فصل 15

Chapter 15

SOPHIE

Trust Is the Way

“What do you suppose they’re talking about?” Sophie asked, watching Hort wrap his arms around Tedros in the sky while she wrapped her arms around Agatha on the ground.

“What do boys talk about at all?” Agatha replied, Merlin strapped to her back.

The camel could seat three, anticipating Agatha, Tedros, and Princess Uma as its passengers, only to be confronted with Sophie and Hort, too, plus a baby. When it became clear that Agatha wouldn’t leave Merlin, Sophie wouldn’t leave Agatha, and Hort wouldn’t leave Sophie, Princess Uma summoned a stymph to ride with the boys, tracking Agatha and Sophie from above, while the girls rode the camel below. (“I can ride with Sophie,” Hort volunteered. “And me with Agatha,” Tedros seconded. “Uma already assigned teams,” Sophie nipped.) As for their destination, they had no clue, because the camel refused to disclose it: “So no one can betray us to the enemy,” it told Uma. When the princess pressed the animal to at least reveal the way they were going or the way to save Agatha from the second test, the camel replied: “Trust is the way.” “Or at least, that’s what I think it said,” Uma sighed later. “In Camel tongue, ‘trust’ and ‘death’ are the same word, though it’s safe to assume it meant the first over the second.” “And you’re sure we trust it?” Sophie had asked Agatha after Uma and the boys went to find a stymph.

Agatha stroked the camel like a pet. “The Sultan of Shazabah sent it as a gift for Rhian’s wedding, before I saved it from the king’s hands. It wants to reunite with its family. I heard its wish. But it can’t go home to Shazabah. Not without being killed for disobeying orders. Uma said it was hiding in the Woods when it saw Lionsmane’s message about me being the second test. The camel knew I needed help, so it sent word for Princess Uma through the forest animals, hoping she’d be able to lead it to me.” Sophie watched Merlin nuzzle his young face in the camel’s fur. “Last time we trusted an animal, it was that despicable beaver who tried to murder us with snakes,” said Sophie. “I don’t trust vermin of any kind. No matter what Uma says.” “Spoken like a true witch,” Agatha quipped.

Sophie frowned. “What’s that smell?”

The camel had peed on her shoe.

With half the Woods bounty-hunting Agatha, they could only ride at night, leaving sleep for the daytime. As for those left behind, Tedros assigned them new quests. A gang of first years led by Valentina and Laithan would sneak into Camelot to shadow Japeth’s movements, while Bogden and Willam were to visit the priest named Pospisil—who Willam once served as an altar boy—to see if he’d be of help against the Snake.

“Librarian at the Living Library hinted he might be a friend to us,” said Tedros.

Meanwhile, a squirrelly nut had arrived for Tedros while they’d been in the School Master’s tower.

“Message from Jaunt Jolie,” Tedros disclosed, addressing the witches. “Queen Jacinda wants to see you.” “Jaunt Jolie?” said Hester. “That’s Ever territory.” “Send Beatrix or Reena instead,” Anadil agreed.

“Except those two are still missing,” matronly Dot pointed out. “Kiko too.” “Not our problem,” Hester snapped. “Nor are Ever queens.” “Well, this Ever queen asked for you, which is why you three are going,” Tedros ordered. “Tell Jacinda that her daughter is dead, at the hands of the Snake. She should know the truth. And find out what happened to Nicola and my mother. Last we heard, they’d gone to ask for the queen’s help. Her Knights of the Eleven are our best chance to help kill Japeth before he finds Agatha. And we have to kill him. Because as long as the second test holds, he won’t stop until he kills her.” Sophie could see Agatha thinking this over, but Aggie made no argument.

Along the way, Tedros added, the coven should stop at Glass Mountain to find where Robin Hood had hidden Maid Marian. (“How do we tell her Robin’s dead?” Dot lamented. “We really are the death parade,” Anadil mumbled back.) The rest of the Evers and Nevers, teachers included, would resume classes as usual, deflecting any suspicions they were harboring Agatha, while keeping the Storian well-protected. Besides, as Professor Sheeks pointed out, the camel had made a wise choice: by withholding its plans for Agatha, the school could play dumb—even the most potent sorcerer couldn’t extract information if they had no information to give.

Good, Evil, Boy, Girl, Young, Old . . . the common mission was the same: forward motion, trusting a camel to guide them, even if they hadn’t a clue where the camel was going.

Sophie felt this forward motion literally now, their journey begun, the camel bouncing her with every step, Sophie’s nose and mouth covered with white silk. Somewhere between the Clearing and the Woods, her white kimono had magically morphed into a chic riding ensemble, complete with headscarf and veil. “You know, I keep trying to get the dress off, but the more I try, the more it refashions into something divine, as if it knows exactly how to charm me. At this point, I can’t tell whether it’s good magic or bad magic.” “Anything of Evelyn Sader’s is bad,” said Agatha in a dark hooded cloak behind her, the baby asleep against her back.

“And yet, Evelyn is the link between the Snake and Green Knight,” Sophie replied. “Isn’t that what you saw in the pearl?” “It was some kind of riddle hidden inside. A riddle Arthur wanted the winner of the first test to see,” said Agatha.

“Must be important, then,” Sophie allowed, “even if it makes no sense.” “When we went into Rhian’s blood, what did we see for sure?” said Agatha. “We saw Evelyn enchant Arthur to have his child. We saw Evelyn put the spansel around his neck instead of Lady Gremlaine doing it. Which means Arthur had a secret son with Evelyn Sader. Or sons. No doubt about it.” “And yet, the Snake isn’t Arthur’s son at all. Or at least he claimed he isn’t,” said Sophie. “Then again, he lies about everything, just like his brother did.” She shook her head. “But why would he lie about that? Unless the Snake isn’t the son Evelyn had with Arthur . . . Unless it’s the Green Knight who’s the Snake’s father . . .” “But Rhian’s blood says it’s Arthur who’s the father!” Agatha argued.

“And yet, the Green Knight has the same name as the Snake. Japeth. Plus, the wizard tree said the Snake had a connection to the Green Knight’s soul. How can that be unless Japeth shares his blood?” Sophie insisted. “The Green Knight has to be the Snake’s father.” “And Evelyn Sader his mother? But why did Rhian’s blood lie, then? And how did it fool Excalibur when Rhian pulled the sword from the stone?” “Maybe it didn’t lie,” Sophie guessed. “Maybe Rhian had Arthur as his father and Japeth had the Green Knight as his . . . Evelyn Sader the mother to both.” Sophie’s heart hummed faster. “Twins divided by magic . . .” “Like us,” Agatha spoke softly.

Sophie heard the catch in her friend’s voice. They’d never talked about it. What they’d seen in August Sader’s history long ago. That they were sisters . . . but sisters in name only . . . Two souls, forever irreconcilable, each a mirror of the other: one Good, one Evil. What if Rhian and Japeth were the same? Sophie thought.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Agatha rejected. “How can twins have different fathers?” Sophie threw up her hands. “But who’s their father, then? Arthur or the Green Knight? Is Rhian’s blood right or is Japeth’s blood right? And if Rhian’s blood was wrong, how do we know Evelyn Sader is their mother at all?” Agatha sighed, both of their brains in knots.

They stopped speaking for a while, Merlin letting out a burble as if he’d been listening all along. Sophie glanced high at Tedros and Hort, silhouetted in their black cloaks, still locked in their own conversation, while Uma steered the stymph to match the camel’s pace.

“You really broke your wrist to save my leg?” Agatha asked.

“If the Snake is coming for you, we can’t have you hobbling around. Of course the repair spell could have broken my own leg in return or worse, but I figured you and I would take turns healing each other and breaking bones until we found the least inconvenient one.” Agatha snorted. “God, how did we get here?”

“You mean, aboard a smelly camel to nowhere, with your prince ordered to kill you, the Woods stalking you, and a baby wizard on your back?” The camel spat a gob of fire past Sophie’s ear.

“Must everything in our story be twisted and barbarous?” Sophie moaned.

She peeked back at Agatha, expecting the usual wry response. But instead, Aggie looked afraid. More than afraid. She looked lost.

“No, I mean, how did we get here?” Agatha said. “So far from a happy ending?” “We were meant for a bigger life, Agatha,” Sophie reminded. “From the beginning. August Sader told the School Master that a Reader would be his true love . . . the Evil soul Rafal had been waiting for. That’s why Rafal kidnapped Readers like us to this world. To find his true love. But Sader lied to him: because he knew that you and I would kill Rafal. That our love would destroy him. After Rafal died, we thought the story was over. We assumed our happy ending would last forever. Because that’s what storybooks taught us. That Good always wins. That Ever After is Ever After. But our fairy tale changed the rules. We punched holes in the old ways of Good and Evil. And now we’re in a new tale where it’s no longer enough to be Good. The Storian wants more from us. Enough to risk its own destruction. To win, we have to follow our story wherever it leads. Beyond Ever and Never. Beyond Man and Pen. To the End of Ends.” Agatha went quiet behind her, her body no longer rigid, a calm settling into her breath. She touched Sophie’s shoulder.

“To the End of Ends,” said Agatha.

The words echoed in the dark forest.

Wisps of blue smoke floated down and curdled in front of Sophie, a message in Hort’s scraggly glow: “Tell Agatha to switch with me.” Sophie waved away the smoke. “You know, for a boy with a girlfriend, he certainly doesn’t act like it.” “Which makes me wonder why Nicola is with him at all,” said Agatha, her tone lighter, as if gossiping about someone else’s love life was a tonic for doom. “Nicola’s as sharp as they come. She’s read our fairy tale and knows every detail. She must know Hort can’t let go of you.” “And having read our story, she also thinks Hort’s too good for me, which is why she continues to date him,” said Sophie. “Nic’s a Reader like us. She grew up reading tales where witches don’t have boyfriends. To her, Hort liking me is unnatural. She truly believes he deserves someone better. Someone like her. And that if she stays with him, Hort will eventually see the light. But that implies love is rational. That when backed into a corner, the heart does the sensible thing. But that’s where Hort and I are the same. Neither of us has the least control over our heart.” “Hmm. Interesting,” Agatha said.

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Our third year, Hort saw a vision in the Wish Fish lake. When we were at Guinevere’s safe house. The fish told him that you and him would be married in the end. And we’re not yet at The End . . .” “I know this will surprise you, but I’ve considered it, Aggie,” said Sophie. “Especially after Hort tried to rescue me from Rhian. For the briefest of moments, I saw him as my prince . . . I saw what our story together could be . . . And there are moments, now more than ever, where I think: Take a chance. Date the weasel. Go for the doting, soft boy instead of the sultry hunk who ends up wanting to kill me. At least I’ll be loved. At least I’ll have kisses without a knife in my back.” Sophie paused. “But then I think . . . where’s the challenge in that?” She grinned back at her friend.

“And you wonder why witches don’t have boyfriends,” said Agatha.

NEVER ENTER THE Woods at night.

That had been one of the first rules Sophie had learned at the School for Good and Evil. And with good reason. After sunset, the forest turned into a haunting ground. Red and yellow eyes twinkled like jewels in the underbrush, followed by the gleam of sharp teeth. Dark outlines flitted across trees: snouts, claws, wings. The night came with its own sounds, too, a steady roll of growls and skitters and shrieks. The deeper you prowled into the Woods, the more it prowled back, tickling the crooks of your legs, breathing at your neck. But safe atop the camel, Sophie took in the night with new eyes. Fluorescing green spores on poisonous ivy. Black scorpions, shiny like obsidian. Red and blue snakes twined around a tree. There was beauty in the danger, if you let yourself see it.

The thoughts were fleeting. Sophie knew it was only a matter of time before they ran into someone after Agatha. A few hours into their trek and they’d already caught glimpse of two teenage boys, a lone dwarf, a witch wheeling a cart . . . but all bustled by with hardly a glance, as if using the dark to hide from something themselves.

“That age potion must be working,” Agatha said. “Merlin’s getting heavier.” Sophie studied the child strapped to her friend, his body bigger, his hair bushier than when they’d left school, the once baby-sized robes seeming to magically grow with him. Merlin eagerly sucked milk from his blue hat, leaking all over Agatha.

“Make Mama wet!” the wizard chimed, rubbing milk into her hair.

“Now I see why you hate children,” said Agatha.

“He’s in the terrible twos. For the night anyway,” Sophie noted. “Hester said to feed him the next dose of potion. That’ll grow him to three by tomorrow.” “Already heavy on my back at two.”

“Let me hold him, then. At least for a little while.” “He’s due for a poo.”

“Give him to me, Aggie.”

Agatha unhooked Merlin with a sigh and handed him to Sophie, who used her good hand to secure him in her lap— The Woods vanished.

Sophie was high on a cloud, silver stars winking against a purple sky.

The Celestium.

Someone was sitting next to her.

Tedros.

Tedros, who had no head.

His neck a bloody stump.

“Peekaboo!” a voice said.

She turned and saw Tedros’ decapitated head floating in the air behind her.

“Peekaboo!”

Sophie screamed—

But now she was back in the forest, so jolted with shock that she was about to fall off the camel, the baby with her, before Agatha lunged and saved them both.

“Have you lost your mind!” she berated Sophie.

Sophie gaped at Merlin, the child grinning at her. The wizard had done it. Was it a prank? More terrible twos? And yet, the way Merlin was smiling, so calm and assured . . .

“Wait. Did something happen?” Agatha asked suddenly, her expression changing, as if she’d had her own bout with Merlin’s tricks. “Sophie, what did you see?” Your boyfriend in two pieces.

“Nothing,” Sophie said out loud. “Just got dizzy.” Hort’s glow-smoke drifted in front of her again, a new message: “Saw you fall. I’m coming down.” Sophie scrawled back in pink glow—“Come down and I’ll give you a slap”—swatting the message up to him.

Hort stayed where he was.

They rode on. Freed from carrying Merlin, Agatha promptly fell asleep against Sophie’s shoulder. The wizard poked at the vial sticking out of Sophie’s dress pocket.

“Drinkie,” he peeped.

Sophie pulled out the bottle of green goo that Hester had given her and squeezed a few steamy drops onto Merlin’s tongue, the child eager for it, despite the potion’s hellish smell and the face he made upon swallowing. Sophie tried to shake off what she’d seen in the Celestium, while Merlin sang nonsense and toyed with her veil. Every time she looked at him, he seemed to have grown, his diaper no longer soiled every hour. Instead, he’d tug on Sophie with a spooked look, his new way of indicating he needed to relieve himself. Time slowed to a crawl, the wizard’s growth outpacing the night, until at last the black sky started to blue. The camel peered up at Uma, expecting her to scout the path and signal a spot to hide until morning. But the stymph stalled, Uma hesitating . . .

There were campfires ahead, circled by shadows.

“Aggie, look,” Sophie nudged.

Agatha snored awake. Her eyes widened. “Pirates,” she breathed, taking in the fleet of Camelot guards, led by Wesley, his sunburnt face visible through his helmet.

But not just pirates, Sophie realized.

Wolves.

Dozens of them, man-wolves and werewolves alike, mixed with Japeth’s army, the wolves’ hulking torsos and feral faces flamelit as the teams shared roasted rabbit and squirrel.

Sophie looked to Uma for guidance, but treetops and rising smoke had obscured the stymph. Sophie tugged on the camel’s reins, reversing course, but more wolves were coming that way, towing a dead boar. The camel hustled forward, sneaking a narrow path around the camp. Sophie tightened her veil and Agatha grabbed Merlin’s blue hat to fashion her own mask, both girls keeping their heads low.

“Bloodbrook ain’t no friend to Camelot,” Wesley said to the largest man-wolf, as the returning wolves heaped the boar on the fire. “King musta promised yers a pretty penny to help us catch Agatha.” “Storian hasn’t written the tale of a Bloodbrook Never in a hundred years. Closest we came was that pathetic Hort, who played the fool in Agatha’s tale,” said the wolf leader. “No legends or heroes to believe in anymore. Reason we’ve become a slum instead of the kingdom we once were. If Rhian gets the Pen’s powers, he promised to restore Bloodbrook to glory.” “With yer noses helpin’ us, king’ll win the second test in no time,” said Wesley. “Track that wench down like a dog.” He smiled at the wolf leader. “No offense.” And yet, with the smoke and meat, none of them caught scent of Agatha, who was slipping right past them, almost out of the thicket. Sophie tried to quiet Merlin, who was squirming for Agatha as the camel skirted the enemy camp, about to break into open Woods. But Merlin thrashed harder in Sophie’s arms, angling for Agatha— His hat, Sophie realized.

He wanted it back.

Merlin started to swell red.

No, no, no, Sophie prayed.

The wizard went redder, redder, redder.

She covered his mouth—

Merlin exploded.

A loud, piercing wail that startled even the camel.

Agatha and Sophie froze. Merlin, too.

Wolves and guards raised their eyes.

The Woods went still.

Instantly, the camel fled, but wolves surrounded it. The camel spat a blast of fire, torching one, but the rest of the wolves tackled it to the ground, hoisting Sophie and Agatha off, separating them from Merlin, before they cut the camel’s reins and stuffed them in its mouth.

As wolves gripped the two veiled girls and a guard gagged Merlin, Wesley approached, sword in hand.

“Heidy-ho, fair lasses. May I ask where yer going inna middle of a night wit a Shazaboo camel?” Sophie looked at Agatha. Agatha looked at Sophie. Each knew who was the better liar.

“To the island of Markle Markle. Hafsa and I are to dance for the king,” Sophie touted, nodding at hat-masked Agatha. The white scarf around Sophie’s nose and mouth magically tightened, leaving only her green eyes visible. “We’ve been sent by the sultan. A diplomatic mission.” “Markle Markle, eh?” said Wesley. “And where izzat? East of Shangri-la and West of Santy Claus’ den?” “Off the shores of Ooty, actually,” Sophie replied.

Wesley grinned. “Lies.”

“To a guard of Camelot, perhaps,” said Sophie. “The island is hidden by fog. Visible only to maidens and pirates, of which you are neither.” Her emerald gaze cut through him.

Wesley stopped grinning.

“Show yer face,” he said. “Both of ye.”

Neither girl obeyed.

“Then I’ll do it meself,” he snarled, his sword reaching for Sophie’s veil— “I wouldn’t if I were you,” said Sophie calmly. “Remove a girl’s veil and you’ll be cursed to die before the day is done.” Wesley stared at her. Then at Agatha.

“Bad death!” Agatha piped, with a hideous accent.

Wesley turned to his men. “That true?”

No one disputed it.

“Best be on our way then,” Sophie said, breaking free— “Not until you dance,” said a voice.

The largest man-wolf stepped into the firelight. The pack leader.

“What?” Sophie asked, off guard.

“Whole Woods is searching for a fugitive girl about your age. King Rhian’s orders,” the man-wolf spoke. “If you are who you say you are, then prove it. One dance and you’re free to go.” Sophie hesitated, but Agatha jumped in. “No moosic,” she said, sounding like a stuffed-up goat.

“Exactly,” Sophie echoed. “No music, no dance.”

A steady beat punctured the silence.

Both girls looked up at two wolves, rapping on guard armor with sticks.

Tikka tik tok . . . Tikka tik tok . . .

Another wolf slapped his paw against a stone: duk duk dop . . . duk duk dop . . .

A last wolf threw mulch into the fire, with a percussive pahhh . . . pahhh . . .

The man-wolf leader bared teeth at Sophie.

“Dance,” he said.

Sophie glared back at the wolf.

If there was one thing wolves and men had in common, it was that they underestimated the power of a girl.

Sophie could feel Evelyn’s dress changing on her skin, as if she had full command over it the same way Japeth controlled his scims. Soon her white riding clothes had become a sparkly fitted halter and matching harem pants, her veil coated in glitterdust.

The wolf stepped back, startled.

Sophie kicked off her shoes, her arms flurrying, her body spinning into motion. Around her enemies she danced, making them dizzy with her whirls and twists, her bandaged hand grazing Wesley and wolf with teasing touches, before her good hand slashed nails across their cheeks, drawing blood. They were too entranced to revolt, watching Sophie twirl with speed and glimmer, like a sylph born out of the fire, yanking guards’ hair to jeté over them and clutching wolves’ throats to launch into luscious arabesques. The beat quickened, the wolves gaping wet-mouthed. A long time ago, a Beast had punished Sophie by stealing her beauty. Now his kin were slaves to it. Faster and faster, the music went, Sophie heightening her glissades, dropping into splits, capping moves with winks and trills, tossing a guard’s meal into the fire for a last spike of flames . . . before she thrust her heel in a high, stabbing kick, which connected hard with Wesley’s head, knocking his helmet into the fire and revealing his peeling, mottled face.

“Strange you don’t know Markle Markle,” Sophie cooed, eyeing him. “Look more pirate than Camelot guard to me.” Wolves gave Wesley an odd glance as if they agreed.

“Best of luck finding your fugitive. Come, Hafsah,” Sophie said, snatching Merlin from a guard and strutting towards the tied-up camel— “Stop.”

Sophie turned.

The wolf was pointing at Agatha. “She dances too.” Sophie cleared her throat. “Hafsah only does private dances. For kings who pay their weight in gold.” “Dance,” Wesley commanded, honed in on Agatha.

A guard stripped Merlin from Sophie.

The music began again.

Tikka tik tok.

Tikka tik tok.

Agatha peeked at the treetops, the stymph long gone, then at baby Merlin in the guard’s arms, as if hoping the wizard would rescue them. But he just chewed on his gag like a pacifier, beaming at his “Mama” and clapping along to the wolves’ beat.

The man-wolf tapped his claw in the dirt, his lips curling over jagged teeth.

Sophie gave Agatha an encouraging nod. Come on, Aggie. Surely she could muster a competent waltz or volta or something. Her friend had received dance lessons at school. And more lessons at Camelot. Besides, dancing was the easiest thing in the world. All it required was comfort of body, grace of movement, and a child’s sense of rhythm.

Then she saw the ghostly pallor of her friend’s face and remembered that Agatha had none of these things.

Agatha lifted her leg and shook it a few times. At first Sophie thought this was the warm-up for the dance, but no, this was the dance, her friend gyrating like a flamingo before dropping into a hideous squat and rocking from side to side, her bony knees cracking. “Ooh de lally, ooh de lally,” Aggie mumbled, as if keeping time to a beat that had nothing to do with the one being played. Aggie glanced at Sophie and must have seen her expression because now she was shaking her bottom and waving her arms as if hailing a carriage, before she started running in place as if the carriage had left without her. This went on, the phantom sprint, along with strange hand sweeps like a sad version of tai chi, until she tripped on her cloak and crashed onto her stomach, only to pretend this, too, was the dance, flailing her legs, flashing her dusty petticoat, before lumbering onto her side, caked in dirt, like a mummy washed ashore at the beach.

Her veil fell off.

Agatha and Sophie stared at the shrunken wizard hat on the ground.

Merlin stopped clapping.

The music halted too, the audience stone silent.

Slowly Agatha looked up, face in plain sight.

“Oh, hullo,” she said.

Like a storm, they came for her, swords and snouts. Sophie blasted her pink glow, but the wolves were already on her, tying her and Agatha up with pig-smelling rope, while Merlin was stuffed into a burlap sack. Sophie strained for breath, Wesley’s knees on her chest, his black nails stabbing her neck, his rancid face in hers— “King wants yer friend alive. Never said anythin’ ‘bout you.” He strangled her so hard that her heart jolted to a stop, the life squeezed out of her, while Agatha screamed into a gag, forced to watch her best friend die— Thunder hammered from above.

A roaring wolf-bomb straight for Wesley, shattering his skull with his fists.

A crater imploded beneath, swallowing wolves and guards as the new man-wolf landed, swinging Agatha, Sophie, and Merlin onto his back. He grabbed the boar off the roast, axing it at the remaining wolves, painting them with flames and sending them fleeing into the Woods, before savaging the last few guards with blows to the head. Only when they were all gone did he take a breath, his wolf teeth smeared with blood, his fur lit with embers, before Hort held Sophie up by his paw, gnashing into her face.

“I’ll take that slap now.”

A DAY LATER, they camped on the frigid banks of the Frostplains, under frozen docks that stretched out into the Savage Sea.

When night came, Uma woke her charges, expecting the camel to lead them on the next leg of the journey.

But the camel didn’t move, remaining curled up beneath the docks.

“What are we waiting for?” Uma asked, shivering.

“For our ship to come in,” the camel told her.

TWO DAYS LATER, the ship still hadn’t come in.

While Uma flew the stymph out to sea to forage for more fish, her wards huddled beneath the docks as the sun rose, warmed by a small fire and their own body heat as they cuddled against the camel’s belly. None of them could sleep, including Merlin, age five and fully alert, who was skipping around the fire, tossing sticks and seaweed and whatever else he could find into the flames and watching them burn.

“When’s this damned ship coming?” Tedros groused, eyeing the sleeping camel. “And where’s this blasted beast taking us?” “As far from Shazabah as it can get,” Hort guessed, fire-smoking pieces of salmon and handing them to Sophie, who Hort was spooning under his arm. “Probably hiding us in the unmapped realms.” “But how does that help me win the second test without killing Agatha?” said Tedros, harboring his princess to his chest. “Wherever we go, the Snake will hunt us. Running away doesn’t stop him or keep Agatha safe. Running away isn’t what my father would have wanted me to do. It’s just . . . cowardice.” “’Trust is the way.’ That’s what the camel said,” Agatha sighed, nestling deeper into her prince’s arms.

“Trust also means ‘death’ in Camel,” Tedros cracked.

“It’s saved our life before,” Agatha reminded. “That’s why the Storian pointed us to it.” “Same Storian wrote murdering twins into our fairy tale right when we should have been getting married.” Something about the way Tedros said this, at once angry and loving, made Agatha’s face change. “I wish I hadn’t swallowed the pearl,” she said quietly. “I wish I’d caught it and given it to you. You’d be on to the second test. The real second test, whatever it should have been.” Tedros stroked her hair. “Trust is the way, remember?” Sophie could see Agatha relaxing under her prince’s fingers, her eyes closed with pleasure. “Better stop doing that or I’ll get used to it,” Agatha murmured to him.

“You’re very bossy,” said Tedros. “Just stop thinking and let go for once.” Agatha settled deeper into his chest. Then she sprung up on her elbows. “And that vision I saw in the pearl means nothing to you? Evelyn Sader as the link between Japeth and the Green Knight?” Tedros gave up on his massage. “Thought about it on the stymph ride, after you mentioned it. But Evelyn Sader had nothing to do with the Green Knight. Nor does Japeth, as far as we know. Why would my father hide that in the pearl? Doesn’t make the slightest sense. Like everything else in this story.” They watched Merlin throw more things into the fire and pip “Shazam!” as if he was the one spawning the flames.

“Our kid is growing up,” Tedros mused, pulling Agatha towards him.

Sophie nibbled on salmon, watching them kiss.

“Hope it tastes okay,” Hort said, his bicep hugging her. “Tried to cook it just right.” Sophie knew she shouldn’t be letting him hold her like this. That it was giving Hort the wrong idea. But it was glacial out here. And Hort was wonderful at spooning, soft in all the right spots. Plus, with Agatha hunkered with Tedros, either she nested with the weasel or slept alone by the camel’s buttocks.

But there was something else, of course.

The way he’d saved her.

Not just that Hort had rescued her from death, but also that burn in his glare, that red-hot ardor, as if the boy had molted into a man. She’d always thought him a weenie, a lovestruck sop, but now she’d seen the alpha wolf inside, the one who commanded her love and didn’t back down. She’d never admit to being aroused by the thought; she’d plotted the death of any boy or beast who dared to claim her . . . Yet here she was, letting this one touch her, even though his fingers smelled of smoke and fish.

She rolled over to Hort. “What did you and Tedros talk about up there on the stymph? Every time I looked, you two were deep in conversation.” Hort and Tedros exchanged glances.

“Fitness tips,” said Hort.

“Rugby,” said Tedros.

“Ah,” said Sophie.

Liars.

“Maybe this is the real second test, though,” Agatha wondered, finally freed from Tedros’ lips. “The more I think about this tournament, the stranger it is.” “Here she goes again,” Tedros said. “Thinking.”

“A revelation to you, I imagine,” said Sophie. “Aggie, what do you mean?” “The tournament is a race. Three tests. Whoever stays ahead wins,” Agatha reasoned. “If Tedros or Japeth swallowed the pearl, one of them would have had a head start on the next test until the other figured it out. So how did Arthur know neither of them would win? How did he have that second test prepared?” Tedros sat up. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Sophie. “But Aggie’s right. Arthur’s ghost is speaking from the dead. And yet, he was ready for the case that neither you nor Japeth would win.” “My dad is thorough,” Tedros defended. “He would have readied for all possibilities.” “Or he knew all along killing Agatha would be the second test,” said Sophie. “Because he’d planned for Agatha winning the first.” “You think my dad wants me to kill my future queen?” Tedros mocked.

But Agatha was still looking at Sophie. “That line when he announced the tournament. ‘The future I have seen has many possibilities . . .’” “Somehow he had a view to the future,” Sophie said, finishing Agatha’s thought.

Tedros scoffed: “My father wasn’t a magician. He couldn’t have seen the future.” “And yet, he knew we would be at his archive, looking for the first answer. That’s why he had Sader leave clues for us there,” said Agatha. “Either Arthur made a lot of lucky guesses . . . or your father saw ahead, even when August Sader couldn’t.” Tedros’ face changed. “But who would have told him? Who would have helped him see the future?” “You’re asking the wrong question,” said Hort.

They turned to him.

“The question is whether that person was on your side,” said Hort.

Sophie and the others fell silent.

Together, they gazed at Merlin, who seemed to have developed command over the fire, summoning magical shapes out of the flames: a tree . . . a cave . . . a sword . . .

“Mama, Mer-Mer is a wizard!” he said, hopping around. “See, look, Mama!” “I’m looking, Merlin,” said Agatha, seemingly both relieved that he had his magic and disconcerted by how fast Merlin was growing. In the last day, he’d become unpredictable: in touch with his powers and still weeks away from knowing his potential.

“So many things we don’t know,” said Tedros. “Why Dad hid that riddle . . . how the Green Knight and Snake are connected . . . whether my future is fated or within my control . . .” The prince petted the sleeping camel. “Trust better be the way, Sir Camel. Because it’s the only way we have left.” “Sir Camel is a ‘she,’” said Agatha.

Princess and prince drifted off to sleep.

Hort, too, began to yawn, leaving only Sophie to keep watch as the sun rose, tinting the docks with wintry light. Soon, Uma returned with a scanty stock of fish and fell asleep with the others, while her stymph flew back out to sea. Merlin, meanwhile, was still babbling and pitching things into the fire, conjuring random shapes. But in time, even the wizard child had enough, and after Sophie fed him the next drop of potion, he went down between her and Hort.

Sophie forced herself to stay awake, her eyes pinned on the sea for any incoming ships. Her lids heavied, her focus blurring back to the fire. The flames seemed to heighten, glowing unnatural colors, yielding new shapes, as if Merlin could control them even in sleep, a view into his unconscious. First, a blue butterfly . . . then a black snake . . . then a green, headless man rising from the fire, his neck a bloody stump . . .

But he had a head, Sophie saw now.

He carried it under his arm.

Tedros’ head.

“Peekaboo!” Tedros said.

Sophie bolted awake to a wash of sun.

The fire was out, the ashes long cooled.

Merlin was sound asleep, snuggled on Hort’s chest. Agatha and Tedros, too— But something was different.

The camel, Sophie realized.

It was gone.

Sophie lifted her eyes.

A ship was at the docks.

Sails, red and gold.

Across the stern, carved letters spelled its name.

Shazabah Sikander

Shadows cast over Sophie and her friends, as if clouds had cloaked the sun.

Only there were no clouds, the sky a vacant white.

Slowly Sophie turned around.

Her blood chilled.

“Aggie?” she croaked.

Agatha stirred, following Sophie’s eyes. She jerked upright, snatching Tedros awake. Hort and Uma roused too, with the weasel grabbing Merlin.

At least fifty soldiers glared down at them, wearing red-and-gold armor, wielding curved sabers and spears.

They had the camel, collared and wrapped with chains.

But the camel didn’t resist. It wasn’t fighting its captors at all.

It was smiling.

Grinning at Agatha and Tedros, as if this was the ship it’d been waiting for all along.

It grunted calmly, the same sounds again and again.

Sounds Sophie had heard before, the camel’s guiding phrase.

Trust is the way.

Trust is the way.

Trust is the way.

But as guards came towards her and her friends, sabers raised, suddenly Sophie understood.

The camel never meant “trust.”

The camel meant something else.

“Trust” and “death” were the same word in Camel.

And they had gotten it wrong.