فصل 9

Chapter 9

SOPHIE

Empress under the Boot

As Sophie followed Rhian, Hort trailing behind her, she could feel her heart rumbling like a drum. The weasel had done well, but until Tedros was back on the throne, their work was far from done. She needed to talk to Hort alone, but there was no chance of that. Not with Rhian riding with them to the Blessing and that demented eel on Hort’s neck— Sophie glimpsed the horses through the window, pulling the royal carriage up the drive.

Unless . . .

No time to think. She made her move, lurching back and grabbing on to Hort’s sweaty hand, ignoring his stunned expression. She’d never held the weasel’s hand before—who knew where that hand had been—but these were desperate times.

Tattooed Thiago held the door open for the king as the carriage arrived. “Wesley is fetching those boys from the dungeons as you ordered, sire,” he said, armor glinting in the sunlight. “Will you need a second carriage?” The king didn’t break stride. “We’ll all fit in one.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. A queen can’t arrive at her first wedding event packed like a sardine. Hort and I can ride alone,” Sophie scoffed, barreling past the king, dragging Hort like a scolded child, and throwing him into the carriage that hadn’t fully stopped. She fumbled in behind him, grabbing on to his rump to steady herself, and smiled back at Rhian. “See you at the church!” Pretending to lose her balance, she ripped Hort’s scim off like a strip of hot wax and flung it out the carriage door—“Oh dear!” she gasped—before slamming the door shut.

“We have five seconds before he opens this door,” Sophie intoned.

“Good news is I got Rhian and Japeth fighting,” Hort said, breathless.

“Evil news: Rhian is still alive, Japeth is still his brother, and I’m still marrying a monster,” said Sophie.

“Good: Agatha is safe at the School for Good and Evil,” Hort contended.

“Evil: A team of sorcerers is on their way to her and I just lied to the entire Woods that she’s been captured,” said Sophie.

“Good: Willam and Bogden are about to be free—”

“Evil: Literally anyone else in that cell would have been more useful than those goons, your girlfriend included, and if the Blessing goes off as planned, that means we’re three events from Tedros losing his head. If Agatha is building an army, then we need more time, Hort. We need to delay the Blessing, somehow!” “Exactly,” said Hort. “Why do you think I picked Willam and Bogden over everyone else?” Sophie stared at him . . . then grinned with understanding.

The carriage door swung open—

Rhian glowered, his face in shadow.

Before Sophie could speak, a scim shot through the door and smashed into Hort, who let out a resounding shriek, sending the horses rearing.

A FEW MINUTES later, Willam and Bogden studied four tarot cards, laid out in Bogden’s lap.

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Neither Willam nor Bogden had time to bathe before being shoved next to Hort inside the carriage, which now reeked so badly of dungeon sweat that Sophie could hardly breathe.

Sitting beside Sophie, Rhian focused intensely on the two boys across from him. Meanwhile, Bogden and Willam kept giving Sophie anxious peeks as if they had no idea why they were here, but Sophie just smiled at Bogden reassuringly, the same way she did when she expected the beady-eyed stooge to do her bidding back at school.

“It’s a yes-or-no question,” the king said, his teeth clenched. “So let’s have the answer. For the last time: Is my brother trying to kill me?” Bogden looked at Willam, waiting for Willam to say something.

Willam looked at Bogden, waiting for Bogden to say something.

Say yes, Sophie thought, seeing Hort glare at them with the same message. Just say yes. That’s all we need.

Bogden looked back at the cards. “Well, Tower and Judgment side by side . . . that means there’s bad blood between you and your brother. And the Empress card suggests a female involved . . .” “Obviously,” Rhian muttered, eyeing Sophie.

“Not her,” Willam countered, fingering the Empress card. “Someone further back that made you and Japeth distrust each other. Add the Death card into all this . . . and there’s, um, only one conclusion . . .” He and Bogden exchanged fretful glances.

“Well, what is it?” Rhian snapped.

Bogden gulped. “One of you will kill the other.”

“Only there’s no way to know who,” Willam croaked.

Rhian looked startled for a moment, even a little . . . scared.

“So we should postpone the Blessing, then?” Sophie chimed, delighted by the boys’ performance. “Can’t possibly be worried about weddings with a Snake trying to kill you.” She knew she’d been too chipper, because Hort tensed his buttocks and Rhian gave her a suspicious look.

“I thought you didn’t believe in all this,” said the king. “I thought you said they were ‘fools.’” Sophie went mum.

The king turned back to the two boys. “Should Sophie and I still get married?” Willam quickly dealt new cards.

Say yes, Sophie prayed. Or he’ll know we put you up to this.

“Hmm, the cards can’t say if you ‘should’ marry Sophie,” Willam replied, assessing his hand, “but they do say you will.” “Not on schedule, though,” Bogden added.

“Definitely not on schedule,” Willam concurred.

“See? We should postpone the Blessing at once,” Sophie squawked, nearly hugging the two boys. “It’s what we’re supposed to do—” “And tell me, will your friend Tedros be executed as planned?” Rhian said to the boys, ignoring his princess.

Bogden bit his lip as he fanned out a new hand on Willam’s lap. . . .

“No,” he rasped, clearly relieved.

“Mmm, I don’t know if I agree, Bogs,” said Willam, touching Bogden’s arm. “Knight of Cups next to Death? I think it means someone will try to stop the execution. But to me, it’s unclear whether they’ll succeed.” The king’s blue-green eyes flattened. “And who would this nameless avenger be?” “Mmmm, can’t say,” said Willam, puffing at his red hair. “But you’ll meet them soon, looks like. Near a holy place . . . with lots of people . . . and a priest . . .” “A Blessing at a church, perhaps?” said the king witheringly.

“Oh dear, we should definitely postpone, then,” Sophie pushed weakly, but she knew the boys had laid it on too thick, for Rhian was smirking now.

“Anything else you’d like to tell me about my nemesis?” he sneered.

Sensing tension, Bogden flung down new cards, but missed his own lap and scattered the whole deck over the carriage. “Oopsy-daisy—” Willam scrambled and swiped a few cards from under Rhian’s boot. “Um, here we are. See, Magician, next to Hermit . . . Well, based on this, your enemy will be a . . .” He frowned. “Ghost?” “But still mortal,” Bogden prattled, pointing at a Death card.

“And Tower over Death means they can fly,” Willam added.

“Or at least levitate,” Bogden nodded.

“And it’s a boy,” said Willam.

“I see a girl,” said Bogden.

“One or the other,” Willam offered.

The carriage went quiet. Sophie’s head was in her hands.

The king leaned back. “So a ghost that’s mortal who flies near a church and is of dubious sex. That’s who’s going to try and stop me. Well done.” Sophie raised her head like a squirrel.

“You two really are as daft as Sophie promised,” the king thrashed. “The second we return, you’ll be thrown back in the dungeons.” His eyes shot to Hort. “You too, since you vouched for these fruit flies. In the meantime, you three will be locked here during the Blessing. The smell of you alone is good reason to have you out of sight.” Rhian glowered at Sophie, daring her to protest, but she tried her best to look untroubled. Then she turned and stared out the window, her eyes welling.

Every time she thought she had a way out, she found the path sealed off, the maze closing in.

In the glass, she could see Rhian watching her in her reflection as a tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t bother hiding it. It didn’t matter. There was no plan now. She was back where she’d started.

The boys would return to jail.

The Blessing would continue.

Tedros would die.

Flying ghost or not.

THE BOYS IN the carriage were subdued the rest of the way, the king included. Sophie could see Rhian’s lips pressed together, his eyes fixed on the Empress tarot card, which had never been retrieved from under his boot. Clearly his brother was still on his mind. Meanwhile, Hort kept glancing at Sophie, but she ignored him, while Willam and Bogden quietly reordered their cards. For a moment, it was so silent in the carriage that Sophie could hear the eel slithering around on Hort’s skin.

Sophie gazed at the Empress, smiling so emptily from under the king’s boot. A pawn in someone else’s game.

That’s me, Sophie thought. A pawn at a dead end.

What would Agatha do?

Agatha would find a way to fight back, even from a dead end. Agatha would never be a pawn.

Sophie’s heart stirred, thinking of her best friend. How long until Kei and his men get to school? Without Lady Lesso or Dovey protecting the towers, surely they’d find their way in. Plus, Agatha had already escaped Rhian’s clutches once—twice was asking too much, even for a girl who always seemed to land on her feet like a cat.

Speaking of which . . . where was Reaper? The last she’d seen of Agatha’s hideous pet was in the castle before the battle against the Snake. Sophie’s toes curled tighter around the vial hidden in her shoe. If she could only be alone: she could use her Quest Map and see if Agatha was safe or if Rhian’s men had apprehended her . . .

A surging buzz drew her out of her head and Sophie flinched, knowing she was about to glimpse the crowds for the Blessing. Ironic, of course, since she’d spent her whole life coveting fame, but now felt allergic to all of it, eager to return to the castle. Alone in her bathtub, she could pretend this was a bad dream. That this wedding could never happen. That this lie would be found out. But it was outside the castle, in the presence of the people, that she knew she was wrong.

Because people can make a lie real.

The same way they make fairy tales real: by believing in them, by passing them on, by claiming them as their own.

That’s why people needed the Storian to guide them. Because fairy tales were powerful things. Sophie knew this from experience. Try too hard to write your own instead of letting the pen write it . . . and bad things happen. That was the truth.

But it’s easy to stop believing the truth.

It’s as easy as deciding to believe in a Man over a Pen.

Thunder tremored outside and Sophie peeked through the window as thin black clouds unfurled like tentacles over the message in the sky about Agatha’s capture. For a brief moment, she perked up, wondering if the clouds were due to more than just the weather. . . . But then the carriage veered sharply and now the people came into view.

The streets were crammed, five bodies deep, manic and unruly. A beautiful nymph with mint-green skin patterned with silver stars waved a sign: “ASK ME MY STORY, KING RHIAN!” while a hideous, furry creature held his own: “ME MUM’S A CAT, ME DAD’S A TROLL . . . WANT ME TALE? COME DOWN ME HOLE!” There was even a gnome with a fake moustache and hulking coat, clearly trying to disguise himself— images

Everywhere Sophie looked, ordinary citizens clamored for Lionsmane to tell their tales, as if the Storian no longer mattered, replaced by a pen that finally cared about them.

Rhian’s promise had come true: a new pen had become the Woods’ guiding light.

No longer could Sophie tell who was Good and who was Evil like she’d used to. Before now, the tribes had stayed apart, identifiable not just by dress and decorum but also by their loathing for one another. That’s why the two sides had worshipped the Storian. A pen that only told the tales of an elite few, but also made the rest of the Woods invested in the outcome. Because it kept score of who was winning and who was losing. Because it kept the two sides battling for glory.

That is, until Rhian had united them with a new pen.

A pen that didn’t care if you went to a famous school.

A pen that gave everyone a chance at a fairy tale.

Now Evers and Nevers wore the same Lion masks and hats and shirts and waved cheap replicas of Lionsmane. Others flashed signs with the names of Tsarina and Hristo, newly minted stars in the Woods. A gang of teenagers, Good and Evil, hooted as they lit stacks of the Camelot Courier on fire: the one touting Agatha and her “Army.” Nearby, a delegation from Budhava sang a “Hymn to the Lion,” tossing roses at Rhian’s window. Guards in Camelot uniforms patrolled the road, keeping the mob from the carriage, and a fleet of maids in white dresses and bonnets handed out books of The Tale of Sophie and Agatha, while the crowd flapped them at Sophie, trying to get her attention. These storybooks seemed to glow under the black storm clouds, with the lettering outlined in rubies and gold— Sophie’s eyes bulged.

Bewildered, she slid down her window and snatched one out of someone’s hands, quickly pushing the window back up. She gaped at the cover.

THE TALE OF SOPHIE & AGATHA

As Told by Lionsmane

Sophie flipped through and saw the entire fairy tale had been retold from Rhian’s perspective, with beautifully drawn illustrations in blue and gold that resembled the rug in the Throne Room. The short storybook was scant in details, but offered the broad tale of a humble boy, growing up in a small house in Foxwood with his brother Japeth, the two of them watching from afar as the legend of Agatha and Sophie spread. Despite his allegiances to Good, Rhian always found himself rooting for Sophie, a girl he found bold and beautiful and clever, and against Agatha, a self-righteous know-it-all who’d betrayed her best friend and taken her prince. But in the end, it was Agatha who had the happy ending, claiming the throne of Camelot with Sophie’s prince, while Sophie resigned herself to a future alone.

That is where everyone thought the story ended, including Rhian . . .

. . . until three shadowy women came to his house in the night and told Rhian the truth: that he was the real heir to Arthur and the One True King, destined to rule the Woods forever. And not only that, he’d been right about Sophie, the women revealed: it was she who deserved to be queen of Camelot, not Agatha. It was Sophie who deserved a prince. Only he was that prince, not Tedros. Agatha and Tedros, meanwhile, were fiendish usurpers who would bring shame to Arthur’s kingdom and destroy the Woods. It was up to Rhian, as the rightful king, to stop them.

Rhian didn’t believe any of this. But the women had more to tell.

Soon the day would come when Rhian must leave his old life behind, they said. On that day, the sword would return to a stone, waiting for the One True King to free it. And he was that One True King.

How could any of this be real? Rhian thought.

But just as the women promised, the day arrived when Excalibur returned to the stone.

Rhian couldn’t rest until he knew if it was true . . . if he was really King Arthur’s son . . . if he was the righteous ending to Sophie’s story instead of Agatha or Tedros . . . if Excalibur had returned to the stone because of . . . him.

From there, the story proceeded as Sophie had lived through it, but refracted and distorted: Rhian as the “Lion” saving kingdoms from a deadly Snake . . . Tedros’ jealousy growing towards the Lion . . . Agatha’s jealousy growing towards Sophie . . . Sophie accepting Rhian’s ring, uniting Evil and Good . . . Rhian freeing the sword from the stone. . . .

And now Sophie was on the last page, gazing at a painting of Tedros and Agatha beheaded bloodily as Sophie kissed Rhian, the two of them in their wedding clothes as Lionsmane glowed like a star above their heads. . . .

THE END.

Sophie’s heartbeat jangled, her mouth dry.

She didn’t know what was real about Rhian’s story and what was lies. Everything had been twisted and spun, even the parts of her own tale, until she barely recognized herself. If the people of the Woods were reading this, then any last sympathies for Tedros and Agatha would be gone—along with any hope of convincing them they’d crowned the wrong king.

Stomach sinking, she raised her eyes and saw Hort, Willam, and Bogden gawking down at the book with the same expression, having clearly read along.

Slowly Sophie turned and looked at Rhian, who’d been watching her the whole time with a sly smirk. The carriage pulled up to the church, and the king clasped her palm gently, as if he no longer expected any resistance. Then he opened the door to a roar like thunder and he kissed Sophie’s hand like he was her fairy-tale prince.