فصل 30

Chapter 30

AGATHA

The Sword and the Lion

When making a deal, one must be specific.

That’s all Agatha could think as she lurched through the streets of Foxwood, yoked to a chain, her mouth gagged with rope. As soon as the terms between Tedros and the Snake were settled—Excalibur to decide the king—Chateau Sugar East was raided by a hundred armies, all of Tedros’ friends captured and bound. The prince said nothing, watching this happen, even as his friends were cuffed into a prisoners’ parade, even as Reaper and his gnomes were kept behind and jailed inside the cottage, even as Tedros’ princess was kicked into the back of the line with Sophie. At their wings were thousands of soldiers marshaling them along, Good and Evil, prodding Tedros’ friends with swords and spears, while Foxwood citizens pelted the rebels with rubbish, chanting “Rhian is King! Rhian is King!” In front of Agatha, a soiled rag smacked Dot in the face, while a rotted peach slapped Agatha’s ear, spurting her cheek with juice.

She remembered one of the first times she’d left the castle at Camelot when she was its new princess, citizens in the village attacking her with mashed hunks of food, rejecting Tedros as king. Back then, Agatha too had her doubts about Tedros. So much had happened since. A Snake unmasked. A Lion brought to light. And yet the people of the Woods were still deep in the dark.

Agatha could hear Sophie’s choked breaths behind her, her friend the last in the chain, her mouth stuffed with King Dutra’s brown scarf, the runty Foxwood king waddling alongside and giving Sophie a boot whenever she slowed, sniping, “Sugar Queen! Ha!” Farther ahead, the witches were chained too, Hester’s demon hemmed by an iron collar around its master’s neck and Anadil’s two rats tied with rope around Anadil’s belly. A grim déjà vu came over Agatha, remembering the last time she, Sophie, and the witches were in a chain gang, captive to pirates who took them to their leader.

That was the first time they’d met the Snake.

Now here they were again in his grip. They had magic at their disposal and the will to fight back, but resistance was futile; they were both outnumbered and irrelevant, the outcome of the tournament confined to a contest between Tedros and the Snake, just as King Arthur had intended. Even Merlin slogged along the chain dutifully, peeking back at Agatha with a glum expression, as if whatever incited the prince to challenge Japeth had been done without consulting him.

Tedros was the only one free, walking at the front of the chain gang, his black coat buttoned up tight, Japeth riding next to him on a white horse. Twelve Camelot soldiers guarded Tedros from the front, crossbows cocked at him, the soldiers shuffling backwards along the last bumpy cobblestones of the square, Agatha terrified that any misstep might trigger one of the bows. Still, Tedros looked impossibly calm, as if he himself had seen the future and picked this path, knowing where it would lead. And yet, Japeth had the same serene expression, towering high over the prince, having seized Tedros’ friends preemptively, as if there could only be one outcome to whom Excalibur would choose.

They couldn’t both be right.

Agatha wanted desperately to trust Tedros’ instincts. No doubt he’d assumed that under fair conditions, in full view of the people, his father’s sword would anoint him king. But the Snake was always one step ahead, just like his own father, and to play by the rules against him was the surest way to lose.

Hoping to calm herself, Agatha looked back at Sophie, but her friend was quailed silently in her white dress, her eyes pinned downwards. She sensed Agatha watching her, about to look up, but Agatha turned, letting her be. It was the same consuming grief she’d seen in Sophie at Snow White’s. She could almost read her friend’s mind: that Hort wouldn’t have stood for this or gone along quietly. He would have erupted into a raging man-wolf and smashed soldiers with his fists and raised holy, apocalyptic hell, no matter what deal Tedros had made. And even though it would have served no use and certainly made things worse, Sophie would have loved him all the more for it.

That Sophie had fallen in love with Hort was as natural as it was surprising. On the one hand, Agatha couldn’t believe it had happened and on the other, she couldn’t fathom it not happening, even after Sophie had rejected the possibility time and time again. Around Hort, Sophie was the Sophiest of all and the Hort the Hortiest, each the deepest version of themselves, bared to each other without shame or fear or regret, and isn’t that what love is? That magical force that makes you more you. The way Agatha made Tedros more Tedros and Tedros made Agatha more Agatha. Sophie had tried to find another equation for love. All the boys she’d loved before were gorgeous or edgy or mystical, but they’d held her back or pushed her towards something she didn’t want or couldn’t be. Hort loved Sophie as herself. And any boy who could love the real Sophie in all her incarnations was the only prince deserving of her love. It just took Hort dying for Sophie to see it.

Tears stung Agatha’s eyes. Is this how the story would end? Sophie stripped of her Ever After and Agatha robbed of her own? Two friends alone again, love found and lost? For a moment, Agatha felt like they’d returned to Gavaldon, she and Sophie pulled through streets of ordinary, tulip-lined cottages . . .

Then she saw the house with the hole in the roof.

Atop the two-level, pale yellow home, the blue tiles had been blown open, guards stationed around this crater, armed with crossbows, pointed at Tedros as he approached. Down on the ground, a thick ring of guards walled off the house, the strongest soldiers Good and Evil, an elite force protecting the third test. Agatha could hardly see Tedros anymore, the guards closing in on him from all sides before the prince stopped in front of the house.

Japeth halted his horse.

Tedros waited for him, as if they were friends.

Watching them were two boys in school uniforms, standing on the porch in front of an open door. Both wore Lion pins, one older, about eighteen, who looked a bit like Chaddick, the other boy ash blond, no more than eight or nine years of age. In the doorway waited a woman in rose-pink robes, who had Grisella Gremlaine’s tan skin and sharp-drawn face. It was here that Lady Gremlaine must have left her son to be raised by his aunt, where Arthur would never learn of his existence. Why Grisella hid Arthur’s true heir from him they’d never know for sure. But Agatha suspected it was so the story of Arthur and Grisella would end on that fateful night they’d spent together in Sherwood Forest. For Grisella, that was their Ever After. Their secret to keep forever. Anything born of that secret had to be hidden, not just to protect Arthur and Camelot, but to give the child a fresh start, a new life, away from the tangled web of its parents.

Japeth dismounted. He left his sword behind and joined Tedros on the patch of grass in front of the house.

The prince nodded, ceding way to his rival.

Silently, the hierarchy played out.

Japeth made his way to the porch, the two Gremlaine boys bowing to him. At the door, Japeth didn’t enter, but instead signaled to the crowd, drawing forth the leaders of the Kingdom Council—King Dutra of Foxwood, Empress Vaisilla of Putsi, the Maharani of Mahadeva, the Wolf King of Bloodbrook, and dozens more—who would all bear witness to the test, each gliding into the house one by one until the parade of royals was done.

Japeth waited by the door and nodded at Tedros.

Tedros moved to join him, the Gremlaine boys giving him cold glowers, which the prince solemnly endured. From the porch, Tedros glanced back at the chain of prisoners, signaling to the guards at their flanks that he wanted them as his witnesses. The soldiers all looked to Japeth, who made no objection. Guards sheathed their weapons and stood down.

At the front of the line, Vex and Ravan pulled the chain forward, drawing Tedros’ friends into the house, past the prince and Japeth, who watched them enter: fourth years, first years, followed by Merlin, then the witches towing Agatha and Sophie last. As Agatha jerked onto the porch, she stared urgently at Tedros, but he wasn’t looking at her, his eyes on his own cloak-covered chest, where Agatha had wrapped her hands only a short while ago. Was this the last time they’d be close to each other? Why couldn’t he look at her? Was he afraid? Was he regretting his deal? Overwhelmed with feelings, Agatha spun to the Snake, cutting him with a glare of fire and pain, but it was too late, the chain already dragging her inside— That’s when Agatha saw Japeth’s collar.

Fluttering in the breeze, just long enough for her to catch what was pinned underneath . . .

A tiny piece of gray fabric that matched the color of Chaddick’s eyes.

A golden C stitched into the gray.

All of it, dried through with blood.

HE’S CHEATING! AGATHA wanted to scream.

He has Chaddick’s blood!

She needed to warn Tedros, but she couldn’t see him any longer, her body hauled into the crowded house. She couldn’t cry out to him either, the rope pulled too tight in her mouth. Down the chain, Merlin was peering strangely at her, but now the chain dragged them forward, her feet staggering over broken blue tiles, Agatha wrenched between gathered leaders, the Ice Giant of Frostplains, the Fairy Queen of Gillikin, the Dwarf Queen of Ooty, who all recoiled at her touch, until she was tugged up a staircase to the second floor, giving her a view over the banister of the Gremlaine home.

Japeth’s allies occupied the first floor, packed around Excalibur, its blade stabbed into a pile of shattered stone that had crashed in from above. Noontime sun spotlit Arthur’s sword through the hole in the roof, casting gold sparkles in the sapphire-colored stone, matching the hues of Japeth’s suit. The two rivals came through the door, Japeth and Tedros hewed close as they took their places in front of the sword. Trapped against the upstairs banister, Agatha saw Sophie flash her a look, no doubt recognizing the irony of crowding her candy chateau with friends to keep Tedros away from the Snake, only to end up in a house of enemies, the two boys hip to hip. With Tedros directly below her, Agatha couldn’t see more than the top of his curls, eye contact between them impossible. How could she tell him what she’d spotted on Japeth’s collar? That Japeth was tricking Excalibur the same way Rhian had, which is why the sword rejected Tedros the first time? How could she tell Tedros that Excalibur was about to spurn him again? And this time, it would kill him?

She tried to choke out sounds, but there was no way to hear her from up here, the house too jammed with shifting bodies, her prince’s eyes fixed on his father’s blade. Slowly, a wave of quiet rolled across the house, the stakes growing clear. That this was the final test of the Tournament of Kings. That in a matter of moments, the sword would surely be pulled by one of these two boys and the other would die. Agatha could see her friends chained down the staircase, all of them with the same pale, petrified faces, especially the first years who still believed in a world where Good always wins, where the true heir to Camelot must be king. The silence grew and Agatha seized her chance, drawing a breath and forcing a cry through her rope, a cry Tedros had to know was hers— He didn’t look at her.

Tedros cleared his throat. “We have our witnesses, Rhian. We have our test. We have only our last words that the people will remember us by, whether we rise to the throne or go to our grave.” “Then speak first, young prince,” Japeth simpered. “The last time you gave a king’s speech, it was something to behold.” Agatha saw Tedros flinch. She remembered the moment well. The speech King Tedros had to give to rally his armies against the Snake and faltered so badly, his words so uncertain and timorous that another boy stepped in to do the job. In that instant, Tedros had opened the door for his throne to be stolen. And here he was, against a boy who wore the same face as the one who’d humiliated him. Past is Present and Present is Past. The story goes round and round again . . .

Unless you learn from that past, thought Agatha, watching her prince turn towards the crowd. Because the story might be the same, but this Tedros was different. His eyes were clear, his stance proud. When he spoke, his voice was dark and commanding, his breath low and deep, as if he was holding back a roar.

“Kings are born, not made. That is the law of our land. That is what we are taught,” he said. “Even the mightiest and worthiest cannot ascend to the throne without the blood of his predecessor. Blood is the magic of how kings are made. Only blood. It is why my rival and I stand before this sword. Each of us claims the blood of my father. My father, who created this tournament to find his heir.” Tedros paused. “And yet, why make three tests? Why not return the sword to the stone and ask one of us to pull it out, just as he did to prove himself a king? Why declare a tournament to make us quest for answers and risk life and limb across the sea and back, only to then end here, with the same task my father passed, by the magic of his blood? Maybe because he learned that blood wasn’t enough to make him a king. What made him a king were the tests of leadership he faced over and over. Tests that made him a king in more than blood. Tests of humility. Forgiveness. Sacrifice. Love. The real tests. Ones I failed my first time as king. Because I, too, believed in the magic of blood. That it made me king, even if I didn’t feel like a king or know how to act like one. I ruled with fear in my heart. Fear that I wasn’t worthy of my blood. Fear that I wasn’t good enough. I shrank from challenges, worried for myself instead of my people, desperate to protect a throne I didn’t think I deserved. Guilt. Shame. Doubt. These were my guides. It is no wonder a usurper came to rob that throne. I conjured a Snake into existence. Yet it was this Snake who gave me a second chance to pass the tests I’d failed. That’s why my father left three tests. To let me prove the humility, love, and courage I once lacked. But there is more at stake here than a crown. One of us fights to protect the Storian. The other seeks to destroy it and replace it with himself. Man versus Pen. Yet, without the Pen, we are lost. For it is the Storian who truly knows our fate and gives each of us the chance to fulfill it. It is why Man cannot rule these Woods alone. It is why the One True King must never replace the Storian. Because Man doesn’t have the courage to face his own worst fears, to rise to his greatest self, not without the help of fate. Fate and free will must work together. Man and Pen in perfect balance. We are all objects of our fate, but our will decides whether we overcome the challenges fate brings us. The Storian only begins our tale. We must end it. And my end is to grow beyond my failings and become more than my blood. It is why I stand here today, made stronger by my mistakes. Because the Pen always gives the best of men second chances. And the best of kings.” He stood taller, speaking at full thunder. “Maybe Excalibur will choose me now. Maybe it will not. But I will not step back from the challenge. Not this time. I will risk losing my head to claim the truth of who I am. A leader who will bring all of us, Good and Evil, into a new realm. Where Truth wins over Lies, where the Past doesn’t dictate the Present, where Man and Pen share power. A future where a king doesn’t look down on the people but is one of the people. I will be your Lion. I will be your protector. I will be your king. Not for my glory, but for all of us. All of us, even the snakes. Which is why my father made this the third test. It is not a test of blood or birth. Both of those can be faked.” Tedros set his eyes on Japeth. “But the truth can’t be faked. And this is a test of truth. Only one will face it with courage instead of cowardice.” The Foxwood house was still, leaders and students captive to the prince’s words. Through an upstairs window, Agatha could see the mob of citizens outside, mesmerized to silence, having listened to Tedros’ voice boom from the blown-open house. She gazed down at her prince, his face flushed with belief, and though Agatha was chained up and robbed of speech and Tedros still wouldn’t look at her, she’d never felt so hopeful in her life. For her true love no longer belonged to her, but to all the Woods. The Lion. The King.

Japeth broke the silence with a chuckle.

Agatha’s stomach sank as the Snake raised slitted eyes to his rival.

“Are you calling me a coward?” Japeth asked.

Tedros stared back. “I’m calling you a liar and a coward.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Japeth leered. “Tell me what I’ve done, other than obey Arthur’s will. Tell me what I’ve done, other than honor the one I love.” He burned with fury, as if in Tedros he still saw the fraud of Aric. “You have your truth and I have mine. The people believe me. They’ve burned their rings for me. Me, the One True King.” He hissed in Tedros’ face. “That is the truth.” Tedros gazed purely at the Snake. “The truth cannot be spoken. It must be seen. And your crimes will be seen.” Tension froze the house. Japeth pulled back from Tedros, a wry smile on his face.

“And if they are not, soothsayer?” he baited. “If I have the blood of the heir and the blood of the king?” Tedros hesitated, the veins tight in his neck. He looked at the Snake. “Then I wish Excalibur take my head for as long as it is true.” Japeth smiled. “So it is written.” He straightened his collar, touching it just long enough to make sure Tedros caught sight of Chaddick’s blood underneath. Agatha watched Tedros’ body go stiff, his throat constrict.

The Snake turned back to the sword. “I see no reason for more empty words. The test to decide the king is clear. Let us draw as to who pulls Excalibur first.” “A coin toss!” pipped the King of Foxwood, rushing forward, a gold piece in his hands. “Heads for King Rhian and tails for . . . the other one.” His fingers were shaking as he pinched the coin and tossed it clumsily in the air, nearly hitting the Empress of Putsi. “Heads, it is. King Rhian?” “I’ll go second,” said Japeth.

Agatha broke into a clammy chill, her cuffed hands dripping sweat. Sophie squeezed against her, their arms touching, both holding their breath.

Tedros stepped into the arena of sun beneath the broken roof, just him and his father’s sword. He wedged his worn boot into the mass of stone and put one hand on the Lion-carved hilt, then the other. Every sound drained out of the house, the prince’s chest rising and falling, his breaths heavy like an ocean wave. He grasped the sword hard. Then he pulled it with all of his force.

Excalibur didn’t move.

Tedros clamped his knuckles and yanked a second time, his forearms pumped, his cheeks hot red.

The sword stayed in place.

Air went out of Agatha’s lungs, Sophie’s chained arms hugging her close. Agatha could hear her friend gasping through her gag to comfort her, drowned out by the murmuring leaders, who’d been so thoughtful after Tedros’ speech as if reconsidering who they’d chosen as king, now relieved that Excalibur had silenced their doubts.

Tedros stepped back, his eyes on Arthur’s sword.

He said nothing.

“My turn,” said Japeth.

He came around the side of the blade and faced Tedros head-on, his tan hands clasping the carved Lion, rays of sun lighting up his collar. With a quick, shallow breath, he seized the hilt and pulled the sword.

It glided out of the stone, into the Snake’s raised fists.

“No!” Agatha yelled into her gag—

But leaders were already on bended knees, bowing to their king, and so were the students, pushed down by guards, Agatha and Sophie with them. Agatha thrust her head through the railing, just in time to see Japeth grinning at Tedros, Excalibur gripped in his thin fingers, its blade magically glowing gold. Slowly, the sword floated out of Japeth’s hands into the sun, suspended in midair by its own force.

Arthur’s spirit resounded from within:

“My blood lives on.

The third test is complete,

The tournament done.

A king is found.”

Camelot’s crown appeared like a phantom over Japeth’s head and fitted down onto his copper hair.

Excalibur turned to Tedros.

Arthur’s voice spoke once more, sharper this time.

“And so is the loser.”

The sword glowed red with punishment.

Agatha lunged in vain for the stairs, trapped by her chain.

That’s when Tedros locked eyes with her, finally looking at her, finally seeing her, strong and true, the way he did when he asked her to make a promise. To go on without him. To keep the fight.

Tedros looked back at his father’s sword.

Agatha screamed—

The blade swung for her prince’s neck.

Light caught its edge.

Then Tedros fell, cut into two pieces.