فصل 23

Chapter 23

Death in the Forest

Every muscle in Sophie’s boy body froze as she watched Agatha’s name light up on the girls’ board over the Blue Forest.

She’s inside.

Agatha’s inside.

All the fear and self-loathing Sophie had bottled up for the past day, since she’d seen her friend’s red lantern blazing, since she’d trapped herself in this execrable Trial, rushed out of her like a wind, and she nearly buckled to her knees. Whatever she’d done to bring them both here, at least they were both alive and in the same place.

How could I pick Tedros! Sophie abused herself. In that dundering moment of absolute stupidity, thinking he might actually like her again, she’d forgotten two things. First, Tedros wanted to kill her and her best friend. And second . . . he thinks I’m a boy. A BOY!

Sophie looked out at the dense Forest in front of her, lit up for the Trial with a snowy white-blue glow, like a psychotic winter wonderland. Everything in her wanted to scream out for Agatha, to run and hide with her— “Hurry up, Filip,” Tedros frowned, glancing back as he waded through the tangled Turquoise Thicket, round steel shield and sword Excalibur in hand, the sewn T on his black-and-red cloak collar spotted with blood. “You’ve almost killed us both already. Try to keep up.” Sophie rushed to follow him, sheathed sword banging against her hulking thigh, the F initial on her boys’ uniform stained with even more blood. Twenty minutes into the Trial, they’d come across a wounded stymph, its fleshless body lying in the Blueberry Fields, one of its bony wings smashed. Tedros said to leave it be, for stymphs attacked Nevers, not princes—only to see it lunge screeching at Filip and swallow his shield whole. Tedros leapt to his friend’s defense while Filip howled and bandied about like an idiot, the stymph nearly eating both of them before Tedros finally beheaded it. He’d been giving his friend wary looks ever since.

“Not my fault the bird’s demented,” Sophie insisted for the fourth time, trying to sound as princely as she could.

The last day in the School for Boys had barreled by in a blur of panic. Desperate to answer Agatha’s alarm, Sophie waited until nightfall, hoping to abscond to the girls’ castle, but Castor slept right outside the Doom Room to ensure the boys’ team leader stayed in his cell and got his rest. Not that Sophie could rest if she wanted—Tedros spent the entire night drawing detailed maps of the Blue Forest, sharpening his father’s sword, which Manley had grudgingly returned, and blustering strategy like he once had as Good’s army captain.

“We’ll be our own group, Fil. Let Aric and the princes take on the other girls while we go straight for Sophie and Agatha. No doubt they’re fighting together, just like me and you,” he said. “We have to slay them on the spot, or they’ll kill us first.” “Can’t we just hide under the Blue Brook bridge until sunrise?” Sophie moaned, pillow over her floppy prince hair.

“That’s what I’d expect a girl to say,” Tedros scoffed.

Now that girl, trapped in a boy’s body, followed her would-be assassin through a tangled blue thicket. Tedros peered up at each turquoise oak appraisingly before jumping onto the tallest trunk in the batch.

“What are you doing?” Sophie hissed.

“Agatha just entered at the west gate,” Tedros said, monkeying up the tree. “First thing she’ll do is cross the Fernfield and find Sophie. Come on, we’ll have a good view of the ferns up here.” Sophie had never climbed a tree before (“Only boys could enjoy such a low form of entertainment,” she’d said), but the thought of seeing Agatha sent her bounding up the oak even faster than Tedros. She found her footing on the highest bough, icy breeze numbing her face, and tried to squint over the dense treetop as the prince climbed up next to her.

“Can’t see anything,” she grouched.

“Here, take my hand.”

Sophie stared at Tedros’ open palm.

“Relax, mate, I won’t let you fall,” he said.

Sophie put her big hand in his firm grip as he inched forward towards thinner foliage, pulling his cell mate behind him. Sophie’s stubbled face blushed red-hot, remembering the feeling of Tedros holding her hand, the way he had a year ago when they were first in love . . . when he asked her to the Ball right here in the Forest . . . leaning forward in moonlight just like this . . . lips reaching for hers. . . .

“You sweat like a hog, Filip,” Tedros snorted, letting go of her clammy palm.

Sophie jolted from her trance, silently screaming at herself, and grabbed on to a branch, off-balance.

“Can’t see any of the girls,” Tedros said. “Can you?”

Sophie peered through leaves at a wide view of the north Forest. The Fernfield, Pine Shrubs, and Turquoise Thicket were amply lit with the same wintry glow, but she couldn’t see any of the girls’ sapphire uniforms—just a few shadowy boy cloaks prowling through the shrubs. She felt a sharp sadness at not seeing Agatha, then relief that Tedros couldn’t either.

“She and Sophie must be hiding scared,” Tedros said. “We’ll wait here until one of them moves—” A blast of white fireworks shot up into the sky from the south Forest, signaling the first surrender. Tedros and Filip swiveled, almost careening off their branch, and saw treetops rustling far away, near the pumpkin patch. Screams echoed, boy and girl, along with a monster’s shrieks, as blue pumpkins flew over the trees like kicked balls, followed by a flurry of red and white fireworks in one long, frightening detonation.

Then it went quiet.

“What happened?” Sophie gasped.

“One of the teacher’s traps,” said Tedros. “Only it got kids from both sides, whatever it was.” Sophie whirled to the scoreboards. Please. Not Agatha.

VEX, RAVAN, MONA, and ARACHNE all went dark.

Sophie sighed with relief—then tightened. “Didn’t kill any of them, did it?” Tedros shook his head. “Fireworks are different if you die instead of surrender. I asked Manley.” Sophie felt a sharp wave of nausea. The idea that Tedros would actually kill her had never quite sunk in. But him asking Manley that simple question suddenly made it real.

Footsteps crunched in the thicket below, and the two boys looked down to see a pair of princes, one burly, one whippet thin, lurking down the path, both armed with battle-axes.

“Nevers are crap at fighting monsters—too used to having ‘em on their side,” the burly prince said. “Even with our help, those Neverboys dropped their flags like ninnies.” “Ah well, more chance at the treasure for us,” said the thinner one, gritting his teeth from the cold. “No sign of those Reader girls, though, and we’ve combed the whole south Forest.” “Probably hiding under the Brook Bridge like cowards. Come on.” Sophie watched them leave, heart sinking deeper.

“Filip?” Tedros said, seeing his friend’s face.

“Turning princes into assassins? Wagering treasure on two girls’ lives?” Sophie turned, pallid and scared. “This isn’t you, Tedros. No matter what you think’s happened,” she said, low voice breaking. “You’re not a villain.” Slowly the prince’s face weakened, as if finally seeing himself through his friend’s eyes. “You don’t know me,” he said quietly.

Sophie could feel the branch wobbling, then realized it was her own trembling legs. “What if this is all a mistake?” she rasped. “What if Sophie just wants to go home with her friend?” Tedros’ jaw clamped as he looked away, fighting himself.

“What if she just wants their happy ending back?” Sophie said.

Tedros’ body slacked deeper, like a shell about to crack . . .

Then his face hardened again like a mask.

Sophie followed his eyes past her, to the top of a girls’ tower looming over the Blue Forest, directly in line with their tree. Tedros squinted at Honor’s open-air rooftop, lit up by torches and dissipating fireworks in the sky.

“Come on, let’s go,” Sophie said quickly, knowing what was on the Honor roof— But Tedros didn’t move, peering at a menagerie of hedges once dedicated to the father he revered . . . now remade in the image of the mother who’d abandoned him.

“Tedros, whatever it is, it isn’t worth looking at,” Sophie hassled.

Tedros tore a big blue leaf off the tree and turned it to ice with his gold fingerglow. Holding it up to his eye, he magically melted the ice’s edges until it curved like a binocular lens, magnifying his view.

“Tedros, please,” Sophie entreated.

But he’d already found the last sculpture near the balcony, framed by a wall of purple thorns. The vision of his mother drowning her baby prince with inexorable hate. A mother who wanted her only son dead.

“It’s not true,” spoke Sophie softly, seeing through his lens. “You know it’s not.” Tedros said nothing, staring at the scene, shallow breath fogging the air.

“You want to know why those girls have to die?” he said. “For the same reason my father left a price on my mother’s head.” He turned to his friend, eyes wet. “Because it’s the only happy ending left.” The hope drained from Sophie’s face like a dimming light. “Now you really sound like a villain,” she breathed.

The two boys glared at each other, chests touching on the branch, tears in both their eyes.

Tedros shoved by Filip and started climbing down the tree.

“Go hide if you want,” he said. “But I’m finding those girls.” Sophie watched him stiffly, sweat chilling as it dripped down her back. Everything in her wanted to run and cower under the bridge until sunrise, to save her own life.

But she couldn’t let him find Agatha.

Legs shaking, she followed the prince.

Agatha knew many things about Sophie, from her favorite color (primrose pink) to the strawberry birthmark on her ankle to the way she always blushed red before she laughed. But most of all, Agatha knew Sophie would have one and only one tactic to survive this Trial.

Hide under the bridge.

Knowing Tedros would be hunting her from the moment she entered the Forest—even spying from a tree, for all she knew—Agatha mogrified into a black lynx cat and carried her clothes in her mouth as she slunk through the Fernfield. As she reached the Blue Brook, waters babbling quietly beneath the gray stone bridge, she reverted back to human and dressed in the blue mint bushes before sneaking onto the brook’s shadowy bank. The waters were pitch-dark under the bridge, but she couldn’t light her fingerglow for fear of attracting boys.

“Sophie?” Agatha whispered, wading into the frigid knee-high water, fish flurrying away from her. For all she knew, Sophie had turned herself into a stingray. “Sophie, it’s m-m-me,” she hissed, teeth chattering— An ice-cold hand grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her down into the water. Gasping to the surface, Agatha opened her mouth to scream for help—and saw Hester, Anadil, and Dot looking back at her, faces camouflaged with mud, hidden waist high in water beneath a hollowed-out part of the bank. Agatha could have collapsed in relief.

“Told you she’d come here,” Dot humphed to the witches before offering Agatha two handfuls of sardines turned to spinach and Swiss chard. Agatha tended to think of vegetables as rabbit food, but she was too hungry to care. “Where’s Sophie?” she snarfled, mouth full of spinach.

“Thought she’d be with you,” frowned Anadil, rats peeping out of her collar, their furry faces camouflaged too. “Instead we’re all here trying not to die while that wench is off fighting on the wrong side.” “Not for long. Yuba’s spell will wear off any second,” Agatha said, tensing. “We have to find Sophie before she turns back into a girl.” Even Hester’s demon looked worried now.

“There’s more,” said Agatha ominously.

Keeping her voice low, she recounted everything she’d glimpsed in Evelyn’s memory, until the witches were practically hyperventilating.

“Bringing the School Master back?” Dot shrieked. “How?”

“Keep your voice down, you imbecile!” Anadil spat. “Look, it doesn’t make sense. Even a seer can’t bring a ghost back from the dead for more than a few seconds—” “Unless she’s found another way,” Hester pondered, eyes lifting to Anadil. “Only she needs help to do it.” Agatha’s spine prickled, remembering Evelyn’s cryptic words before the nymphs came, implying the Dean wasn’t the only Evil in this story. But who else then? Who could help her fulfill such a deadly plan? Who would end up the villain?

She thought of the tortoise’s message, warning her of this Trial . . . the recipe in the Dean’s office, flaunting a spell she’d led them to . . . Evelyn’s wicked smile, knowing exactly where Sophie was all this time . . .

“She wanted Sophie and me to come into this Trial apart,” Agatha said, suddenly understanding. “That was her plan all along. She wanted Sophie to go in with the boys.” “But why?” asked Dot. “Why would she want Sophie fighting with Tedros?” Hester had that mulling, thoughtful look again before she glowered up at Agatha. “It’s the last time I’m going to ask you this, Agatha. You’re sure Sophie’s Good?” Agatha looked up at the boys’ scoreboard, FILIP’s name glowing in firefly lights.

“The old Sophie would be hiding right here to save her own skin. All of us know it,” she said, almost to herself. “But Sophie’s out there instead, staying with the boys. . . .” Agatha gazed up at Hester. “Making sure they don’t find me.” Hester exhaled, finally convinced. “Then you have to find her before she turns back into a girl, all right? Find Sophie and hide with her until sunrise. Leave fighting the boys to us. If you win the Trial, we’ll get another chance to find the Storian. It has to be in that tower somewh—” She stopped cold, eyes narrowing.

Agatha heard the voices now too.

“Millie, we should hide here,” said Beatrix, from the bank above them.

Her bald head came into view as she stepped her blue slipper down into the water and waded in shivering, her sapphire cloak floating behind her like a cape. “The boys will assume we’re here like cowards,” Beatrix said. “If we wait under the bank, we can attack them first.” Millicent treaded in behind, dirty red hair tied up. “I still say we mogrify and wait in a tree.” “And end up naked in a forest if we have to revert back?” Beatrix groused, scanning the banks for a hiding spot. “That won’t be noticeable—” Her voice petered out as she glimpsed her own reflection in the dark brook. Only there was something reflected next to it . . . a pair of eyes . . . no, two pairs . . . three. . . .

She looked up with a gasp—Agatha put her hand over her mouth and pinned her against the bank with Anadil, while Hester and Dot held down Millicent.

“Where’s the Storian!” Agatha barked, ungagging her.

“In case you missed it, we’re on the same team,” Beatrix spat.

“Where’d you hide it!” Agatha hissed. “Why couldn’t Sophie find it!” “First off, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Second, since when did Princess Agatha turn into a bullying henchman!” “The snakeskin cape under your bed—the boy’s uniform—you were in the boys’ castle—” “The only thing under my bed is a trunk of makeup and hair extensions, which I miss quite much, if I have to be honest—” “You’re lying,” Agatha harassed. “We know the Dean sent you!” “The Dean barely knows me, no matter how much I suck up,” Beatrix retorted. “Came into this Trial top ranked, and she hasn’t paid the slightest attention. Figure if I win the Trial, she might actually learn my name.” Agatha stared in surprise. She searched Beatrix’s face until her grip finally loosened, and Beatrix wrenched free.

“Come on, Millie. Let’s go hunt boys,” Beatrix snapped, tramping down the brook, her freckled friend hastening to catch up.

Agatha gawked glassily at the brook waters, lost in thought. She looked up at Hester, skin pale.

“Hester, if that boy’s uniform wasn’t Beatrix’s . . . then whose was it?” But Hester wasn’t listening, nor were Anadil or Dot. All three were gaping past her, paralyzed.

Agatha slowly turned around.

Downstream, a burly prince had his axe to Beatrix’s throat, while a thin prince had his blade to Millicent’s. Aric stood between them, grinning at Agatha and the witches, a rusted, jagged dagger in his hand.

“Let them surrender, Aric,” Agatha rasped, trying to stay calm. “Let them drop their flags.” “Are those the rules at the School for Good and Evil?” Aric smiled at Agatha, violet eyes storming. “Too bad I’m not a student.” “Then you have no place here,” Agatha scowled, voice starting to shake as Beatrix and Millicent whimpered louder. “Nor do any of the princes you’ve brought in.” “You see, my mother used to tell me that true villains only have one Nemesis. One person who stands in the way of their happiness.” With his rusted dagger, Aric combed his spikes of black hair, gleaming like raven beaks. “Only my Nemesis, it turns out, is in your school. And if war won’t bring me to them, then a bit of carnage might bring them to me.” “Your Nemesis? That’s why you’re here?” Agatha blurted in horror, watching the princes’ axes chafe the two girls’ throats. “B-b-but who? Who at this school could warrant hurting innocent people?” Aric paused, looking right at her. “It’s the danger of fairy tales.” He glared up at the girls’ castle, his purple eyes clouding with a strange sadness. “Sometimes one story opens another.” He turned back to his princes. “Kill them.”

The princes raised their axes. Beatrix and Millicent gasped, about to die— “NO!” Hester screamed. Her demon tattoo exploded off her neck, swelling bloodred to the size of a shoe. Just as the axe blades scraped the two girls’ necks, Beatrix and Millicent choking, Hester’s demon yanked the girls’ white flags out of their cloak pockets and flung them to the ground. Both Evergirls instantly disappeared as the axes cut through thin air, white fireworks rocketing up from their vanished bodies, singeing the princes and sending them howling to the ground.

Enraged, Aric hurled his jagged knife at Hester, only to see it turn midair to carrot and boomerang smack into his face, knocking him down.

“Run!” Dot cried at Agatha and the witches—

The girls all twirled to flee, but there were six more hooded boys charging out of the Fernfield for them, brandishing weapons. Agatha’s eyes flared wide. None of them was Filip . . . or Tedros.

“Go find Sophie!” Anadil barked at Agatha, huddling against Hester and Dot.

“I’m fighting with you!” Agatha shot back.

“Agatha, go!” said Dot, boys twenty feet away. “Sophie needs you before it’s too late!” “No! I can’t leave you to die!” Agatha cried—

“Don’t you get it!” Hester spun to her, eyes aflame. “A coven isn’t four. We don’t want you!” Tears stinging, Agatha sprinted away into blue trees, glancing back to see Hester watching her, white-faced with fear. Then Hester turned, finger glowing red, as the boys converged and Agatha lost the view.

High on the teachers’ balcony, Lady Lesso and Professor Dovey clenched teeth as they watched the boys’ and girls’ torch-lit scoreboards, their only clue to what was unfolding in the dark, veiled Forest.

Out of the corner of her eye, Professor Dovey watched the butterflies circling above the teachers and Pollux guarding the door. There was no sign of Evelyn on any of the balconies or in the Clearing below.

A loud cheer went up from the boys’ school, celebrating BEATRIX’s and MILLICENT’s names vanishing off the scoreboard. The two girls reappeared in the Clearing, quaking and sobbing, before nymphs flew them back into the castle for magical treatment.

As the boys thundered a cocksure chant, the girls down to only six competitors, Professor Dovey sidled closer to Lady Lesso. “Your shield protects the south gate,” she whispered quickly. “You can break it and enter—” “For the last time, Clarissa, if a teacher goes into the Trial, the terms are void,” Lady Lesso hissed. “All the boys and princes would storm our castle. It’d be a massacre.” “Only you can get through that shield! Unless you help them, Sophie and Agatha will die!” Lady Lesso whirled. “I intervened at your insistence once before because of Evelyn,” she seethed accusingly. “You’ll never know the price I paid.” Professor Dovey fell quiet a long moment before speaking again.

“She attacked Agatha, Lady Lesso. Right there in her classroom, in a school that should have been ours to protect. And now our usurper threatens our only hope for peace, and you suggest Agatha fend for herself? That isn’t Evil, Lady Lesso. That’s cowardice,” Professor Dovey said, her voice a low hiss. “There is no School Master this time to save us from Evelyn Sader. There is only you. And whatever Evelyn’s ending is, it is worth any price to stop it.” Lady Lesso met her colleague’s vehement eyes. Then she quickly cleared her throat and turned away. “You’re overplaying as usual, Clarissa. Agatha has my best witches at her side protecting her. Hester and Anadil are more than capable allies.” Sparks shot past their heads from the Forest, a detonation of fireworks showering their dark balcony with white light. The teachers wheeled to see HESTER’s name vanish off the scoreboard and the tattooed witch materialize in the Clearing, her face and blue cloak a mess of blood. She tried to stagger up, then buckled to her knees.

“What’s happened!” Professor Sheeks cried, barreling past Pollux’s unwieldy bear into the castle, followed by Professor Anemone and a few of the Forest Group leaders.

Professor Dovey stared at Hester trailing blood across the dead grass as the nymphs helped her into the tunnel. Hands shaking, she spun to Lady Lesso— But Lady Lesso was already gone.

Agatha saw HESTER’s name disappear on the scoreboard, the white fireworks signaling a surrender, and felt a palpable relief. Hester was still alive.

Agatha sprinted through phosphorescing blue tulips, doing a count of the girls still left in the Forest . . . Anadil, Dot, Yara, Sophie. . . .

And yet Sophie hadn’t been in that group of boys attacking the witches . . . nor was Tedros.

Agatha’s heart rattled faster. Was Sophie with Tedros right now? Why would Sophie be anywhere near him if she could turn into a girl any second?

A needling dread crept into Agatha’s stomach. She ignored it.

Of course she’s with Tedros. She’s making sure he doesn’t find me, she assured herself. She’s protecting me.

But now the dread was festering, worming deeper. . . .

A snakeskin cape and a boy’s uniform, balled under a bed . . .

A wrist full of spirick marks two weeks before . . .

A friend so desperate to get her home . . .

Agatha stopped dead in the pine shrubs.

A pink spell.

Her chest hammered, remembering Tedros pulling away from her in the tower, hunting madly for someone who wasn’t there.

No . . . impossible . . .

Sophie couldn’t have been there! Not the new Sophie, the best friend as faithful as Agatha once was to her! Not the Good Sophie, risking life and limb for her right now! This Sophie couldn’t have torn her and Tedros apart and then pretended to be on her side. Not even the Witch of Woods Beyond could be so devious, so traitorous, so . . . Evil.

Agatha burst into a sweat.

Could she?

Boys’ yells echoed nearby, followed by an ogre’s grunts and explosions of red fireworks over the Turquoise Thicket. CHADDICK’s and NICHOLAS’ fireflies fizzled and extinguished on the boys’ scoreboard.

Agatha veered away towards the south gate, more desperate to find Sophie than ever.

“South gate?” Sophie followed Tedros through snowy, glittering-blue willows, her boy’s boots dwarfed by giant footsteps left by a troll or some other hellish creature. With the lumpy path, her stiff calves, and tight breeches wedging up her behind, she stumbled along like a newborn. “What’s near the south gate?” “Pumpkin patch,” Tedros said a ways ahead, slashing a few branches out of their path. “Clearest part of the Forest. We can see Sophie and Agatha if they sneak through. If you ever catch up, that is.” Sophie grimaced, deliberating ways to protect her best friend from Tedros when he found her. She’d have to stun him before he could hurt Agatha. She’d have to steal his red flag and drop it to the ground . . .

Sophie’s heart suddenly beat faster, seeing the flash of red silk in Tedros’ cloak pocket . . . his back turned . . .

This was her chance.

Sophie felt her pink fingerglow heat up, fear burning it bright. Chest pounding, she raised her finger slowly, pointing it at Tedros’ broad back— “Even though you’re a crap fighter, I’m glad you’re with me, Fil,” Tedros said ahead. “Always wanted a best friend to team up with. You know. Like those two girls.” Sophie’s fingertip dimmed.

Tedros turned with an arched brow. “But seriously, do I need to carry you?” Sophie’s heart fluttered and she hurried forward, trying to stiffen her gait to a boy’s. “Odd that we haven’t faced any of the teacher’s traps—” “Pfft, beating monsters is easy, Filip. The devil you know is the one to be scared of.” Sophie stopped, watching Tedros caressed by the sparkling, long-branched willows, as if saluting a knight off to war.

The prince sensed the silence and turned. “What now?”

“Have you ever killed someone, Tedros?”

“What?”

Sophie glared at him, ten feet away. “Have you ever killed someone?” Tedros stiffened, looking at his elfish, clear-eyed friend. “I’ve killed a gargoyle,” he puffed.

“That’s defense, Tedros. This is revenge,” Sophie said coldly. “This is murder.” Her princely face darkened with pain. “No matter how Good you try to be after, you’ll never escape it. It will haunt your dreams and make you afraid of yourself. It will follow you like an ugly black shadow, telling you you’ll always be Evil, until it just becomes . . . part of you.” Tedros bristled, shifting in his boots. “Right. How would you know? Filip of Mount Honora who can’t even fight a stymph.” Sophie’s eyes cut into his. “Because I’ve killed worse than you’ll ever know.” Tedros stared at his friend, stunned.

Moonlight seeped through the ice-blue trees, spotlighting the two boys, their breath misting towards each other.

Tedros cocked his head, seeing Filip in the glow. “That’s odd. Your face looks different.” “Huh?”

“It looks . . . smoother,” Tedros said curiously, stepping towards his friend. “Like you’ve shaved . . .” Sophie gasped. The spell! She’d grown so used to being a boy she’d forgotten the spell! She’d be a girl any second! She had to get away from him!

“Just the light,” she prattled, goading Tedros ahead. “Let’s go, before a troll eats us.” A soft groan echoed above their heads, and Tedros stopped short. “What was that?” “I don’t hear any—”

But it came again, a rasping wheeze like a punctured balloon.

The two boys slowly looked up into the weeping willow.

“Who’s there?” Tedros called.

Between the spindly branches and shimmery blue leaves, they made out the edges of something hiding high in the tree. Tedros squinted harder, his eyes adjusting to the dark, until he saw a shadow . . . a human shadow . . .

. . . in a sapphire-blue cloak.

“A girl,” he sneered.

Fireworks whipcracked behind them, and the boys spun to see white light lash across the sky, as two more girls’ names erased off the scoreboard.

DOT.

ANADIL.

Sophie exhaled with relief. The two witches had survived long enough to drop their flags.

But then she saw Tedros’ pupils locked on the tree, glimmering darkly. Because if those two girls had surrendered, then chances were that the girl trapped up in that tree right now was . . .

“I’ll get her!” Sophie shrieked, leaping onto the tree—

But Tedros was faster, prowling past his friend like a panther towards the hidden girl. Sophie scrambled up branches behind him, knowing she had to get to Agatha first. She lunged through sharp, tangled branches and yanked Tedros’ cloak collar. The prince ricocheted backwards, watching his friend pass him.

“What are you doing!” Tedros hissed.

Sophie levied every ounce of power in her boy body to swing up the tree towards the hidden girl. Just as she got close, Tedros tackled her from behind.

“She’s mine, Filip,” he growled, shunting his friend aside. Panicked, Sophie shoved her boot in his backside, and Tedros face-planted on a lower branch.

As Filip fumbled past him, Tedros swung up and grappled him, Filip gave him a hard slap, and the two boys wrestled forward along dense branches, biting and kicking each other like animals until Tedros flung Filip back just as they got to the cornered girl. Heaving breath, cheeks scarlet, the prince gnashed his teeth, raised his sword over his prey, and drew back her hood with a snarl— Then he slowly lowered his sword.

“Who are you?”

Sophie came up beside him and looked at a red-haired girl ensconced in blue leaves, moaning softly, eyes barely open, her long-nosed, freckled face deathly pale.

“Yara?”

“You know her?” Tedros said, agog.

“Heard someone call her name in the Clearing before she went in,” Sophie lied hastily, remembering none of the boys had seen Yara before.

“Well, find her white flag and drop it,” Tedros growled. “We need to be looking for Sophie and Agath—” His voice petered out as he noticed a splotch of dried blood on Yara’s chin. Slowly Tedros peeled back her cloak to reveal a rust-flecked jagged gash deep across her neck, already bled out.

“Aric,” Tedros breathed, watching Yara pant and wheeze, her windpipe cut. “That’s his knife mark.” Sophie looked at him, the two boys’ faces filled with the same helpless fear. Yara was about to die.

Sophie cradled Yara’s head while Tedros frantically ransacked her pockets, finding nothing. “We need to send you back to your teachers, Yara,” he pressured. “Where’s your white flag?” Sophie shook her head, bereft. “She doesn’t speak.”

“Yara, we need to help you!” Tedros said manically, grabbing her shoulders— “I told you, Tedros—”

“YARA!” Tedros screamed.

Yara stirred in his arms, her eyes still closed. “I’m . . . not . . . Yara,” she whispered.

Sophie and Tedros recoiled in surprise.

Slowly Yara’s blue eyes struggled open, gazing into Tedros’. She smiled as if looking at her best friend. “I—I—I . . . never was.” The prince let go of her, for Yara’s face had started to change. Her cheeks roughened to ginger stubble, her jaw chiseling and squaring, her long beakish nose refining, her wavy red hair shrinking back into her skull until it was cropped short. Sophie went pale, watching a spell undone that she knew so well. Tedros went paler, looking back at a boy he knew even better.

“T-T-Tristan?” Tedros spluttered, stunned. “But that’s impossible—how can—how could—” “I’m . . . sorry . . . ,” Tristan gasped, back in his boy skin. “Their school . . . was so . . . beautiful. And the boys—the boys were so mean . . . except you, Tedros . . . You were my only friend. . . .” Eyes wet, Tedros couldn’t speak. He just looked at Tristan, then at Filip, so confused.

“Tristan, we need your flag,” Sophie strained.

“She let me stay in the girls’ school—” Tristan said, shivering. “She said I could stay as long as . . . as long as I—” “Who let you stay?” Tedros asked, still in a fog.

“The Dean . . . as long as I hid it for her . . . that’s why I moved it from under the t-t-table . . .” “Shhhh,” Sophie said, touching his cheek. “Just tell me where your flag is.” Tristan’s eyes found hers and suddenly twinkled with recognition. He looked deeper into her face and smiled weakly. “It’s you.” Sophie’s heart imploded.

Tedros peered at Tristan, puzzled. “But Filip came to our school after you left. How would you—” “He’s delirious,” Sophie blurted quickly, then clutched Tristan harder, flashing him the F on her collar. “I’m Filip, Tristan. Filip of Mount Honora. And I need your flag—please—” “The Storian,” Tristan said, still smiling at her. “I . . . I hid it in your storybook . . . like she told me to . . . she knew you’d never look there . . .” “What’s he talking about?” Tedros asked nervously.

“I have no idea,” Sophie lied, heart thundering.

“It’s in . . . in your book . . . ,” Tristan choked. “She’s . . . she’s coming for it . . . she . . . she needs it for your end-d-d. . . .” But there was no more breath for Tristan to give. The red-haired boy convulsed, then stilled, his heart finally finished, and his eyes slowly closed once more.

Inch by inch, he started to glow like a halo, burning hotter, hotter, to the color of molten gold. In a flash, his body splintered to light and rocketed into the sky, drawing out Yara’s face in a constellation of orange-gold stars, before the lights faded and fell over the Forest like raining fire. Then YARA’s name went dark on the girls’ scoreboard, and Tristan was gone.

Tedros shoved past Filip and stumbled down the tree. He leapt into shadowed blue grass behind it, and doubled over, gagging. “How could Aric kill her! How could Aric kill a girl!” he cried. “And it wasn’t a girl—it was T-T-T-Tristan! A boy like any of us—but no one talked to him, no one was nice to him—no wonder he wanted to be in their school—” Tedros couldn’t breathe, collapsing to his knees. “He just wanted to be happy!” Sophie put her hand on his back.

“He must have been so scared, Filip,” Tedros whispered. “Alone in that tree . . . dying . . .” He buried his face in his hands. “I can’t watch anyone else die. Please. Not like that.” He sniffled and smeared at his eyes. “You’re right. I can’t—I can’t hurt anyone—” Sophie knelt before him. “You don’t have to.”

“Those girls will kill me if I don’t kill them first!”

“Not if you promise me,” Sophie soothed. “Promise me you’ll let them live.” Tedros looked up at her, cheeks wet. He shook his head as if he was dreaming. “Every second you look different, Filip. Softer, gentler . . .” He turned away, flushing. “Why do I keep wishing you were a princess? Why do I keep seeing one in your face?” “Promise me you’ll let Sophie and Agatha go home,” Sophie begged, voice tightening. “A prince’s promise.” “On one condition,” Tedros said, their eyes locking. “That you won’t go back to your kingdom, Filip. That you’ll stay here with me.” Sophie burnt red, gawking at him. “W-w-w-what?”

Tedros gripped her shoulders. “You keep me Good, Filip. Please. I can’t end up like Aric, angry and Evil. You’re the only thing that keeps me Good.” Sophie’s whole body went to butter, staring at the only boy she’d ever loved, asking her to stay with him forever.

As a boy.

Slowly Sophie felt herself pull away from him.

“Listen to me, Tedros,” she said. “Sophie needs to go home alive with Agatha. That’s the only way to end this. That’s the only way to stop anyone else from dying.” “And I need my best friend,” said Tedros, holding her tighter. “You said it yourself, Filip. You don’t want to end alone like your mother.” His blue eyes weakened. “And I don’t want to end alone like my father.” “I have someone waiting, Tedros,” Sophie rasped. “Someone who knows the real me. Someone I wouldn’t trade for any boy in the world.” “I wish you were a girl,” Tedros said, hand moving down his friend’s back. “That’s why I keep seeing one in your face.” “Promise me you’ll let them go,” Sophie pressed, heart racing— “You’re all I have left, Filip,” Tedros pleaded. “Don’t leave me alone. Please.” “Just promise me—” gasped Sophie.

“Even stranger,” Tedros breathed, lost in a daze. “Now you sound like a girl too.” Sophie held out her hand to stop him, but Tedros caught it. Sophie looked up into his wide, confused eyes as he leaned in, touching his lips to hers. . . .

“Oh my God,” a voice cried behind them.

The boys spun in shock.

It was Agatha.