs within the larger one, each little bauble replaying the same clip of Tedros fencing the boys. Then a storm of blue lightning shot through the orb, rejoining the mini-crystals into a new scene. . . . Tedros as a young child, hiding under the bed in that strange guest room Agatha once saw in Camelot’s White Tower, the prince giggling to himself as fairies zoomed through looking for him. . . .

The crystal glitched harder, faster—

This time it showed two Tedroses running together through the Woods, both shirtless and bloody . . . then Tedros as a baby, playing with Merlin’s hat . . . then Tedros with Agatha underwater, peering into the crystal with her like she was now. . . .

“There is something very wrong with that ball,” Yuba murmured.

“Dovey said it was broken, but not like this,” Agatha fretted, grabbing the ball with both hands. Without her help, Bodhi and Laithan would be stranded at Rhian’s castle. The crystal had to work. “Show me Tedros the way he is!” she spewed. “Not as a child, not as a student, but as he is now!” The ball detonated with lightning and showed Tedros kissing Sophie in a sapphire cave.

“Stupid ball!” Agatha shouted, upending it like an hourglass.

Only now it was showing an eagle flying over a bloodred lake.

“Show me Tedros, you piece of crap! The real Tedros!” She rattled it with both hands like a cheap maraca— Something seemed to lock into place.

Now inside the crystal’s frame, a silver bubble roved over lush green grass, sun-kissed on a golden afternoon. As the bubble coasted uphill, the grass trembling in its breeze, Agatha could see the edges of a familiar tower overhead, armored guards manning the catwalks with crossbows.

“Wait. This is it,” she breathed. “This is Camelot.” The bubble slowed, then stopped on a patch of grass halfway up the hill before zeroing in, close enough for Agatha to see ants skittering across the green blades.

“The crystal is telling us this is where Tedros is. His dungeon is under that grass!” Agatha said, emotion straining her voice. She was a layer of dirt away from seeing her prince again. “That’s where they have to do it! That’s where Bodhi and Laithan have to break in!” For a moment, the Library was overtaken by silence.

Castor’s voice interrupted it.

“IF THEY SHOW UP.”

Agatha’s thought exactly.

Where were they?

The pink-and-blue flare meant they’d safely entered Camelot’s gates. They were supposed to sneak onto the Gold Tower hill and wait for her. The hill was small. It should have been easy to scan the grass and see her bubble the moment it appeared. . . .

Her heart stopped.

Had Bodhi and Laithan been captured by Rhian’s pirate guards? Had her plan to keep them unseen failed? Were they hurt or worse, still . . .

What was she thinking! Letting first years go on a daredevil mission that had the slimmest chance of succeeding? Were her friends’ lives worth killing innocent kids? Would Tedros, Sophie, and Dovey want students dying for them?

This is a mistake, she thought. She was so caught up in trying to save Camelot’s future that she’d borrowed against the school’s. She had to correct course. She’d order the crystal to show her Bodhi and Laithan. Wherever they were, she’d find a way to get them out. Even if it meant losing Tedros. Even if it meant losing everyone else.

She glared into the ball. “Show me Bo—”

A handsome face thrust into the crystal’s frame, spattered with black goo, a shimmery cape held over his head like a shield.

“Sorry,” Bodhi panted, his breath shaking the bubble. “Couldn’t see your bubble in the sunlight. Plus, Sophie’s old snakeskin cape is a nightmare to handle. Thin, slippery, and just the worst. To stay invisible, we had to shuffle under it like one of those dragon puppets. And Laithan has a big behind.” “I take that as a compliment,” whispered goo-covered Laithan, squeezing in under the cape. “In fairness to my behind, we planned for two of us, not three, so that made things worse.” “Three?” Agatha said, mystified.

“Hiya,” said a new goo-splotched face, crowding under the cape.

“Hort?” Agatha blurted.

“So I’m sitting in the carriage with Willam and Bogden fending off one of the Snake’s eels,” said the weasel, “and then what do you know, here come two of my former students, raiding the royal carriage like wild men and stunning the driver with a pretty mediocre spell but giving me just enough time to beat that scim to a puddle, and bang on, we’re off and rolling to Camelot. Boys said they’re supposed to invade the dungeons alone—that Sophie’s old cape wouldn’t fit three of us—but no way was I gonna let two first years go without me. I’m a professor. Oh, and Bogden and Willam wanted to come, but those boys are better as lookouts, if you know what I mean.” “Bogden and Willam?” said Agatha, even more baffled now.

“They stashed the carriage in the Woods near the castle and are waiting there, in case we can’t use the stymphs to escape,” said Bodhi. “No clouds today, so stymphs can’t hide overhead or the guards on the towers would see them. Have no idea where they’ve flown to. We’ll try signaling them once we free the prisoners, but no guarantee they’ll pick us up.” “A real crystal ball? Sooo cool,” said Laithan, poking at the bubble and distorting it. He searched the frame. “Is Priyanka watching? Tell her I say hi.” “Professor Anemone is watching, and you should be focusing on your vital mission instead of peacocking for girls!” the Beautification teacher scorched.

Laithan cleared his throat. “Um, the dungeons are . . . here?” “Right where you’re standing,” Agatha confirmed.

Bunched under the snakeskin, the three boys barraged the ground with their lit fingerglows, burning holes in the grass. Hort’s magic burrowed far faster than the first years’, searing through dirt like the sun melting ice, until he hit a solid gray wall. He gave it a kick, hearing a hollow sound and saw specks crumble, as if the wall was exceptionally old or not very sturdy. Then he silently cued the boys and they renewed their glows’ assault.

Suddenly a gust of wind swept in, blowing the snakeskin off them. The boys’ outlines brightened in Agatha’s frame. They weren’t invisible anymore. Agatha saw a guard on the tower turn— Hort snatched the cape back down, shielding them once more. “Holy frogballs. Did they see us?” “I don’t know,” said Agatha. “Just hurry.”

The boys shot their lit fingers harder at the dungeon wall, but this time, Bodhi and Laithan’s glow just spurted weak sparks.

“New boys never last long,” Princess Uma lamented.

“Easily drained,” Professor Sheeks concurred.

Hort glowered at Bodhi and Laithan as he redoubled his glow strength. “And you wanted to do this alone?” There was another problem now too.

“Hort?” Agatha rasped.

“What.”

“My connection’s weakening.”

Hort looked up into the frame and saw what she was seeing: the image in the bubble turning translucent.

“Oh, for Hook’s sake,” Hort growled.

He redirected his glow onto himself and, with a choked scream, exploded out of his clothes, morphing into a giant man-wolf, nearly evicting the two boys out from under the cape with his girth, before hugging them back under his furred torso like a lion protecting his cubs. Then with the snakeskin hung tight around them, Hort raised two hairy fists and slammed the wall, once, twice, three times, the last with a roar— The wall caved in.

Two boys and a man-wolf tumbled down in an implosion of brick, dirt, and grass as Agatha watched, bug-eyed, hearing the confused shouts of distant guards through the crystal and then the clatter of alarm bells. Black dust swirled inside the crystal ball like a storm, obscuring everything behind it; Agatha pressed her nose to the glass, while teachers and students crowded in behind her, desperate to see if the boys survived.

Little by little, the dust cleared, revealing three walls of a dark prison cell, a ray of sunlight piercing through like a saber. Hort, Bodhi, and Laithan lay facedown in the rubble, groaning as they stirred.

But that’s not who Agatha was looking at.

Agatha was watching a sallow, glassy-eyed boy, covered in blood and bruises, slowly rise from a crouch into the sunlight, like he was lost in a dream.

“Agatha?”

Tears came to his princess’s eyes. “Tedros, listen to me. Everything I said that night before the battle . . . everything I said to Sophie . . . I was lost in a moment. I was scared and frustrated. It’s not how I feel about you—” “You came for me. That’s all that matters,” Tedros said, choked up with emotion. “I didn’t think there was a way. But you found one. Of course you found one. You’re you. And now you’re here . . .” He cocked his head. “Along with a lot of other people. Um, I see Yuba . . . and Castor and . . . are you at school?” “For now,” said Agatha quickly. “And soon you will be too. You’re hurt and the teachers can heal you.” “Do I look as bad as I feel?” Tedros asked.

“Still handsomer than Rhian,” said Agatha.

“Good answer. And Sophie?”

“A group of first years is distracting Rhian long enough to free her. There’ll be plenty of time for us to talk once you’re here at school. You need to get out now, Tedros. You and Dovey and all the others.” But Tedros just gazed at her like they had all the time in the world. Agatha, too, felt herself falling into Tedros’ eyes, as if there was no barrier between them at all.

“Um . . . guys?”

Tedros turned to the man-wolf, head raised on the floor.

Hort pointed with his paw. “They’re coming.”

All of a sudden, Agatha saw shadows rushing in from every side of the crystal, converging on the dungeons.

“Free the rest!” Tedros cried at Hort, who bounded with the prince down the hall towards the other cells. Bodhi and Laithan lumbered up from the floor, limping after them, but Hort flung them backwards—“Call the stymphs, you fool!” Bodhi spun around, firing navy flares through the sinkhole into the sky, past pirate guards who were starting to leap down from the hill into the dungeons. More dirt and rubble clouded Agatha’s ball, obscuring her view. She could see Laithan repelling guards with stun spells, but his glow wasn’t strong enough to stop them. A pirate charged forward and tackled him, wrestling the muscly first year into a headlock, blocking Agatha’s sightline completely.

Meanwhile, the bubble inside her crystal had faded two shades lighter. She could hardly see anything anymore, her connection about to break.

Hort’s roars echoed down the hall, along with the sound of crashing metal. Disconnected voices rose in the chaos— “This way!” Tedros yelled.

“Nicola, look behind you!” shouted Professor Dovey.

“Get off me, you brute!” Kiko screamed.

The cry of shrieking stymphs drowned them out.

More debris exploded through the dungeons, flooding Agatha’s crystal. The crystal glitched again and the dust morphed to silver shimmer, slowly re-forming the phantom mask. . . .

“I can’t see them anymore,” Agatha gasped.

“The stymphs came too late,” Princess Uma said, ashen. “They won’t get everyone out.” “They have to,” Agatha panicked. “If we leave anyone behind, Rhian will kill them!” “WE NEED TO GO NOW!” Castor blasted, lurching for the doors. “WE HAVE TO HELP THEM—” “You’ll never get there in time,” Yuba said.

Castor stopped in his tracks.

The library went quiet, students and teachers alike.

Agatha took a deep breath and looked up at her army.

“Maybe we won’t get to them,” she said. “But I know someone who will.” Professor Anemone read her face. “You’re overestimating her goodness, Agatha. She’ll save herself, no matter what it costs. It doesn’t matter who’s still left. She’ll be on the first stymph to school.” Agatha didn’t listen. She’d learned her lesson too many times: friendship can’t be explained. Not a friendship like hers. Some bonds are too deep for others to ever understand.

She looked back at the crystal as the silver phantom inside prowled towards her, fading quickly, with just enough power for one last wish. . . .

“Show me Sophie,” Agatha commanded.

BACK ON THE rooftop, Agatha leaned against the leafy sculpture of King Arthur, still thinking about his son.

He wouldn’t be one of those left behind.

He’d find a way back to her.

Like she always found a way back to him.

Someone’s voice ripped her from her trance: “They’re here!” Agatha leapt out from behind the hedge, her eyes on the sky.

Stymphs soared towards the school from the Woods, smoothly penetrating Manley’s green fog, as their young riders began to come into view against the red-hot sunset.

First years burst through the roof door behind Agatha, cheering their return, the teachers joining in. “THEY’RE SAVED!” “WE WON!” “LONG LIVE TEDROS!” “LONG LIVE THE SCHOOL!” Agatha was too busy counting the stymphs’ riders— Hester . . . Anadil . . . Dot . . .

Beatrix . . . Reena . . . Kiko . . .

Bodhi . . . Laithan . . . Devan . . .

More bony birds tore through the fog, more riders on their backs.

Ten . . . eleven . . . twelve, Agatha counted, as her army’s cheers amplified.

Two more stymphs, two riders on each.

Fifteen . . .

Sixteen . . .

The birds stopped coming.

Agatha waited, as the first wave of stymphs landed on the Great Lawn below, Hester and Dot dismounting, helping Anadil, who was soaked in blood.

Instantly, teachers and students rushed back into the castle and down onto the lawn to help her, along with others landing nearby: Bert . . . Beckett . . . Laralisa . . .

Agatha stayed on the roof, searching the fog for more stymphs.

The sky stayed clear.

Seven short.

They were seven people short.

Seven who only Sophie could save now.

Agatha welled with tears, realizing who’d been left behind— CRACK!

The sound ricocheted across the school grounds like a stone through glass.

Agatha looked out and saw Professor Manley screaming violently at her from the School Master’s window . . . students and teachers fleeing into the castle from the lawn . . . wolves covered in blood at the North Gate. . . .

Agatha raised her eyes to a hole in the green shield . . . to the steel and boots coming through. . . .

She backed up and started running.

No time to mourn the missing.

Not now.

Because while she was breaking into Rhian’s castle . . .

Rhian’s men had broken into hers.