فصل 22

22

Everything Old Is New Again

By the time the weak warmth of sunrise left League Headquarters, the League was gone too.

Agatha stood with Merlin under a fungus-infected oak a few paces from the entrance hole, watching twelve old heroes go their separate ways into the Woods, satchels of clothes, food, and drink weighing down their backs. Peter Pan, Tinkerbell, and Cinderella journeyed to the west, Pinocchio and Red Riding Hood to the east, Jack and Briar Rose to the north, and Uma, Yuba, and the White Rabbit to the south, with Hansel and Gretel wheeling their rickety chairs behind them.

Tedros sidled up to Agatha. “Just when I was starting to feel fond of the old farts,” he said, shivering in his unlaced shirt. “You think we’ll ever see them again, Merlin?” “I hope so, dear boy. Because it will mean we’re still alive,” said the wizard, pulling two black cloaks from his hat and handing him one. “In the meantime, there are bigger questions to be answered.” Merlin fixed subtly on Agatha. “Like when Sophie will destroy the ring.” “What do you think she’s waiting for?” Tedros asked, struggling to button his tight cloak. “Um, are you sure this one’s mine?” Agatha stared at Merlin, silently asking whether they should tell Tedros the truth. Tell him Sophie had lied about destroying the ring. Tell him she wouldn’t kill the School Master until he kissed her and saw what he’d been missing . . . until he took her as Camelot’s queen . . .

But Merlin pressed his lips together, his eyes dulling, and Agatha knew what the wizard was thinking.

Sophie had warned her. She’d know if Tedros was faking his interest before he ever said a word. And if she did . . . there’d be no way back.

No, thought Agatha. If Sophie was to destroy the ring, she’d have to get Tedros for real.

Her gut twisted tighter.

Meaning Tedros has to fall in love with her for real.

“Well?” Tedros pushed, subduing his last button with a growl. “What is she waiting for?”

Your lips on hers, Agatha thought. Your lips that kissed me on hers, your lips that taste like vanilla clouds on hers, your lips you vowed to me “Forever” on hers.

Agatha turned. “She needs a safe place where she can rest and think,” she said quickly. “That’s what all of us need, to be honest.” “Relax, worrywart,” said Tedros, massaging her shoulder. “I know you’re not much of a liar, but this isn’t grand theater. Just act insecure around me, like you don’t know if you can be happy as my queen, and I’ll act like I’m struggling to choose between you and her.” Agatha stared at him.

“M, you said the safe house is beyond the Frostplains?” Tedros asked. “That’s a two-day journey northeast.” “And the trail’s quite narrow through the Never Lands,” Merlin added. “Given there are four of you now, we certainly can’t travel in a pack with the Dark Army on the hunt . . .” He looked at Agatha keenly. “Which means we’ll have to travel two by two, with each pair a good ways behind to avoid drawing attention.” “Fair enough,” Tedros surmised, clutching Agatha by the wrist. “You lead the way, M, and I’ll walk with—” “Yoo-hoo, here I am!”

Tedros and Agatha spun to see two muscular arms thrust Sophie out of the cave hole like a dancer bursting out of a birthday cake. She bustled towards them in a belly-baring fire-red blouse, a black leather miniskirt, a billowing bearskin coat, and baby-pink fur booties.

Tedros’ cloak buttons popped open.

Agatha dropped her satchel.

“Sorry, darlings, I needed time to wash this morning out of my hair. Managed a bit of creative costuming with the curtain fabric, den rugs, and Cinderella’s sewing kit. Turns out that hulk of a woman is willing to trade anything for leftover bacon,” Sophie vamped as Hort crawled out of the cave behind her. “Now, what were you saying about pairing off? I remember when Teddy and I sat on a balcony over the Blue Forest and he told me about all these beautiful sights in the Woods. I was a boy then, of course. But now I’m a girl and he can show them to me firsthand—” She stopped because she could see the prince trying not to look at her.

“It’s the clothes, isn’t it?” she said, blushing. “I just thought it’s been a while since I could actually be myself—” “No. You look really, really good. Trust me,” Tedros said, forcing eye contact. “But I’m pairing up with Agatha. Merlin can set the pace ahead of us and you can follow with the weasel at a distance. He is your bodyguard, isn’t he?” Sophie’s face fell. “Oh yes, that does makes sense, doesn’t it?”

She looked at Agatha for the first time since they’d met behind the curtain. But there was no apology on Sophie’s face, no sign of the guilt-racked Sophie who’d tried to justify taking her prince. Instead, Sophie gazed hopefully at Agatha, as if they were old friends working towards a new goal.

“It’s just . . . ,” Sophie started, “I’m quite sure Agatha would prefer you walk with me.”

“What?” Tedros snorted.

Agatha glared back at Sophie, suppressing the instinct to bash her head with a rock. Because Agatha knew Sophie was right: this was the decisive moment. If Sophie walked the trail alone with Tedros, then by the time they reached the safe house in two days, she could be that much closer to earning his kiss. That much closer to killing the School Master.

That is, as long as Tedros wasn’t still holding on to his old princess.

“Agatha?” Tedros said, frowning.

She could see Merlin’s eyes on her between Sophie and the prince. She couldn’t dare waver. It was like a bandage. She had to commit to the pain and rip it off.

“Yes,” she said on a breath. “Take Sophie with you, Tedros. I’ll keep Merlin company.”

Tedros’ cheeks pinked, like an instant sunburn. “But Merlin loves to be alone! It doesn’t make any sense. Agatha, this is two days in the toughest part of the Woods, with villains on the loose and sleeping in close quarters and protecting each other from whatever we might face—” Agatha’s expression didn’t change. Tedros grabbed her by the arm, hissing in her ear so Sophie couldn’t hear: “Listen, I know we said to pretend, but this is going too far! I’m your prince and I’m not letting you out of my sight. We need to be together—” Agatha pulled away.

Now Tedros saw it in her face. That same halting expression he’d seen in the tower.

“Oh my God. You meant it for real, didn’t you? You’re questioning our happy ending for real,” he whispered, his eyes wide. “But we’re so close—Camelot’s waiting for us—” Agatha tried not to look at him, focusing instead on Sophie behind him . . . on the ring circling her finger . . . on the thousand of Good lives depending on that ring. “You and I had our time together, Tedros, and I’m not sure me being your queen will make either of us happy,” she forced, turning from him so Sophie would hear. “Sophie took a lethal risk to leave school with you. You and she need space to get to know each other again.” Stunned, Tedros looked at ravishing Sophie, ogling him with a princess’s ardor . . . then at Agatha, rigid in her black cloak. “You can’t mean that!” he fought back. “You don’t want all of Camelot to see you standing next to me in your crown? You don’t want to be the face of a kingdom as its rightful queen?” Agatha shook her head. “No,” she rasped. “I don’t.”

It wasn’t even a lie.

Tedros’ hurt froze to ice. He matched her expression, stiff and guarded. “You’re right. Maybe Sophie and I do need some time together,” he said, and took Sophie’s arm tight under his, his eyes searing Agatha the whole time. “Come on, Sophie. Let’s go.” Sophie couldn’t have looked happier. She smiled at Agatha gratefully—the same smile she had first year when Agatha promised to help her get Tedros’ kiss.

Agatha didn’t smile back. She plowed ahead on the trail so brusquely that Merlin had to hike up his robes and scurry after her.

As Sophie and Tedros dropped behind, Agatha could hear Sophie’s voice lowered: “Odd that Aggie still calls you Tedros. Would have thought you two would have nicknames by now . . .” Agatha pumped her legs faster so she wouldn’t hear Tedros’ answer.

Near the cave hole, Hort gaped at all this in horror.

“HIM? You’re going with him?” he screeched, losing his rebel-cool facade. “What about me?”

“You follow behind us and ward off danger, darling!” Sophie called, without turning. “That’s what bodyguards do.” Hort’s chest puffed up, his rage about to blow, but it was too late.

Sophie was already cozied up to another boy—a boy Hort had come all this way to save her from—leaving the weasel alone in the dust.

Agatha peeked over her shoulder.

She’d checked a thousand times in the past four hours, trying to gauge if it was going well, but they were a mile back now, tiny halo-haired figurines against a misty, mustard-colored bog. She needed Sophie to destroy that ring. She needed Sophie to hold up her end of the bargain, after she’d forced Tedros to give her a chance.

But what if Sophie ruined it?

Suddenly Agatha felt like the old Agatha: the Agatha who’d studied spellbooks and fed Sophie lines as a cockroach and moved mountains to get Tedros to kiss her best friend and send them home. But her plans had failed then and it would fail now, if the new Sophie acted anything like the old Sophie. Because Tedros wouldn’t kiss that Sophie, then or now.

Agatha anxiously glanced back again—

She tripped badly, her new boots slipping off the wet path into a marsh of black water. A ribbon of saw grass snapped against her cheeks like a whip. Gritting her teeth, she climbed back onto the muddy trail through the mossy, yellowed Boglands, chasing after Merlin, who had grown so impatient with her distracted lagging that he was no longer waiting for her.

But Agatha’s mind couldn’t stop churning. On the one hand, she and Merlin needed Tedros to kiss Sophie. On the other hand, she could puke at the idea of Tedros kissing that lying, back-stabbing, double-crossing— Pain pricked her ribs, a twinge Agatha felt when her thoughts went wrong.

She’d been demonizing Sophie as the old Sophie, the Evil-witch Sophie, still scheming for a prince. But had she tried to see the story from Sophie’s point of view? Behind the curtain in the cave, Sophie had looked so regretful, as if she knew what she was doing was wrong. Yet, as Sophie pointed out, all of this was Agatha’s fault to begin with. She’d given Tedros a clean slate in the tower, even if Tedros hadn’t known it at the time. She’d given all of them a clean slate when she’d balked at being queen. And with a clean slate, Sophie had done what anyone with a second chance at their fairy tale would do, just like those undead villains in the School for Old. They’d gone back to the moment in their story when things went awry.

And Sophie’s moment was when she’d almost won Tedros’ kiss two years ago, only to lose it.

All this time, Agatha had believed that she and Tedros were the true loves in this fairy tale. That Sophie was never meant to get the prince’s kiss their first year.

But what if she’s right? Agatha thought. What if Sophie is Tedros’ true love and we made a wrong turn? What if Tedros was never meant to be with me?

Agatha’s chest hollowed. Her face softened with understanding. The only way she’d ever know is if she let Sophie and Tedros be together. If she didn’t hate Sophie for trying to be his queen, but instead gave her that chance, just as Agatha had promised her in the School Master’s tower. For a month Agatha had Tedros to herself, which turned out to be a lumpy, potholed stretch of tension and misunderstandings, with a cloudy and doubt-riddled future. She’d had her turn at being happy with him and couldn’t find The End. Now it was Sophie’s turn.

And if their kiss is real? If his name on her skin is right?

If Tedros is really Sophie’s true love?

Agatha held her breath.

Then I’m meant to be alone.

She stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder, but she couldn’t see Sophie and Tedros at all now against the waterlogged landscape.

“Dear girl, it will be a very long road if you spend more time looking backwards than forward.” Agatha turned to see Merlin far ahead on the trail. Veiled in fog, with a severe countenance, floppy cone hat, and a walking stick in hand, he looked like the Great White Wizard of epic storybooks, who had all the answers. Then a wasp landed on his nose and he fled up the path, shooing and cursing at it, his robes riding up over lime-green socks.

Agatha exhaled. Either Merlin had gotten too old to be a Great White anything or she’d gotten too old to believe in answers at all.

“What will happen to the League members?” she asked when they were side by side again. “Yuba was putting up more storybooks—all of them had new endings—” “Eleven. Eleven more dead, including Jack Horner, Puss in Boots, and Anya, the Little Mermaid, all found in ripe old age and dispatched by Nemeses returned from the grave,” said Merlin gravely, wiping his fogged-up spectacles. “It was only a matter of time before the Dark Army began to have more success in finding their old targets. But I trust the members of our League to survive in the Woods until Sophie decides to destroy her ring. Once upon a time, those same heroes were trained in a Blue Forest, just like you. The only difference is they made it to graduation without the world ending.” He gave Agatha a droll smile.

Up until now, it had seemed too fantastical, too cartoonish for Agatha to think that the sun that rose and set every day for thousands of years was melting because of them. But the tenor of Merlin’s voice suddenly made it real.

“What happens if it goes dark?” She peered at the small gold circle in the colorless sky, so faint she could look right at it. “It’s barely lighting the Woods anymore.” “When it drips its last light, the sun will sink into the horizon and our world will extinguish like a candle into the sea,” said the wizard. “Every story must end, Agatha. That is how the land of stories stays alive. But your fairy tale undoes its endings: first you and Sophie, then you and Tedros. Well, now the moment is coming where your fairy tale either ends for real and earns its place in eternal lore—or becomes the last Ever After for us all.” “How long do we have?” Agatha asked, the boggy trail growing firmer and drier under her feet. “For Sophie to kiss Tedros, I mean?” Merlin gave the sun a cursory glance. “It’s melting faster. Three weeks at most. Might not last until the boy’s coronation. But perhaps that’s another secret we’ll keep from him until the School Master is dead.” He pulled a peach-flavored lollipop out of his hat, only to see it covered in mold. “Even the best magic seems to be losing its luster,” he mumbled.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Agatha mulled as the trail sloped upwards. “Why didn’t the School Master chase us? If he knew Sophie could destroy the ring, why didn’t he try to keep her at school?” Merlin gave her a curious stare, but said nothing.

Agatha didn’t ask any more questions as they moved out of the Boglands and into Gillikin on the outskirts of Oz, the kingdom famous for its Emerald City. Gillikin’s hills were steep and purple, blemished with dead, saffron-colored streaks, and the glittering green city in the valley was hardly visible behind yellow-bricked walls built to keep out the Dark Army.

Agatha looked back, trying to spot Tedros and Sophie down the slope, before she saw Merlin glowering at her and forced her eyes ahead. They hiked the purple hills for an hour, Agatha itching at what seemed a copious amount of unseen pollen, before Merlin spoke again.

“Agatha, since we have a while before lunchtime and I know you’re sorely in need of distraction, may I ask you to recount for me the events of last night? I’m particularly interested in anything you may have learned about the School Master.” Agatha quelled her instinct to check on Sophie and Tedros one last time and drew a deep breath. She told Merlin every detail of what happened once he’d left them behind Evil’s glowing green gates. She revealed how she and Tedros made up before they parted ways as Edgar and Essa, how they kissed as boy and girl instead of girl and boy, and how Hester saved her from a night with Aric in the dungeons. She explained how the menagerie atop Honor’s rooftop was now Tedros’ story instead of his father’s, how she outwitted her reflection on Halfway Bridge, and how the old villains had defaced each other’s student portraits. She spoke of the classes in the School for Old, including the villains’ assessment of past mistakes and the maps pinning down the whereabouts of their Good Nemeses. She talked about finding Excalibur in Sader’s painting, the School Master’s revelation about the Reader World, and the beautiful, white-haired boy named Rafal, who remained calm and still at his window as he watched Sophie escape. And when she was finished, Agatha had to double over for breath, because she’d been so lost in her story that she hadn’t realized they’d made it all the way to the highest hill in Gillikin, crested with a field of wilted tulips.

“Rafal said one day Sophie would come back to him,” she puffed, waving away more pesky pollen. “Maybe that’s why he didn’t chase her. He doesn’t understand how much Sophie loves Tedros.” “Or he understands exactly how much she loves Tedros,” said Merlin vaguely, laying out a picnic lunch of chicken potpie and watercress salad atop the flattened flowers.

“What do you mea— Wait, we’re eating here? In the middle of the day with zombie villains on the loose?” “Gillikin fairies are an Ever’s most dependable scouts.” Merlin held up a handful of watercress stalks. “You’ll keep an eye out for us, won’t you, Gillies?” Agatha watched him waving vegetables at thin air, convinced the old man had finally lost his mind. But then she noticed the watercress whittling down in his hand, as if magically being eaten by something . . .

“Invisible,” said Agatha, flashing a bright smile. “It’s not pollen! It’s fairies!”

She looked up at the drab, gray air and imagined it aglow with thousands and thousands of diaphanous wings and tiny, fantastical little bodies. Once upon a time, she’d thought of fairies as girly, vapid insects (she’d swallowed one her first day at school), but now, she’d give anything to see the little Gillies, even for a moment. She held out her arm and felt them crawl all over her, chills of wonder goose pimpling her skin, her smile growing as she listened to their thrumming wings . . .

Then her smile evaporated. She could see Sophie and Tedros in the valley of a distant hill, their blond bodies close together as they walked.

“Merlin, am I . . .” Words stuck in her throat. “Am I . . . doing the right thing?”

Merlin studied Sophie’s and Tedros’ small figures, as he sipped on a goblet of wine he’d pulled from his hat.

“Let me tell you a story about Tedros’ father, Agatha. Years after Tedros was born, King Arthur came to my cave one day demanding a spell to spy on Guinevere, his queen. He was quite sure she’d been straying from the castle at nights for some time and wanted to see where she’d been going. Now, Arthur’s anxieties about Guinevere were not new. Even when they were students at the School for Good, he’d schemed and manipulated and done everything he could to ensure she chose him as her true love. At the time, there was stern competition from a young knight-in-training named Lancelot, who in addition to being bookish and an animal lover like Guinevere, also happened to be Arthur’s best friend. Arthur certainly noticed the attraction between them, but he made sure Lancelot knew of his intentions towards Guinevere and that he would not be denied. Besides, as Arthur saw it, Lancelot couldn’t hold a candle to him when it came to the things that mattered to a girl: looks, lineage, money, fame. . . . So when Guinevere and Arthur were tracked as Leaders, and Lancelot as a Helper to the future king, Arthur persuaded Guinevere he was the right choice for a husband. How could she marry Lancelot—now a knight for the king—when she could have the king himself? As Arthur put it, Camelot needed Guinevere: he would accept no other queen and it was her duty to Good to marry him. No girl could stand firm against such words, not when they came from a boy as dashing and determined and powerful as Arthur.

“The two were married in a resplendent wedding and soon had the beautiful baby prince Arthur wished for. And yet, even with the queen of his dreams, Arthur couldn’t relinquish his suspicions. Just like he did as a teenager at school, he tried to control Guinevere, have her followed, and ensure that she loved him and only him. But still he couldn’t sleep easy, as if he’d known he’d forced her hand. By the time he flung into my cave, ranting for a spell to verify her faithfulness, he was an angry and obsessed man, his soul possessed by fear and jealousy. That day, I told Arthur there was only one magic spell to cure his plight after all these years. . . . He had to let Guinevere leave the castle at nights and do exactly as she wished.” Merlin gave a rueful grin. “Arthur was apoplectic, of course. I told him that for ten years he’d tried to control his and Guinevere’s fairy tale, denying Guinevere her own story, only for him to be nearly driven mad. A man cannot force his own destiny. A man can only hold it back. All these years he’d been terrified that Guinevere did not love him, but the only way he’d overcome that fear is if he enabled the truth. To restrain Guinevere from finding her real true love—whether Arthur or someone else—meant neither Arthur nor his queen would ever be happy; neither of them would ever know if their love was real. The wound would reopen again and again, the two of them punishing each other over a fairy tale arrested from its true ending.” The wizard drained the last of his wine. “Needless to say, Arthur found this all treasonous hogwash and left my cave vowing he was finished with me. Indeed, it’s what led him to steal the sex-switching spell from my cave. Soon Guinevere had fled with Lancelot, Arthur had put a death warrant on his own queen’s head, and I had to abandon the precious boy I’d raised from childhood, never to see him again.” Merlin finally looked at Agatha, his blue eyes glistening. “Now Tedros is reliving his father’s story in front of our very eyes. Indeed, when he becomes king, he’ll inherit the death warrant on his own mother. Everything old is new again, my dear. Only this time you are in Guinevere’s place, unsure whether you can be her son’s queen, just as she was unsure of being his father’s. But Guinevere wasn’t strong enough to be honest with Arthur, even if she knew she couldn’t be happy at Camelot. By failing to be true to herself, she was as blameworthy as the king. But you are a wise, wise girl, Agatha, and Tedros is lucky to have found you. For the difference between you and his mother is that you’re willing to question your story as you live it—and thus stop history from repeating itself. You have a compass in your soul directed towards Good, even if it means setting your beloved prince free to the night and letting him test your love. Even if it means you may lose him at The End. Because neither you nor I knows what will happen, Agatha. Neither of us knows whether your doubts of being a queen are well founded or whether Sophie is Tedros’ true love or whether Sophie will destroy the ring. But unlike Arthur that day he came into my cave, you are willing to let go of the old and accept the unknown of the new. And that is what will keep Good alive, whatever Evil may come.” Agatha was sobbing hard now, cleansing, sepulchral tears, as if she couldn’t bear the weight of Merlin’s words. He wrapped her in his arms, letting her cry, until he heard her blow her nose on his robes and had to shove a cup of pistachio pudding in front of her face to distract her. She laughed through her sniffles and rested her head on the wizard’s shoulder, spooning at the sweet green cream. “I’m really not all that Good,” she croaked. “The first day of school in those candied halls, I ate part of a classroom.” Now it was Merlin’s turn to laugh. “So did I, my dear. So did I.”

More laughter echoed behind them and they turned to see Sophie and Tedros arriving to the hilltop, both of them in stitches. “Here I am in a girl’s body with a dye job so bad that Merlin had to be joking, and I’m just off a chocolate roller coaster steered by a rat, and I’d prepared this whole speech to give you, and before I can get one word out, one word, here you are, fee-fi-fo-fum, clubbing me in the head—” Sophie was giggling so hard she had to clutch her stomach. “Well, if I’d known you had to touch one of Anadil’s rats!” “It peed on me the entire ride!” Tedros could hardly speak now. “The worst part is . . . the speech I had ready was really, really good!” Sophie nestled into him, howling.

Agatha had never seen Tedros laugh this hard with her. She’d never seen her prince this joyful or relaxed. Even Sophie looked so free and guileless, as if she and Tedros had their own history and intimacy that Agatha hadn’t known. Agatha felt nauseous, as if she should grab Tedros and pull him away from her— But the echo of Merlin’s words held her back like a wind. She felt old resentments give way to the new truth of the moment: the sight of her two best friends safe and happy, sniggering over a ludicrous story . . . and before she could help herself, Agatha was snorting too.

The prince looked up, startled, and stopped laughing.

“Goodness,” Sophie said, following his eyes to Merlin and Agatha. “Either we’re too fast or you’re too slow.” “Knowing us, a little of both,” said Agatha.

Sophie stared at her, breath held, waiting for the bitter punch line.

Instead Agatha smiled.

Sophie’s face lightened as if she sensed a silent change between them.

Tedros, on the other hand, gave Agatha a frosty glance.

“Not too fast or too slow, as Goldilocks might say, but just right,” said Merlin, pulling new plates of food from his hat. “Wanted you two to catch up with us and get a hot lunch. Tedros, here’s chicken pie and some fresh greens for you and Sophie, while Agatha and I will resume our journey. Tomorrow, we’ll meet at the safe house by sunset. Come, Agatha—” But Agatha was peering into the horizon. “What’s that?”

Sophie squinted across purple hills and saw Hort’s shadow trudging along the trail. “Oh he’ll be fine. His father was a pirate, for goodness’ sakes—” “No,” said Agatha. “That.”

She was watching a mirage far, far away, barely discernible against the gray sky. The colors were thin and impressionistic, like one of August Sader’s paintings, but Agatha could make out the outlines of a village: turreted cottage houses, yellow schoolhouse, crooked clock tower, shielded by a protective bubble. . . . Her mouth fell open.

“Gavaldon. That’s . . . Gavaldon.”

“The beginnings of it, at least,” said Merlin.

Agatha gazed at him, suddenly understanding. “Every old story changed brings him closer to the Reader World. That’s what he said.” “And he meant it literally,” said the wizard. “It seems your fellow Readers are reading his new stories.” Agatha and Sophie both looked confused.

“You see, as long as Readers believe in the old fairy tales—and the power of Good to triumph over Evil—the School Master has no access to their world, other than to take two students to school every four years. Indeed, he confessed this weakness to Agatha himself,” said Merlin, studying the mirage carefully. “But once Readers read the new stories and begin to lose their faith in Good, their world gets closer and closer to the School Master’s grasp. With every hero’s death, that protective shield will weaken . . . the mirage will sharpen . . . until at last the gates will open to his Dark Army. For there is something in your village the young School Master needs to complete your fairy tale. Something he needs to destroy Good forever. And whatever it may be, it is something he will surely get . . . unless we destroy that ring.” Merlin, Agatha, and Tedros all turned to Sophie.

“I don’t understand, Sophie,” Tedros said, glaring at the gold circle on her finger. “What are you waiting for?” Sophie bristled. “Teddy, look dear! What a lovely lunch Merlin’s served us! You must be famished.” She pulled him down to the picnic spread before looking up at Agatha. “You and Merlin best be on your way, shouldn’t you, Aggie? Don’t want any villains catching us here in broad daylight.” Agatha could see Merlin about to expound on the wonder of Gillikin fairies, but she nudged him and Merlin grinned oafishly, picking up the hint.

Later, as the two of them crossed the abandoned lake village of Urthur, hopping between what seemed like an enormous game board of waterpuddles, Agatha could still see Merlin smiling. She assumed it was because there was something primal about jumping over puddles reflecting the pink-and-blue sunset, clearing hurdles or missing by inches and splish-sploshing ice-cold water with giggly shrieks, like two children playing leapfrog.

But Merlin wasn’t smiling at any of that.

He was smiling at Agatha.

Not just because it was she who’d known to give her friends privacy on that hill instead of him or that it was the wizard now huffing and puffing to keep up with the student . . .

But because in the four hours since she’d left her prince and friend to their own story, his wise, young Agatha hadn’t looked back once.