فصل 21

Chapter 21

AGATHA

Blood Crystal

For a moment, Agatha thought she was on a cloud.

She raised her head, her body sprawled on a sea of white pillows across the floor of an elegant chamber. Through a window above her, the blue glow of King Teapea’s palace mixed with the distant lights of Gnomeland’s metropolis. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep or who had put her in warm pajamas or in this bed, but she saw now that she hadn’t been sleeping alone.

There was the imprint of a body in the pillows next to her, a few long blond hairs snaking around the silk.

Sophie’s ruffled white lace dress lay dumped in a corner.

Suddenly Agatha remembered everything: she and Sophie in the crystal . . . Rhian believing Sophie was on his side . . . Japeth promising his brother he’d find her . . . and if he found Sophie with Agatha and Tedros, he’d murder all three . . .

That’s when Japeth had seen them.

Inside the crystal.

He and his brother had seen Sophie with Agatha.

Which could only mean one thing.

The Snake was coming.

Agatha flung out of the bed and found her black dress hanging in the closet, steamed and clean.

She could hear voices from another room.

Sophie, Tedros, and Reaper were sitting on a blanket, breakfast spread out around them as bleary-eyed gnome servants refilled the trays: almond-stuffed croissants, cinnamon toast, grilled cheese and tomato squares, broccoli and egg frittatas, buttercream pancakes. Tedros was already on his second plate of food, his hair wet from a bath. Sophie wore a stylish blue-and-red dress that seemed oddly familiar, but she wasn’t eating, her face tense.

“His scims will find us,” Sophie insisted. “It’s a matter of time.” “Beatrix’s team is on the lookout in the Woods. She, Reena, and Kiko are capable Evers,” said Reaper. “Plus, we’ll know when Gnomeland’s defenses have been breached—” A meow squeaked out of him and he rubbed at his throat. “Uma’s spell won’t last much longer. Once it wears off, I’ll no longer be able to speak to you.” “Rhian still thought I was loyal to him. I had him fooled,” said Sophie, giving Tedros a satisfied look. Then her face tightened. “He said something about wanting to bring someone back from the dead. Someone he and his brother loved.” “Back from the dead?” Tedros said, stunned. “Who?” “Never got the chance to find out,” Sophie admitted. “We knocked over a lamp and they saw us. Rhian and Japeth saw me with Agatha.” “But how? And why was there a scene of Rhian and his brother at all?” Tedros pushed. “The crystal only reads the souls of the people inside it. And they weren’t inside the ball with us.” “I had the same question,” said Agatha.

They turned to her, standing under the archway.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Agatha directed at Sophie.

“You looked so peaceful for once,” Sophie said, smelling of fresh lavender. “Besides, I’m perfectly capable of briefing your cat and your boyfriend without you.” “You and Sophie emerged from the crystal barely conscious, just as the ball lost connection,” Reaper explained to Agatha. “Tedros pulled you both from the portal and he and my guards put you to bed.” “Tried to sleep too, but couldn’t really. Not without knowing what you two saw,” Tedros said to Agatha, his eyes haggard. “My mum and the Sheriff are sleeping. Been here stuffing my face, before Sophie came down.” Sophie noticed Agatha still glaring at her. “Like my dress, darling? Made it out of the rug in Reaper’s toilet, after I took a long lavender bath. Needed to extinguish the scent of that cursed white frock.” Agatha plopped onto the blanket. “Scims are coming for us. Kings are burning their rings. Reaper won’t speak much longer. We don’t have time to be sleeping or eating pancakes or taking lavender baths. We should be going back into the crystal and looking for answers.” “Or going back to the castle and killing Rhian while he’s down,” Tedros intoned, swiping another pancake.

“The castle is surrounded by guards and the crystal needs more time to recharge, as I learned firsthand with Clarissa,” Reaper rebuffed. “If you were to go back in now, the connection would only last minutes. And it would be pointless until we understand: How could Rhian and his brother see you when they are at Camelot and you are here? And how could you knock over a lamp? It goes against the Rules of Time.” He raised a paw and yellow glow seeped out of it, casting words onto the blue wall.

1. The Past is fiction. The Present is fact.

2. The Past is memory. The Present is the moment.

3. The Past is there. The Present is here.

4. The Past is retained. The Present is released.

5. The Past is weakness. The Present is power.

“Rule 3,” said the cat. “If they saw you, then you were physically in the king’s bedroom. And you cannot physically be in Gnomeland and in Camelot at the same time.” He paused, his wrinkled lips twitching. “Unless . . . unless . . .” “What?” Agatha, Sophie, and Tedros hounded.

“Unless the ball recognizes Rhian’s or Japeth’s soul . . . even a sliver of it,” Reaper proposed. “If the ball recognizes one or both of their souls, then maybe the crystal believed them the ball’s rightful Second instead of Agatha. When you tried to enter their scene, it made your presence known. Like a defense system or an alarm. That’s what bent the Rules of Time—” His voice caught, another burp of meows floating out before he regained control. “It would also explain why the crystal had a scene of them inside: they might be far away from the ball, but their souls are always connected to it.” “Utter dog crap,” Tedros blustered, prompting a curdled expression from the cat. “There’s no way Rhian’s or Japeth’s soul is connected to Professor Dovey’s crystal ball—” “Unless they are related to her,” Reaper said coolly. “Past is Present and Present is Past. Lady Lesso used to say that to Agatha’s mother, when Callis was a teacher of Uglification at the School for Evil. Callis had recently found me in the Woods as a hungry kitten and nurtured me back to health. It unlocked something in her. She openly wondered to Lesso what it might be like to have a baby of her own one day. The Dean warned her: the sins of the parent can live on in the child. The soul lives on through the blood. It’s why Nevers make terrible parents.” “Past is Present and Present is Past. . . .” Sophie spoke softly, almost to herself. “Rhian said that to me.” Dread fluttered in Agatha’s stomach, as if her own soul had figured something out. Something it wasn’t telling her. “You’re saying Rhian and Japeth could be related to Professor Dovey? But Dovey didn’t have children.” “Dovey’s siblings may have, though,” said Reaper, his voice faint and scratchy. “And any children in Clarissa Dovey’s bloodline—meow, meow, meow—would also be recognized by—meow, meow—Dovey’s crystal.” “Dovey was an only child. She mentioned it at our last meal,” Tedros countered. “There were no siblings to carry on the bloodline. So it’s impossible that Rhian and Japeth’s souls are part of the crystal.” “Only it’s not just a fairy godmother’s soul that goes into her crystal ball,” Agatha realized, looking up at Tedros and Sophie.

Her two friends stared back at her. “Professor Sader,” Sophie breathed. “A crystal ball has the soul of a fairy godmother and the seer who made it for her. And Sader made the crystal for Dovey.” “That phantom in the ball,” Agatha said. “It glitches between Professor Dovey’s face and a second face. I couldn’t place it at first but now I know. . . . It’s Sader’s.” “But that still doesn’t get us anywhere,” Tedros groused. “Why would Sader’s soul have anything to do with Rhian’s or Japeth’s? It’s not like he could have been their father—” He dropped his pancake.

“Except Professor Sader knew Lady Gremlaine! Dovey told me!” the prince exclaimed. “Sader was the seer that painted my coronation portrait and Dovey went with Sader to Camelot when he did it. Something Sader said to Dovey made Dovey think that he and Lady Gremlaine had a history.” “Hold on,” Agatha said, agape. “You think Rhian and Japeth could be the sons of Lady Gremlaine and August Sader?” “I thought August Sader didn’t like women,” Sophie volunteered.

“He didn’t like you,” said Tedros.

“Let’s think about this,” Agatha said. “Rhian and Japeth both have light eyes like Sader. The same good looks and thick hair. And if Sader is their father, that explains how Japeth would have magic in his blood, since Sader is a seer.” She paused. “That always bothered me. That Arthur wasn’t magical. So if Japeth was Arthur and Gremlaine’s son, where would Japeth’s scims and magic have come from? But having Sader as a father explains that . . .” “Could a son of Sader and Gremlaine really be so Evil, though?” Sophie wondered.

“Could a son of Arthur and Gremlaine?” Agatha returned. “Lady Gremlaine was cruel at times. At least to me. Maybe it was her soul that infected the boys.” “Past is Present and Present is Past . . . ,” Sophie mulled.

“Look, all I care is that if Rhian and Japeth are the sons of Sader and Gremlaine, then they’re not my father’s sons and Rhian isn’t my father’s blood,” Tedros spewed. “And if Rhian isn’t his blood, then he isn’t the heir and he isn’t king and the people of the Woods have to know they’ve been duped by a lying, filthy scum.” “And to think: all we have to do is prove it before magic eels kill us,” Sophie chimed.

Reaper tried to say something, but strained meows came out instead, Uma’s spell at an end.

Agatha cuddled her cat to her side. “But why would Excalibur pull from the stone for a son of Sader and Gremlaine? It still doesn’t make sense . . .” “Unless there’s something about Lady Gremlaine we don’t know,” Tedros guessed. “What do we know about Grisella Gremlaine? She was a childhood friend of my father’s, then came to work as his steward when he became king. Then my mother fires her after I’m born and she goes to her home in Nottingham until the Mistral Sisters bring her back. . . .” That name again, Agatha thought.

Grisella.

She’d heard it before. Where?

Grisella.

Grisella.

Grisella.

“Wait,” she gasped.

Agatha bounded up from the blanket and raced out of the room. She could hear Tedros scampering after her and Sophie stumble with a yelp, dishes clattering, before exclaiming, “Oh, no one should eat croissants anyway!” and chasing Agatha too.

“Where are we going!” Sophie yelled.

“Throne Room!” Agatha shouted.

“It’s the other way!” Tedros barked.

Agatha spun on her heel and now Tedros led the group, sprinting around blue-stone columns as red pawprints lit up on the floor under their feet, before they hurtled between two gnome guards, jumped through the waterfall, and landed breathlessly in the familiar blue velvet room.

Dovey’s bag lay limp in a corner. The bag that once held the Dean’s crystal ball.

Agatha ripped it open.

“What are we looking for?” Tedros panted, thrusting his hands into the bag.

Watching him, Agatha had another bout of déjà vu. She’d seen this before . . . in one of the crystals . . . Tedros scrounging through Dovey’s bag in the throne room. At the time she’d thought it was a lie. But it wasn’t. It was the future. What else had she thought was a lie that would bear out to be true?

“Hey, this is my coat,” Tedros said, pulling out his black jacket, spotted with dried blood, which Agatha had used to cushion Dovey’s crystal ball. He opened the coat up and a stack of letters fell out, banded together, onto the velvet floor.

“Grisella,” Agatha said, grabbing them. “That’s the name these letters are addressed to!” “The letters from Lady Gremlaine to my father?” Tedros blurted, accosting her. “Where did you find them!” “Never mind that,” Agatha said, spreading the letters on the floor, putting aside the stray card she’d found for the Bank of Putsi. “I read a few of them already. Arthur confesses a lot of his feelings to Lady Gremlaine. Maybe there’s something here . . . something that tells us whether Lady Gremlaine was Rhian and Japeth’s mother!” “And if so, who the father was,” said Sophie, picking croissant flakes off her shoe.

Tedros and Agatha looked at her.

Alarms exploded through the room: a fusillade of high-pitched meows, like a helium-drunk cat being stung by bees.

All the fireflies in the throne room poured out from between the velvet panels and the tiers of the chandelier, thousands and thousands of them, blanketing the walls from floor to ceiling, the flies jammed together and wings spread in a glowing orange matrix. Instantly, these lit walls morphed into magic screens, surveilling the various areas of Gnomeland. One of these screens was flashing, with grainy footage of the Woods outside the tree stump marking Gnomeland’s entrance, the fireflies on the stump magically beaming back their field of view.

From what Agatha could tell, Beatrix, Reena, and Kiko were in full combat, shooting spells at something. . . .

A scim.

The eel stabbed Reena in the shoulder and gashed Beatrix’s leg, before Kiko smashed it down with a rock. Kiko raised the rock again, but the scim had recovered, shooting out from underneath it, the shining, scaly tip spinning straight for Kiko’s eye.

Agatha screamed futilely—

Beatrix tomahawked the scim with both fists, wrestling the eel to the ground. The eel ripped at her dress, slashing cuts in her hands and arms. Beatrix lost grip, the scim stabbing up for her throat— Reena impaled it with a sharp branch, leaking goo all over her dress. Kiko stomped on the eel furiously, long after it stopped shrieking, then set it on fire with her fingerglow.

The three girls collapsed, heaving quietly, covered in dirt and blood.

Agatha slackened against the wall, just as drained.

“More will come,” a gruff voice said.

Agatha turned to a firefly wall showing the palace dining room: the Sheriff, Guinevere, and Reaper together in frame, clearly monitoring the same surveillance. They could see Agatha, Sophie, and Tedros like the young trio could see them.

“Japeth will sense a scim is dead,” the Sheriff warned. “We don’t have much time. Gwen, Reaper, and I will man the tunnel above Gnomeland.” “Meow meow meow. Meeeow!” Reaper hectored at Tedros.

“Learned a bit of Cat under Uma’s mother at school,” said Guinevere. “Whatever mission Reaper gave you . . . he’s telling you to do it fast.” Screens around the room went dark, fireflies floating back to their stations.

“We need proof Rhian isn’t King Arthur’s son,” Sophie said, eyeing the mound of letters on the floor. “Before Japeth comes and kills us all. We need proof we can escape with and take into the Woods.” “We need proof even if we can’t escape,” Tedros said soberly. “Proof we can send out to the Woods before we die. The fate of our world is far bigger than the three of us.” Agatha and Sophie looked at him.

Fireflies gleamed in his hair like a crown.

“Uh . . .” Tedros shifted under the girls’ stares. “Something on my face?” “Come on,” Agatha said, dragging Sophie to the floor.

The prince joined them as they ransacked King Arthur’s letters for clues . . . something that would prove who the true father was to Lady Gremlaine’s sons . . . something that would prove who Rhian and Japeth really were. . . .

Ten minutes later, Tedros said he found it.

IT WAS IN a letter from Arthur to Lady Gremlaine.

DEAR GRISELLA,

I KNOW YOU’VE GONE TO STAY WITH YOUR SISTER GEMMA IN FOXWOOD; I REMEMBER YOU SAYING SHE RUNS THE SCHOOL FOR BOYS, SO I’VE SENT THIS LETTER THERE, HOPING IT WILL REACH YOU.

PLEASE COME BACK TO CAMELOT, GRISELLA. I KNOW YOU AND GUINEVERE DIDN’T SEE EYE TO EYE WHEN SHE FIRST CAME TO THE CASTLE. I SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED THIS. IT MUST HAVE BEEN DIFFICULT TO BE MY DEAREST FRIEND MOST OF MY LIFE, AND THEN TO SEE ME RETURN FROM SCHOOL WITH BOTH A NEW FRIEND IN LANCELOT AND A SOON-TO-BE WIFE. BUT I STILL VALUE YOUR FRIENDSHIP AS MUCH AS I EVER DID. AND I KNOW, DEEP IN MY HEART, THAT WE CAN MAKE IT ALL WORK. GWEN, YOU, AND ME TOGETHER.

PLEASE COME BACK.

I NEED YOU.

CAMELOT NEEDS YOU.

WITH LOVE,

ARTHUR

P.S. CAUGHT YOUR FRIEND SADER SNEAKING AROUND THE OUTSIDE OF THE CASTLE, TOSSING PEBBLES AT YOUR WINDOW. (CLEARLY WASN’T AWARE YOU WERE GONE.) QUITE CHARMING, DESPITE THE TRESPASSING! I EXTENDED AN INVITATION TO DINE WITH US AS SOON AS YOU RETURN.

“So Sader and Gremlaine were friends. More than friends, since he was prowling around her room at night,” said Tedros, relieved. “Here’s our proof that Rhian is their son.” Agatha reread it. “This isn’t proof that Rhian is Gremlaine’s son, let alone Sader’s. It’s compelling evidence. But we need more.” “Agatha, this letter proves August Sader and Lady Gremlaine were sneaking around at Camelot together, and we know from Lady Gremlaine’s own admission that she had a secret child,” the prince argued. “Any reasonable person in the Woods would look at this letter and come to the conclusion Rhian is Sader and Gremlaine’s son.” “But we’re not dealing with reasonable people, Teddy. We’re dealing with a Woods blindly loyal to Rhian,” said Sophie. “Aggie’s right. The letter’s not enough. Sader and Gremlaine are both dead. They can’t confirm it. And the Woods’ newspapers are under Rhian’s control. None of them will print it, let alone peddle a story that Rhian isn’t King Arthur’s heir. Only newspaper that might is the Courier and they’re on the run. Not like anyone would believe them anyway.” Agatha was still gazing at Arthur’s letter. That prickly dread pitched through her stomach again. The one that told her she’d missed something— Alarms blared once more. Fireflies surged to the walls, lighting them up like screens.

On one of these, Agatha watched as above ground, in the Woods, a thousand scims assaulted the stump outside Gnomeland, while the stump sprayed back an array of magic shields and spells. Beatrix, Reena, and Kiko were nowhere to be seen.

On an adjacent screen, an army of armored gnomes, wielding swords, clubs, and scimitars, climbed up the abandoned Flowerground tunnel and stood on each other’s shoulders to blockade the entrance under the stump. The gnome pyramid filled the vast hollow, a lattice of a thousand tiny bodies, determined to prevent any scims from breaching the stump and penetrating Gnomeland’s metropolis.

Above ground, the eels smashed the stump with more force, coming from all directions, but they still couldn’t find a way in.

“I need to be up there, you meddlin’ bag of bones!” Agatha heard the Sheriff growl from another screen. She turned and spotted him, Reaper, and Guinevere on the dirt floor of the Flowerground hollow, beneath the massive gnome blockade. The Sheriff spat at the cat: “You hear me? I’m a man. I should be first line of defense. Not a buncha gnomes!” Reaper shook his head, meowing.

“What’d the damned thing say?” the Sheriff snarled at Guinevere.

“Too dangerous,” said Guinevere.

The screens in the throne room went dark.

“Why is the cat keeping the Sheriff from fighting?” Tedros asked, lunging to his feet. “All I know is he can’t stop me. Come on, let’s go!” He dashed for the waterfall and leapt out of the room.

Sophie scurried after him—

Agatha yanked her back. “This isn’t enough, Sophie, and you know it!” she said, holding up Arthur’s letter. “We need Rhian to tell us who his parents are. We need him to confess!” Sophie paled. “What?”

“Japeth is attacking us, which means Japeth isn’t in the castle,” said Agatha. “We need to go back inside that crystal. The one with Rhian, wounded in his room. He’ll be able to see us like last time. We’ll show him this letter. We’ll make him tell us the truth! All we have to do is magically record it and send it to the entire Kingdom Council!” “Have you lost your mind!” Sophie hissed. “First of all, Rhian will kill us!” “He’s mummified in bed—”

“His guards, then!”

“Not if we gag him—”

“Second of all, the crystal hasn’t recharged! You heard Reaper. The connection will only last minutes!” “We’ll move quickly—”

“And thirdly, if Tedros knew what we were doing, he’d kill us himself!” “Why do you think I waited until he left?” Agatha said.

Sophie gawked at her.

But Agatha was already hustling out of the room, dragging her best friend behind her.

“IF RHIAN’S TRAPPED in bed, why can’t we just kill him!” Sophie hassled as she followed Agatha into Reaper’s bathroom.

“Because killing Rhian won’t put Tedros back on the throne. We need proof Tedros is the real king,” Agatha declared.

“Rhian confessing Arthur isn’t his dad won’t give us that proof. Nor does it solve the fact Tedros can’t pull Excalibur from the stone. Or the fact people hate him—” “But it gets Rhian off the throne and gives Tedros a chance to redeem himself,” said Agatha, finding Dovey’s crystal wrapped in towels near the tub, still smelling of lavender. “Maybe once Tedros proves Rhian’s a fraud, Tedros will be able to pull Excalibur. Maybe it was his real coronation test all along.” “A lot of ‘maybes’ to risk our lives for,” Sophie grumbled.

Agatha turned to her sharply. “Unless you have something better, it’s the best plan we have. The connection won’t last long. I’ll show Rhian the letter, make him admit Arthur isn’t his father, and we jump out before the portal closes.” She snatched one of the vials off Reaper’s vanity, emptied it of cream, and folded Arthur’s letter inside, before sealing it and hiding it in her dress. She slipped into the tub, gripping the crystal ball against her chest, the steamy water making her heart thump faster than it already was. “Just do the spell to record everything he says.” “Spell? I don’t know a spell to do that!” Sophie flung back. “I figured you knew a spell since this was your rattle-brained idea!” “You’re a witch!” Agatha retorted. “Supposedly a good one!” Sophie blushed as if Agatha had questioned her very core. She climbed into the tub, her rug dress absorbing water like a sponge. “Well, there is a mimic spell to parrot back anything someone says, but it’s so elementary, I can barely remember it—” “Mimic what I’m about to say,” Agatha ordered.

“Oh. Hum.” Sophie bit her lip, before she tapped her thumbs together in a pattern, and her fingertip glowed pink.

Agatha dictated: “I will not waste time in the crystal, I will let Agatha do the talking, and I will leave when Agatha tells me to.” Sophie opened her mouth and Agatha’s voice came out, but slow motion and an octave too low: “I will not waste time in the crystal, I will let Agatha do the talking, and I will . . .” She squawked like a parrot. “. . . me to.” Agatha frowned.

“I’ll work out the kinks by the time he confesses,” Sophie clipped, submerging in the bath.

Agatha’s splash unfurled next to her and the two girls held their breaths as Agatha laid the ball on the floor of the basin and gazed into its center. Agatha prepared for the assault— Blue light pummeled her, but less brutally than the last time, as if the portal didn’t have the same power. Even so, her chest felt packed with concrete and she could see Sophie quailing in the water, beaten by the force. Shielding her eyes from the light, Agatha clasped her friend’s wrist and dove forward, pushing past the spike in pain and slamming her and Sophie’s hands against the ball. A supernova of white light exploded, tearing the girls apart, leaving Agatha falling into a void, her awareness fractured.

Slowly her breaths settled, the glass bubble blurring into view around her.

They were inside now, two soggy heaps.

“Connection’s weak,” Agatha panted, pointing at the dim blue glow casing the walls. She pulled the vial out of her dress and unsealed Arthur’s letter to Lady Gremlaine, clean and dry. “We need to move fast—” Silver mist whooshed over their heads and the phantom face pressed against the glass: “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. . . .” “Hurry, Sophie,” Agatha said, kneeling at the phantom’s edge and searching the crystals comprising its mist. “Find the one with Rhian. It was in this corner last time.” Rubbing her chest, Agatha brushed aside familiar scenes: her and Reaper on Graves Hill, when a cat was just a cat . . . Sophie trying to kill her at the No Ball their first year . . . Sophie in the lacy, ruffled white dress, pacing by the Gnomeland stump, before getting into a royal carriage with that shadowy boy. . . .

Agatha paused, rewatching this last scene that Sophie and Tedros had fought about earlier. The scene so obviously a fake. For one thing, Sophie had already dumped that white dress and was wearing a new one. For another, Sophie was here with Agatha, helping her fight for Tedros. She would never go back to Rhian! Yet here the scene was again, Sophie whisked off in the king’s carriage, repeating on loop as if it were real . . .

Then Agatha spotted it. Out of the corner of her eye.

A glass droplet with Rhian inside.

He was asleep in the king’s bedroom, wrapped in bloodstained bandages, the sky pitch-dark through the windows.

“Sophie, I found it,” she said, holding up the crystal— But Sophie was staring into another small crystal, her body stiff, as she watched the scene inside replay over and over.

“What is it?” Agatha asked, the ball darkening around them.

Sophie snapped out of her trance. “Nothing. Junk crystal. That’s the one? The crystal with Rhian?” “If it’s junk, why did you just slip it in your pocket—” Agatha started.

“So I don’t mix it up with the others! Stop wasting time we don’t have!” Sophie berated, pointing at the crystal in Agatha’s palm. “Hurry! Open it!” Sophie grabbed on to her friend’s hand as Agatha stilled her breath and peered into the glass— Blue light poured forth and the two girls leapt inside.

Their feet hit ground in the king’s bedroom, humid and smelling of a thousand flowers, well-wishing bouquets from other kingdoms piled into corners. A slit of blue light hovered vertically behind the two girls, their portal to escape.

King Rhian lay motionless on the bed, his body trapped in plaster, his bruised eyelids closed and gashed lips oozing blood onto the pillow.

Agatha took a step towards him.

His eyes flew open, the blue-green pools locked on the two girls. Before he could scream, Sophie ripped the letter out of Agatha’s hands and jumped onto the bed, covering Rhian’s mouth with her palm, pinning him under the weight of her chest. He writhed beneath her blue-and-red dress, his blood smearing her fingers.

“Listen, darling. Listen to me,” she said, fumbling at the letter in her lap, losing hold of it a few times before thrusting it in front of his face. “I need you to read this. Do you see what it says?” Agatha saw Rhian startle with shock, his cheeks drain color.

Sophie pulled the letter down. “The situation is clear now, isn’t it?” Rhian lay stiff as a corpse.

“Good,” said Sophie. “Agatha seems to think King Arthur isn’t your father. This letter is her proof.” She leaned in, her nose almost to the king’s. “So I need you to tell me who your real father is. The truth, this time. I’m going to move my hand and you’re going to tell me. Understood?” She’s moving too fast, Agatha thought. She’s forcing it— Sophie glared into Rhian’s eyes. “3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .” “Sophie, wait!” Agatha gasped.

Sophie lifted her hand—

“HELP! HELP ME!” Rhian yelled. “HELP!”

Guards burst through the doors, armor gleaming and swords raised, but Agatha was already swooping Sophie off the bed and throwing both their bodies through the blue portal.

Agatha landed hard on the glass of Dovey’s crystal ball, her body radiating pain. She lurched up and seized Sophie by the arm: “You idiot! You fool! You acted like his friend instead of threatening him! You should have held your fingerglow to his throat or suffocated him with a pillow! Something to make him tell the truth! I could have gotten the truth out of him! That’s why I made you swear to let me handle it!” “You were too slow,” Sophie croaked, clutching at her chest, her hand still streaked with Rhian’s blood. “I did what had to be done. I did what was right.” “What was ‘right’? What are you talking about! That was our one chance!” Agatha cried. “Our one chance to get the truth—” She stopped cold.

Sophie backed up in shock.

Because the spatter of Rhian’s blood was magically peeling off Sophie’s hand.

The girls watched the pattern of blood lift off Sophie’s skin and float upwards, the blood thickening and deepening in color. Slowly the pattern began to collapse, the drops of blood pooling together into a tiny sphere, swelling like a seed, the surface hardening, the edges sharpening, until at last its shape was complete. . . .

A crystal.

A blood crystal.

It drifted higher, towards the phantom mask, and took its place at the center of the mask, between the two eyeless holes.

Agatha reached up into the phantom and pulled the crystal down into her palm.

She and Sophie hunched forward and peered inside the smooth red glass, watching the beginning of a scene unfold.

The two girls exchanged tense looks.

“We need to go in,” Agatha said.

Sophie didn’t argue.

The glow of Dovey’s ball faded, the connection barely holding on. . . .

But Agatha was already grasping Sophie’s hand and glaring into the red center.

A storm of light later, they were inside the crystal of the king’s blood.

THE SCENE HAD a red tint to it, as if taking place in the haze of a blood sun.

They were inside Lady Gremlaine’s old bedroom in the White Tower of Camelot, watching Tedros’ former steward pace back and forth, glancing anxiously out her window.

Agatha almost hadn’t recognized her. Grisella Gremlaine still wore her signature lavender robes, but she was younger, much younger, hardly twenty years old, her tan face supple and radiant, her eyebrows thick and lips full, her brown hair loose to her shoulders. Lady Gremlaine stopped and put her nose to the window, searching the dark garden outside. . . . Then she went on pacing.

The glass of her window didn’t reflect the two intruders from another time nor the faint portal of light behind them.

Agatha’s hand squeezed Sophie’s harder. Not just from the eeriness of traveling back in time or witnessing a woman she’d seen murdered back from the grave, but also having proof, right here, that Lady Gremlaine was linked to King Rhian’s blood. Proof that Lady Gremlaine was indeed King Rhian’s mother.

And Agatha was quite sure that whoever Grisella Gremlaine was waiting for was King Rhian’s real father.

“You sure she can’t see us?” Sophie whispered.

“She’s dead,” Agatha said loudly.

And indeed, Lady Gremlaine didn’t break a step, pacing even faster now, her eyes darting again and again to the window.

A pebble hit the glass.

Instantly the steward surged forward and threw open the window— A hooded figure climbed in, shrouded in a black cloak.

Agatha couldn’t see the face.

Professor Sader?

“Do you have it?” Lady Gremlaine asked, breathless.

The hooded figure held up a piece of knotted rope.

Agatha peered at the rope, her insides turning.

It looked like it was made out of human flesh.

“Where is he?” came the stranger’s low, soft voice.

Agatha reached out to lift the person’s hood, but her hand went straight through.

“In here,” said Lady Gremlaine.

Quickly the steward ran her hands along the wall and found the edge of what appeared to be a secret door. She pulled it open and the hooded figure followed her inside, through a bathroom, and into an adjoining room. So did Agatha and Sophie— Agatha froze.

It was the strange guest room that Agatha had been in once before. Back then, she’d been struck by how out of place the room seemed, far away from the other guest rooms and poorly decorated, with a small bed pressed against the wall.

Only there was someone on the bed now.

King Arthur.

He was asleep, hands folded over his chest.

Light brown stubble coated his golden skin, his cheeks rosy and smooth. He was eighteen or nineteen, in the prime of his youth. But there was a gangly softness to him . . . a delicacy that Agatha hadn’t seen in her magical encounters with elder versions of Arthur. He snuffled serenely, undisturbed by Lady Gremlaine and the stranger.

“I don’t understand,” Sophie whispered. “What’s happening?” Agatha was just as confused.

“I put hemp oil in his drink like you told me to,” Lady Gremlaine said to the stranger. “Fell straight to sleep.” “We must move quickly, then,” said the stranger, holding out the rope. “Place this spansel around his neck.” Lady Gremlaine swallowed. “And then I’ll have his child?” “That is the power of the spansel,” the hooded figure whispered. “Use it and you will be pregnant with King Arthur’s heir before Guinevere marries him.” Agatha’s stomach dropped like a stone.

“He’ll have to marry me instead,” Lady Gremlaine realized quietly.

“You’ll be his queen,” said the stranger.

Lady Gremlaine looked at the hooded figure. “But will he love me?” “You didn’t pay me for love. You paid me to help you marry him instead of Guinevere,” replied the stranger. “And this spansel will do that.” Lady Gremlaine watched King Arthur sleep, her throat twitching.

With a rushed breath, she turned to the stranger and took the rope into her hands. Lady Gremlaine stepped forward, holding the spansel out, her shadow stretching over the sleeping king, until she stood over young Arthur. She gazed down at him, so enamored, so possessed, that her entire body seemed to blush. Hands trembling, she reached the spansel around his neck. . . .

Agatha shook her head, tears fogging her eyes. Sophie, too, was stricken. This was how Rhian and Japeth came to be. By cold, calculated sorcery. Devoid of love.

Which meant Rhian was King Arthur’s son, after all.

His eldest son.

Rhian was the true heir.

All was lost.

Agatha pulled Sophie towards the door. She’d seen enough. They couldn’t watch what followed— “I can’t,” a voice gasped.

Agatha and Sophie both turned.

“I can’t do it,” Lady Gremlaine sobbed. “I can’t betray him like this.” Tears ran down her face as she faced the stranger.

“I love him too much,” she whispered.

She dropped the rope and fled the room.

Agatha and Sophie stared at each other.

They were alone in the room with the hooded figure and the sleeping king.

The stranger exhaled. Retrieving the spansel, the hooded figure traipsed towards the door to follow Lady Gremlaine out— The stranger halted.

Time seemed to stop, the only sounds in the room the deep breaths of the king.

Slowly, the visitor looked back at young Arthur.

Smooth hands reached up and pulled away the hood, revealing the stranger’s face and forest-green eyes.

Agatha and Sophie jolted.

Impossible, Agatha thought. This is impossible.

But the figure was skulking back into the room now, step by step, towards the bed until the stranger loomed over the sleeper. The figure smiled down at the powerless king, green eyes twinkling like a snake’s. Then calmly, deliberately, the stranger hooked the spansel around Arthur’s neck. . . .

Agatha was about to be sick—

The scene stalled. Bolts of red and blue static ripped through the room. Arthur and his seducer glitched into blurry clouds. The floor under Agatha’s feet strobed and fractured, vanishing piece by piece. . . .

The crystal ball.

It was disconnecting.

Sophie was already hightailing towards Lady Gremlaine’s room.

“Wait!” Agatha choked, tripping in the slippery bathroom between the two rooms, but Sophie took a running start and dove into the portal as it started to close up. Agatha stumbled to her feet, the portal obscured by strobing static. She flailed towards it, the portal shrinking fast, the size of a plate . . . a marble . . . a pea. . . . With a flying leap, Agatha launched herself at the light— Hot water engulfed her, filling her mouth and nose, as she sank to the bottom of Reaper’s bath. Any relief at escaping the crystal was drowned out by what she’d just seen. Panic speared her like arrows, her heart taking slingshots against her chest. It all made sense now: the twins’ evil . . . the Snake’s magic . . . the suit of spying eels . . .

“Caught your friend Sader sneaking around the castle . . .” “Your friend Sader.”

“Sader.”

The wrong Sader.

Agatha burst out of the water, wheezing. “Her . . . It was her. . . .” Tedros crashed through the bathroom door. “What are you doing! Scims might get through any second and you and Sophie are . . .” He took in the scene. His cheeks went scarlet. “Have you lost your mind! You went into the crystal withou—” “Evelyn Sader,” Agatha gasped. “Evelyn Sader is Rhian and Japeth’s mother. She hexed your father. She had his child. Rhian is the son of King Arthur and Evelyn Sader. Rhian is your father’s eldest child. His rightful heir. Tedros . . . Rhian is king.” Her prince looked at her. For a second, he smiled stupidly, as if he thought this was all a joke, a ruse to distract him from being angry with her.

But then he saw it in her eyes. In the way she was shivering despite the steam.

She was telling the truth.

Tedros shook his head. “You’re talking nonsense. My father didn’t even know Evelyn S-S-Sad . . .” He backed against the wall. “You didn’t see it right. . . . Whatever it was, you misunderstood. . . .” “I wish I did. I wish it was a lie,” Agatha said, anguished. “I saw everything, Tedros.” She lifted out of the bath to touch him, to hold him— “Wait,” Agatha said, stopping stiff. A new panic ripped through her. “Sophie,” she breathed, searching the room. “Did she make it back . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Small, wet footprints led out of the bathroom into the hall.

Agatha raised her eyes to Tedros. “Did you see her?” Tedros was still shell-shocked. “You’re wrong. You have to be wrong. She has nothing to do with my father! E-E-Evelyn? The Dean?” But now he caught the fear in Agatha’s eyes.

The fear about something else entirely.

“Sophie,” Agatha rasped. “Did you see her?”

Tedros gazed at her blankly.

Then his face went cold.

He was already running. Agatha chased him, water flying off her as she and her prince hurtled down the hall, checking each chamber, following the trail of footprints until they ended in the last room, the one sprayed with white pillows across the floor, where she and Sophie had slept— Sophie wasn’t there.

The window was open, two wet footprints gleaming on the windowsill.

Agatha’s scream reverberated through the palace.

Because it wasn’t just Sophie who was missing.

Her white dress was gone too.