فصل 7

Chapter 7

AGATHA

Agatha’s Army

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

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

A hand reached back holding a blue lollipop.

“Stole it just for you,” said Professor Anemone. “It’s illegal to take candy from Hansel’s Haven, as you well know, but, given present circumstances, I think we all need to break a few rules.” Agatha lifted the lollipop from her teacher’s hand into her mouth and tasted its familiar blueberry tartness. Her first year she’d gotten detention from Professor Anemone for stealing one of these lollipops off the candied classroom walls in Hansel’s Haven (along with marshmallows, a hunk of gingerbread, and two bricks of fudge). Back then, she’d been the worst student at the School for Good and Evil. Now, three years later, she was returning to the school to lead it.

“Do they know what’s happened?” Agatha asked, watching her teacher’s lemon-yellow hair dance in the wind. “The new students, I mean.” “The Storian began its retelling of The Lion and the Snake before you and Sophie left on your quest. That’s how we’ve stayed up-to-date on everything that’s happened since Rhian took the throne.” “But can’t we show the Storian’s tale to the rest of the kingdoms?” Agatha asked, adjusting Dovey’s bag on her arm, feeling Tedros’ jacket that she’d taken from Robin’s house cushioned around the crystal ball inside. “If we can make their rulers see that Rhian and the Snake are working together—” “The Storian’s tales reach other kingdoms only after The End is written, including your bookshops in Woods Beyond,” said her teacher. “And even if we could bring the Kingdom Council to the School Master’s tower, the Storian won’t allow anyone to look backwards in a fairy tale while it is writing one. Nor should we involve the Kingdom Council until we have clearer proof of Rhian’s plot, since their allegiance is to the new king. That said, Professor Manley has been monitoring the pen’s movements and our first years have been briefed on the story thus far.” “And they’re trained to fight?” Agatha pressed.

“Fight? Goodness, no.”

“But you said they’re my army!”

“Agatha, they’ve been at school for less than a month. The Evergirls can barely produce passable smiles, the Nevers are hopeless with their Special Talents, and they’ve just had their fingerglows unlocked two days ago. There hasn’t even been a Trial by Tale. They’re certainly no army yet. But you’ll whip them into shape.” “Me? You want me to train them?” Agatha blurted. “But I’m not a teacher! Sophie can bluff being a Dean because, well, she can bluff anything, but not me—” “You’ll love the new Everboys. Charming little foxes.” Professor Anemone glanced back, her makeup dried out and cracking. “Especially the boys of Honor 52.” “Professor, I don’t even know these students!”

“You know Camelot. You know the castle, you know its defenses, and most importantly, you know the false king who sits upon the throne,” said Professor Anemone. “You are far better equipped than any of the teachers to lead our students in this fight. Besides, until you complete your quest, you’re still an official student, and given the Storian is writing your tale, the teachers cannot interfere in it. Clarissa made that mistake and clearly paid the price.” Agatha shook her head. “But can the students even do basic spells? Will the Evers and Nevers work together? Have you told them what’s at stake—” “My dear, take advantage of the peace and quiet while you can,” said her teacher, steadying the stymph at a cruising altitude. “There won’t be much of either once we get to school.” Agatha exhaled through her nose. How could she relax until her friends were free? And how was she supposed to lead a school? A school full of students she’d never met? If she wasn’t so overwhelmed, she’d appreciate the irony: Sophie had been thrust at the head of Camelot, where Agatha was supposed to be queen, and now Agatha was expected to command the School for Good and Evil, where Sophie was supposed to be Dean. Agatha’s heart revved up, then sputtered, drained of adrenaline after her all-night visit to Sherwood Forest. She could feel her eyelids drooping . . . But with Dovey’s crystal ball slung on her shoulder, weighing her down, she didn’t dare fall asleep, for fear it would yank her overboard and drop her like a stone.

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

Foxwood, she remembered. The oldest Ever kingdom.

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

So Long, So Long, the Snake is Gone!

HAIL KING RHIAN, THE SNAKE SLAYER!

Long Live Queen Sophie!

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

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

“Professor!” Agatha shrieked—

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

The stymph reared in midair, panting hard, as Professor Anemone stroked its neck, trying to calm it down. “Seems we both fell asleep,” she croaked as the stymph peeped sheepishly at his riders through eyeless sockets. “And no wonder, given the rumpus at school. Thankfully we’ll be there soon enough.” “Rumpus” didn’t sound good, Agatha thought, but right now she was worried they’d woken the Foxwood guard. If anyone spotted her, they’d surely alert Rhian. She peeked back towards the castle, about to urge Professor Anemone to get moving. Then her eyes widened— “What’s that?”

She’d been so busy looking down that she’d missed the giant message in gold, embedded in the lightening sky overhead.

“Lionsmane’s first fairy tale,” said Professor Anemone, still caressing the stymph. “You must have been deep in Sherwood Forest to miss it. Been up there nearly a full day now. Visible from any kingdom in the Woods.” “Lionsmane . . . You mean ‘Rhian’s pen’? The one he’s pit against the Storian?” Agatha said, remembering the newspaper in Gillikin. She quickly read the message in the sky about a woman named Tsarina, blessed with a child after several stillbirths. “’Only the Lion can save you’? That’s the moral of the story?” Her teacher sighed. “The Storian spends weeks, months, often years crafting a tale for the purposes of bettering our world. And now a new pen arrives that replaces storytelling with a king’s propaganda.” “A fake king and a fake pen,” Agatha bristled. “Are people actually believing this? Is anyone fighting for the Stori . . .” Her voice trailed off, because Rhian’s fairy tale suddenly faded. Agatha and Professor Anemone exchanged anxious looks, as if their presence here was somehow responsible. But then a blast of light shot from the west, branding a new message in the sky, replacing the first one.

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

“Now he’s going after the youth,” Professor Anemone realized, grim-faced. “Same thing Rafal tried when he took over both schools. Own the youth and you own the future.” Down below, Agatha could still see the kids’ tiny figures swordplaying in their Lion masks. Only they’d stopped now and were gazing up at the Lion’s second tale, along with their father. After a moment, the father’s eyes swept towards Agatha and her teacher, perched atop their stymph.

“Let’s go,” said Agatha quickly.

The stymph propelled towards the rising sun.

Agatha looked back one last time at the Lion’s new tale, her stomach screwing tighter. It wasn’t just the Lion’s message, smoothly glorifying himself as king . . . but it was how familiar the message was, its lies sounding like truths . . .

Ah. Now she remembered.

The Snake’s pen.

The one he’d shown her and Sophie the first time they’d met.

His fake Storian that took real stories and contorted them into something darker and untrue.

His pen peeled off his own murderous body and now presented to the people as their guiding light.

His slimy, scaly strip of lies.

That was Lionsmane.

THE SCHOOL HAD taken no chances once Merlin and Professor Dovey had been captured. As the stymph descended, Agatha saw the two castles had been shielded in a protective, murky-green fog. A dove happened to get too close and the mist inhaled it like a living creature, then spewed it back out like a cannonball, pitching the shrieking bird fifty miles away. The stymph, meanwhile, passed through unscathed, though Agatha had to hold her nose to endure the fog, which smelled like rancid meat.

“One of Professor Manley’s spells,” Professor Anemone called back. “Not as secure as Lady Lesso’s old shields, but it’s kept out Rhian’s men thus far. A few were caught snooping the past couple days. They must suspect you’re on your way.” More than just suspicion, Agatha thought. If Rhian was the Snake’s brother, then that meant Rhian had the Snake’s Quest Map. He could trace Agatha’s every move.

In the meantime, all she could do was hope Manley’s shield would hold.

Breaking through the fog, the first thing Agatha saw was the School Master’s tower, perched in the middle of Halfway Bay between the clear lake bordering the School for Good and the thick blue moat around the School for Evil. A gang of stymphs was in the process of undoing the last scaffolding around the silver spire, revealing a dazzling statue of Sophie atop like a weathervane, along with ornate friezes in the tower’s length depicting Sophie’s most iconic moments. There were multiple floors within the tower, flaunting refurbished windows (through which Agatha could see walk-in closets, a dining room, a steam room and whirlpool), and a catwalk to the School for Evil, lit up with lights and a sign reading “SOPHIE’S WAY.” Professor Bilious Manley poked his pimpled, pear-shaped head out a window in Sophie’s Tower and shot blasts of green light at the friezes and statue, trying to obliterate them—but every spell he did rebounded straight at him while a high-pitched alarm blared from Sophie’s statue, sounding like a raven’s shriek— “You have attempted an unauthorized redecoration of Dean Sophie’s Tower,” Sophie’s voice boomed as a rebounding spell zapped Manley in the rump. “Only an officially appointed School Master has authority here and you are not a School Master. Kindly vacate my premises.” Fuming, Manley stormed back into the tower, where Agatha glimpsed three wolves demolishing Sophie’s interiors. But seconds after tearing down paintings and fixtures and lamps, they all floated straight back up.

“He’s been battling that tower ever since he took over as Dean,” Professor Anemone chortled as more repelling spells scalded Manley and his wolves. “I’ve learned never to underestimate that girl.” From inside the tower, Manley let out a primal scream.

It only made Agatha miss Sophie more.

The stymph landed on the south side of Halfway Bay in front of Good’s castle. As Agatha dismounted, fairies swarmed her, smelling her hair and neck. Unlike the fairies that used to run the School for Good when she was a first year, this new fleet were of different shapes, sizes, colors, as if from a variety of lands, but they all seemed to know who she was.

As she followed Professor Anemone uphill, Agatha noticed the unusual quiet. She could hear her own clump-steps crackling on the Great Lawn’s crisp grass, the spasm of fairy wings around her, the burps of water from the lake. Agatha peered across the bay and saw the same scene on Evil’s shores as smooth blue slime lapped up and stained the sand. A lone guard wolf in a red soldier’s jacket and a whip on his belt had fallen asleep on one of Sophie’s new cabanas.

Professor Anemone opened the doors to Good’s castle and Agatha silently trailed her through a long hall of mirrors. Agatha caught her reflection in the glass, grubby, windblown, and sleepless, her black gown ragged with holes. She looked worse than she did on her first day of school, when Evergirls had cornered her in this hall, thinking she was a witch, and she’d farted in their faces to escape. Smirking at the memory, Agatha followed her teacher, turning into the foyer— “WELCOME HOME!”

A cheer exploded like a bomb, sending Agatha staggering backwards.

More than a hundred first years in the foyer whistled and hooted, while waving enchanted signs, with words popping off banners: “I STAND WITH AGATHA!”; “NEVER RHIAN!”; “JUSTICE FOR TEDROS!” Agatha gawked at this new class of Evers, so fresh-faced and clean, with the girls in restyled pink pinafores and the boys in navy waistcoats, skinny ties, and tight beige breeches. Silver swan crests glittered over their hearts, branding them as first years, along with magical name tags that moved around their bodies to help Agatha see them from any sightline—“LAITHAN,” “VALENTINA,” “SACHIN,” “ASTRID,” “PRIYANKA,” and more. Many looked close to her in age, especially the boys, so tall and princely with training swords on their waists . . . and yet, despite this, all of them seemed so young. As if they still held faith in the laws of Good and Evil. As if they’d yet to learn that the bubble of school could be so easily punctured. I was like them once, Agatha thought.

“QUEEN AGATHA! QUEEN AGATHA!” chanted the first years as they surrounded her like lemmings, crowding her between the foyer’s four staircases: Valor and Honor to the boys’ towers, Purity and Charity to the girls’. Agatha looked up to see the teachers gathered on the Valor staircase—Princess Uma, who’d taught her Animal Communication; Professor Espada, who taught Swordplay; Yuba the Gnome, who’d led her Forest Group . . . It was the same scene that greeted Agatha on her own Welcoming day, only this time, there were two professors missing. Seven-foot nymphs with neon hair floated beneath the domed ceiling, sprinkling rose petals that caught in Agatha’s dress and made her sneeze. Agatha tried to smile at the young Evers, singing her name and waving their signs and swords, but all she could think about was Professor Dovey and Professor August Sader, both absent from the top of the stairs. Without them, the school no longer felt warm or safe. It felt alien, vulnerable.

“GOOD IDLES AND EVIL WORKS,” a voice boomed. “SOUNDS ABOUT RIGHT.” Agatha and the Evers swiveled to see the double doors at the rear of the foyer fly open. Castor the Dog stood inside the Theater of Tales, its two sides turned into a massive war room. More than a hundred Nevers in sleek black-leather uniforms toiled at various stations, littered with papers and notebooks and maps, while Evil teachers supervised.

“NICE TO SEE YOU’RE ALIVE,” said Castor, glancing at Agatha, before baring sharp teeth at the Evers. “BUT WE AIN’T WON NOTHIN’ YET.” THE FIRST YEARS were split into workstations based on their respective Forest Groups, with five Evers and five Nevers at each station. At the first station, Group 1 hovered over a pew that had been flipped over and turned into a long table, heaped with dozens of maps. Agatha shuffled over, feeling unsure how to take the lead, but luckily she didn’t need to, because the students took the lead on their own.

“Couldn’t find any current maps of Camelot Castle inside the Library of Virtue, but we did find this,” said a beautiful, dark-skinned Everboy tagged BODHI, pointing to a crusty diagram inside a very old edition of A Student’s History of the Woods. “According to this, the dungeon’s at the base of Gold Tower, way underground. But since the castle is built on a hill, it looks like the dungeon might be against the side of that hill. If this map is still correct, that is.” Bodhi looked up at Agatha. “That’s where you can help us. Are the dungeons still there?” Agatha tightened. “Um . . . not sure. I never saw them.”

The whole team stared at her.

“But you were at Camelot for months,” said an Everboy tagged LAITHAN, short and muscular, with chestnut hair and freckled skin.

“You were the princess,” said Bodhi.

Agatha’s neck rashed red. “Look, the dungeons are probably where they’ve always been, so let’s assume this map is right—” “That’s what I say and these Good boys tell me I’m stupid,” piped VALENTINA from the other end of the table. She had a high, black ponytail, pencil-thin eyebrows, and a breathy accent. “But I say jail must still be there and if jail is on side of hill, then we go to hill with shovels and pew! pew! pew! Tedrosito and your friends free.” Bodhi snorted with Laithan. “Valentina, first of all, this textbook is like a thousand years old and landmasses move over time.” “Excuse me, my family lives under a guanabana tree for a thousand years and guanabana tree is still there,” said Valentina.

Laithan groaned. “Look, even if the dungeon is on the hill, there’s no way to pew! pew! pew! because there’s guards.” “Do you remember that fairy-tale famoso where the boy doesn’t save his friends because he’s afraid of guards?” Valentina asked.

“No,” said Laithan, confused.

“Exactly,” said Valentina.

“V, I know Nevers are supposed to defend each other in front of Evers, but we can’t even find this hill,” said a waifish Neverboy with dyed flame-red hair and the name AJA floating over his head. “I tried to locate the dungeons with heat vision and didn’t see a thing.” “Heat vision?” Agatha asked.

“My villain talent,” Aja clarified. “You know how Sophie’s special talent was summoning Evil? Like when she summoned those ravens at the Circus of Talents? She wore that amazing snakeskin cape that she stitched herself . . . the one that turned her invisible . . . It’s in the Exhibition of Evil now. I wish I could try it on, just to feel like her . . . Sorry, huuuge Sophie fan. Kept it low-key when she was Dean so she wouldn’t think I’m a freak, but I know every word of her fairy tale and I dressed as her for Halloween with furs and boots and seriously, she’ll be the best Queen of Camelot ever . . . like completely iconic . . .” Aja saw Agatha’s frown. “Um. No offense.” “You were talking about heat vision,” said Agatha tersely.

“Right. That’s my villain talent: being able to sense bodies in darkness—even through hard objects. So I convinced Professor Sheeks to let me take a stymph to Camelot at night with one of the nymphs onboard, since stymphs hate villains and it would have eaten me without a guard from Good,” Aja prattled. “We flew high above so Rhian’s men on the towers couldn’t see us. But if the dungeon is near the side of the hill, I should have been able to detect the bodies underground, and . . . I couldn’t see a thing.” “Aja, no offense, but you can’t even find the toilet in the middle of the night and I know that for a fact,” said Valentina, giving Agatha a sordid glance. (Agatha pursed her lips.) “So just because you can’t see the dungeon doesn’t mean it isn’t there.” “Honeybear, I placed top rank in Professor Sheeks’ class six challenges in a row,” Aja defended.

“Because your real talent is brownnosing teachers,” said Valentina.

Agatha couldn’t think with all this sniping, plus there was a strange stink wafting from Group 6 nearby. (“Smells like a skunk den on a Friday night!” she heard Princess Uma gasp.) “What about mogrification?” Agatha asked. “Can’t we turn into worms or scorpions and sneak into the castle and find the jail?” “Magic doesn’t work in dungeons,” said Laithan, glancing at his teammates, and this time even the Evil ones agreed. He peered at Agatha. “You don’t know that?” “We’re all in Yuba’s Forest Group and he had that question on our first test. Seemed pretty basic,” Bodhi piled on.

Agatha started to sweat. In times of stress, she always emerged the leader. But these kids were making her feel like an idiot. Fine, so she didn’t know where the dungeons were; when she’d lived at Camelot, she’d been told the castle was impenetrable. Why would she go hunting for ways to invade it? And why should she remember every detail from a class three years ago? Especially when she was tired and anxious and focused on saving her friends’ lives? Meanwhile, these amateurs were staring at her, so cocksure and poised, as if she had something to prove to them.

Agatha stood taller. “So we don’t know exactly where the dungeon is. Let’s address that,” she said, the stink from Group 6 getting worse. “What about sneaking in as guards or maids and searching the castle? Or taking a cook hostage and demanding to know where the prisoners are being kept? What about sending a gift with a bunch of us hidden inside? Then boo, we attack!” The young Evers and Nevers shifted uncomfortably.

“Those are really bad ideas,” said Aja.

“For once I agree with Aja,” said Valentina. “Rhian is very smart. He’d suspect a bunch of lost-looking maids or a gift with things whispering inside like a chupacabra.” “Plus, the Snake has a Quest Map,” Bodhi said to Agatha. “If you get anywhere near that castle, he’d know.” Agatha bristled, feeling even more defensive than before . . . but deep down she knew they were right. Her plans were stupid. Yet there was no brilliant plan waiting for her to think of it. There was no perfect secret entrance or dodgy gate or magical spell that would get them into Camelot undetected. And even if there were, there was certainly no way to get Tedros, Sophie, Dovey, and nine other prisoners out.

“I’ll lock this in my office for you, dear,” said Professor Anemone, sidling up to her and slipping Dovey’s bag off her arm.

“No, I’ll keep it with me,” Agatha batted, holding it tight. “Merlin ordered me not to let it out of my sight.” “Say no more,” her teacher replied. “Ooh, I see you’ve met the boys of Honor 52. Be strict with Bodhi and Laithan. Don’t let them flirt their way out of trouble. You’re their commander now.” “The teachers’ commander too,” said Princess Uma, approaching. “We’re here to help you. And my animals will join the fight.” “As will the wolves and fairies,” said Yuba the Gnome, waddling up to them. “And don’t forget the rest of the fourth years: Ravan, Vex, and a few others are in the clinic, recovering from the Battle of the Four Point, while the remainder of the class are on their way back to school from their various quest sites. You have a whole army at your service, Agatha. But my Forest Group just told me you’ve yet to decide on a plan. Think harder, my girl. Camelot isn’t just your home; it’s your domain. You know its weaknesses, along with the new king’s. Somewhere inside you, you know how to rescue your friends. Somewhere inside, you have the plan. And now we need to hear it.” Heads poked up from workstations, all eyes on Camelot’s princess. The theater went as quiet as a church on Halloween.

“The plan?” Agatha’s voice came out a croak. She cleared her throat, hoping it would magically produce a strategy. “Yes. Um—” “YOU SMELLY HOUSE APES!”

Everyone turned to see Castor kicking two boys’ rumps at Station 6. “DOVEY’S IN PRISON, KING’S ‘BOUT TO DIE, AND YOU’RE MAKIN’ DUNGBOMBS!” “Flaming dungbombs!” a puny blond named BERT pipped.

“Smell Missiles!” a fellow blond named BECKETT added. “The perfect weapon!” “I’LL SHOW YOU THE PERFECT WEAPON!” Castor swiped a newspaper off the Group 6 table and thrashed both boys with it. “ONE MORE DUNGBOMB AND IT’S THE DOOM ROOM!” “We’re Evers!” Bert and Beckett protested.

“EVEN BETTER!” Castor barked, walloping them harder.

Noxious fumes spread out of control, sending groups ducking for cover. Agatha seized on the distraction and hustled to Group 6’s table, where a boy and girl were poring over the newspapers Castor hadn’t swiped, undeterred by Bert and Beckett’s stink-plot.

These two look clever, Agatha thought. Maybe they’ve found something I haven’t.

“Welcome to Forest Group 6,” said a bald, ghostly Everboy named DEVAN with dark eyebrows and sculpted cheekbones. “Pleasure to be in your company, Princess Agatha. You are as regal and lovely as your fairy tale promised.” “She has a boyfriend, Devan,” said a dark Nevergirl with ice-blue hair, matching eyes, and a choker strung with mini-skulls. Her name tag read LARALISA. She slipped her hand around Devan’s waist. “And you’re spoken for too, so don’t lay it on too thick.” Agatha’s eyes widened at the sight of an Ever and a Never so brazenly dating (Lady Lesso tried to murder Tedros and Sophie when they’d done it), but now Devan was pushing one of the newspapers towards her across the overturned pew.

“Take a look at today’s Camelot Courier,” he said.

Agatha scanned the front page—

IDENTITY OF SNAKE STILL IN QUESTION

Castle Refuses to Comment on the Face Under the Mask

SNAKE’S BODY MISSING, SAYS CRYPTKEEPER

Garden of Good & Evil Has No Reports of Snake’s Burial

DOUBTS RAISED ABOUT KING’S NEW LIEGE

Where Was Japeth When the Snake Was on the Loose?

Laralisa dropped another paper on top. “Now look at the Royal Rot.” Agatha hunched over Camelot’s colorful tabloid, known for its ludicrous conspiracy theories and outright lies.

CRYPTKEEPER DEBUNKED!

Snake’s Burial Confirmed in Necro Ridge

JAPETH REVEALS

“My Brother Stopped Me from Fighting the Snake

—Rhian Wanted to Protect Me!”

COURIER OF LIES

80% OF STORIES PROVEN FALSE!

“The usual horsecrap,” muttered Agatha. “But it doesn’t matter. No one in Camelot will ever believe a word the Rot says, no matter what Rhian has them print.” “It’s not the people of Camelot we’re worried about,” said Laralisa.

She slid a few more papers in front of Agatha.

THE NETHERWOOD VILLAIN DIGEST

CAMELOT DISPUTES CRYPTKEEPER!

Snake Buried in Necro Ridge!

THE MALABAR HILLS MIRROR

KING RHIAN VINDICATED

Snake’s Body Verified in Secret Tomb!

THE PIFFLEPAFF POST

KEEPER OF LIES! Snake’s Body Found in Garden of Good & Evil “Rhian’s fingerprints are all over this,” said Laralisa. “He knows the Courier is onto him. So he’s making sure the other kingdoms parrot his lies.” “And the other kingdoms go along with it because they trust anything Rhian says,” Agatha realized. “In their eyes, he killed the Snake. He killed a deadly villain attacking their kingdoms. He saved them. The people of the Woods don’t know it’s a lie. They don’t know he’s playing them for fools. The Storian knows and we know.” “And the Courier’s getting close,” said Laralisa. “But Rhian’s discredited the Storian, he’s discredited Tedros, he’s discredited you, he’s discredited the school, and now he’s discrediting the Courier. Even if we did have proof to show the people that the Snake is still alive—and we don’t—no one would listen to us.” “Courier might not even be around long enough to back us up,” Devan noted, pulling open its pages. “They’re on the run, printing in secret, and Rhian’s men are hunting their reporters. And the more they’re on the run, the more they’re grasping at straws. Look at these headlines. It’s like something out of the Rot.” MESSAGE IN BOTTLE FOUND: “SNAKE IS STILL ALIVE!”

MISTRAL SISTERS HIRED AS KING’S ADVISORS? SIGHTING THROUGH CASTLE WINDOW PRINCESS SOPHIE SECRETLY TRADES FOR FRIEND’S RELEASE

Agatha quickly honed in on this last story.

Until now, the people of the Woods believed that Lionsmane was the pen of the King. Indeed, at his coronation, King Rhian made it clear that unlike the Storian, which was controlled by shadowy magic, his pen could be trusted. His pen would care about all people, rich or poor, young or old, Good or Evil—just like he cared about all people when he saved them from the Snake.

But according to an anonymous source, last night Princess Sophie and King Rhian struck an unusual deal over a dinner of fish soup and pistachio cake. The deal was this: Sophie would be the one to write Lionsmane’s tales, not Rhian. And in return, Sophie’s friend and former suitor, Hort of Bloodbrook, would be set free from the Camelot dungeons.

Our source offered no reason for this deal, but made it clear: it’s the princess who is composing Lionsmane’s words, not the king.

What does this mean? First, it means King Rhian lied about Lionsmane being his pen, since Sophie writes its tales. At the same time, Tedros loyalists have been hoping Sophie is secretly still on Tedros’ side and working against the new king. But if Sophie is writing Lionsmane’s messages, then those hopes are misguided and she is firmly behind the king’s agenda.

Agatha’s heart thumped harder.

On the one hand, the story couldn’t be true. Sophie would never write Lionsmane’s tales. She would never promote a phony king’s propaganda. She would certainly never eat cake.

And yet, as much as she dreaded doing interviews with the Courier and its invasive reporters . . . the Courier never lied. And then there was that curious phrase—“a deal was struck”—which seemed to stand out on the page . . .

As the dung fumes cleared and Devan and Laralisa conferred with fellow group members ROWAN, DRAGO, and MALI, who had returned to the table, Agatha found herself wandering to the back of the theater. She gazed out into the Evers’ foyer and its glass sundome overhead, Lionsmane’s message about young Hristo glowing gold in the sky.

Agatha read the message again and again and again.

Until she was quite sure.

There was something off about it.

Not the story or language or tone . . . but something.

Something that told her the story in the Courier was true. That Sophie had written this message. That she was up to something, even if Agatha didn’t know what it was yet.

The Courier had assumed the worst, of course. No one in their right mind would trust Sophie to risk herself for Tedros, a boy who’d rejected her again and again.

But Agatha trusted her.

Which meant that even with Sophie under a king’s eye, facing mortal danger, and a pawn of the enemy, she was still fighting for her friends.

And here Agatha was, free and clear, with a school full of students ready to serve her, and nothing to show for it except sweaty palms and a nervous rash. Meanwhile, without direction, the groups around her seemed to be losing their way. Group 8’s Evers and Nevers were having a loud row over whether they should kill or wound Rhian when they found him; Group 3 was debating whether Merlin was alive or dead; Group 7 battled with a hairy, three-eyed Never named BOSSAM, who insisted Rhian was a better king than Tedros; Group 4 heatedly argued over a diagram of Arthur’s family tree . . .

Agatha felt even more useless watching these upstarts, so passionate and engaged, while she continued to flag, her body sleepy, hungry, and Dovey’s infernal bag still on her arm, weighing her down— Bag.

Agatha froze.

Something sparked inside her, like a torch in the night.

Lionsmane’s message. Now she knew why it was off.

“When’s the execution?” she asked, rushing back to Group 6.

Devan fidgeted. “Uh, you mean . . .”

“My boyfriend’s execution. Yes. When is it?” Agatha pressed.

“Saturday,” said Laralisa. “But the wedding festivities start today with the Blessing at Camelot’s church.” “And the events are open to the public?” Agatha asked.

Devan looked at his girlfriend. “Um, as far as we kno—”

Agatha spun to the other groups. “Listen here!”

Students kept arguing at their stations.

Agatha’s fingertip seared gold and she shot a comet through the hall. “I said listen here.” Evers and Nevers lurched to attention.

“Tedros’ execution will take place at Sophie and Rhian’s wedding in less than a week,” Agatha announced. “There’ll be events leading up to the wedding. Forest Group 6, you’ll be leaving to attend the Blessing shortly.” Devan, Laralisa, and the rest of their team gaped at each other.

“Um . . . what are we doing there?” Devan asked.

“While they’re at the Blessing, Group 1, you’ll go to the dungeons,” Agatha continued.

Bodhi snorted. Laithan, Valentina, Aja, and the rest of their group looked equally incredulous.

“You just talked to us about how we don’t know where the dungeons are,” said Bodhi.

“Or how to get in,” said Laithan.

“And they’re not trained in combat yet,” Professor Espada added.

“Nor in death traps,” said Professor Manley, stalking into the theater.

“Nor in animal communication,” said Princess Uma.

“Nor in talent manipulation,” said Professor Sheeks.

“NOR IN BASIC COMMON SENSE,” said Castor.

“How can they possibly go to the dungeons if they don’t know where they are? How will they elude the guards?” Professor Anemone asked, wringing her hands.

“Magic,” said Agatha.

“They’ve had two days of magic lessons,” Manley scoffed.

“More than enough,” Agatha replied.

Valentina raised her hand. “Excuse me, Miss Princess Agatha? Didn’t you hear us before? Magic doesn’t work in dungeons—” “Which means we can’t get to Tedros or Professor Dovey or anyone else,” Aja agreed. “There’s zero way for us to break in.” “You’re not supposed to break in,” Agatha answered calmly.

She smiled at the bewildered faces and held Professor Dovey’s crystal ball tighter at her side . . .

“You’re supposed to break them out.”