“Merlin! Come down at once!” Sophie demanded. “Nightwind, you too!”
“Faster, choo-choo! Faster!” Merlin tooted, buzzing his carpet around so wildly it blew the veils off Hester’s and Anadil’s heads.
“Merlin!” Sophie shouted.
“Not the Mama!” Merlin heckled, all the clouds morphing into bald, warted Sophies, complete with witches’ hats—
Agatha shot a spell, tying Nightwind’s tassels, sending it crashing to their cloud.
Merlin looked at her grumpily. “Tee Tee said I could have playtime. Once I finished Big Job. Tee promised.”
“You can have all the playtime you want, after you explain a few things,” said Agatha. “Tedros told you to bring us here?”
“Wait ’til horseys and bring Mama and friends to secret place. That’s what Tee said,” Merlin nodded, subtly untying his carpet’s tassels. “Then have playtime with choo-choo and stay in secret place until . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Until . . . ?” Agatha asked.
“Until when, Merlin?” Sophie tag-teamed. “Stay in the secret place until when?”
Merlin chewed on his lip and Agatha realized he didn’t have the answer because he didn’t know the answer.
“Until we can’t stay no more?” Merlin guessed.
“How long is that?” said Hort, popping out of a cloud, back to his pale, weaselly body, his waist wrapped in downy white fluff. He rubbed at his scalded right hand. “How long until we ‘can’t stay no more’?”
But the young wizard was back in the air, Nightwind untethered and taking him higher and higher, Merlin’s hoots echoing through his private galaxy.
“Tedros warned me once: that we couldn’t stay here long,” Agatha remembered. “Back when we were looking for a spot to hide from Rafal. He said the air was too thin. Eventually we’d lose our breath and be forced back down.”
“We’re alive for now. That’s what matters,” the Queen of Jaunt Jolie sighed, sitting gingerly on a cloud.
“The plan is only half-done,” said Dean Brunhilde, settling beside her. “We’ll have work to do once Tedros and Guinevere return if we’re to defeat the Snake for good.”
“What work?” Agatha asked, trying to suss out the rest of the plan.
“And how can we beat the Snake without killing Aggie? That’s the second test,” Sophie badgered, but the Dean was lost in thought.
“He was the same RJ I’ve always known,” she shuddered. “I could see it in his eyes.”
“Are you sure they can’t find us here?” Maid Marian asked nervously.
“Only those with wizard blood can find other wizards’ thinking places,” Jacinda reassured. “Presumably so wizards can meet one another in private. But mostly wizards stay out of each other’s heads. That’s what my own wizard tutor, Joffrey, told me. I attempted to find his thinking place on several occasions, but each time, I’d wake up high in a tree with no way down.”
Merlin chuckled somewhere in the sky.
Agatha sat next to Anadil and elder Dot, the two witches in pearly armor, sharing cloud pieces Dot had turned to chocolate.
“Can’t believe the idiot’s plan worked,” Anadil mused. “Who knew Tedros could think?”
Agatha snatched the chocolate out of her hands. “He’s not an idiot, first off,” she said, eating the cocoa cloud puff. “Second of all, you heard the Dean; the plan is only half-done, so don’t speak too soon. Third, I don’t know why he kept the plan from me or why none of you will tell me what it is, especially since I’m the one the Snake is supposed to kil—oh, this is delicious.”
“I filled the holes in the cloud with peanut butter,” said Dot, tossing her frumpy curls. “And pretty sure Tedros didn’t tell you about the plan because then you’d nitpick and take command of it and end up making a mess, like you did with the first test.”
Agatha’s neck went red. “He said that?”
“No, but that’s why I won’t tell you the plan,” Dot explained. “You’d think it was your plan and act like you could do it better than us, even if you can’t. It’s what you always do. Goodness, being old makes you honest.”
“So that’s why Tedros’ plan worked. Because his princess couldn’t bungle it. He should keep secrets from you more often,” Anadil needled Agatha, while holding up more white fluff, which Dot zapped into chocolate.
Agatha stared at them, hurt.
“Your rats, Anadil! I saw what happened!” Beatrix cut in, armor jangling as she jammed between Agatha and the witches. “Think they’re still alive?”
“My talent is making them grow. Their talent is finding a way back to me, even when there’s no hope,” Anadil said, forlorn. “But thank you for the concern, Evergirl.”
She gave Beatrix a smile that was halfway sincere and Agatha wondered if in the process of bonding as Knights, old enemies had become new friends.
“That’s what I say about Tristan too,” Kiko spouted, plopping next to Agatha.
“Here we go,” Beatrix groaned.
“That even after he died, he would find his way back to me. And then suddenly Willam appears, who looks so much like him, but every time I try to talk to Willam, that other boy is in the way, the one with the big head, Boston or Bojangle or whatever his name is. But I can be patient. It wouldn’t be a fairy tale if there weren’t things in the way. And imagine if Willam and I end up together. That means Tristan sent Willam to me himself. Or maybe he is Willam. Like a friendly ghost in a different body, who came back to take care of me. So don’t worry.” She kissed Anadil on the cheek. “Your story will take care of your rats too.” Kiko flounced off as Hester sat down.
Anadil eyed her friend. “Do we tell her what Sophie told us?”
“That the boy she thinks is a reincarnation of her dead ‘true love’ who had no interest in girls is the brother of said dead boy who also has no interest in girls?” Hester paused. “No.”
“Cheers to that,” said Anadil.
Soon, they all dispersed into separate clouds—Sophie chatting with Hort, Hester with Beatrix, Reena with Anadil, more friends coupling up—leaving Agatha on her own, watching Merlin zig and zag on a drooping Nightwind, the young wizard carving his name in bright lights across the sky with his fingertip. Agatha fidgeted, her clump tapping restlessly. She was so used to playing peacemaker, shuttling between conflicts, bridging divides, that to see the Knights of Eleven getting along without her—Good and Evil, old and young, friends and strangers—while Hort and Sophie continued their conversation on a far-off cloud . . . It made Agatha feel uncomfortable, like she was Graveyard Girl again, forgotten by the world. Then she remembered this wasn’t Gavaldon. That in this world, she was surrounded by friends, each as capable and strong as her, each as important to this story—including her true love, who at this very moment was trapped in a cave trying to save her from a Snake.
Dot’s right about me, Agatha thought. She’d convinced herself this was her fairy tale to win. Her mountain to conquer. As if she wanted everyone to look to her to lead them. Why? Why couldn’t she let her prince lead? Why did she have to have all the answers?
Her soul whispered back.
If I don’t . . . what am I worth?
It was the same crisis that haunted Tedros. Who was he without his crown? Who was Arthur’s son, if not the king?
And here Agatha was, letting her own insecurities thwart his every attempt to answer these questions for himself.
Her heart wrenched. She’d put her prince in an untenable position. Not just with having to kill her to win the second test. But now having to keep secrets from her in order to do his duty and prove himself a king.
They were different in so many ways, she and Tedros. But in their hearts, they were afflicted by the same malady: each of them needed proof that they were good enough. That they were worthy of love. The same way Agatha had needed proof from Professor Dovey that she could be beautiful. But then, as now, the only cure could come from within. And as long as she and Tedros sear
ched for the answer outside of themselves, they would continue to stand in each other’s way. Like two rival kings having their own tournament.
Maybe that’s why Arthur made this the second test, Agatha thought.
Because he saw a future where she held his son back, instead of helping him.
So he put their love to the fire.
Three tests.
Three answers to find.
Was Agatha the right queen for Tedros?
Or would she be another Guinevere, another curse for Camelot?
That was the king’s question.
Now it was up to Agatha to answer it.
This is my test as much as Tedros’, she thought.
To survive it, she had to trust him.
They had to be a team.
A real one.
If Tedros made it out of the cave alive, that is.
Agatha’s throat tightened.
He’d come back. He had to.
Any minute, he’d fall through the sky and land on her cloud, with those gorgeous eyes and a cocked grin.
In the meantime, to distract herself, Agatha did what old Graveyard Girl used to do: lurk around in darkness and eavesdrop on the living . . .
“That’s what he said to you?” Maid Marian was asking Dot. Marian looked off guard and stiff, as if she’d been cornered by the age-hexed witch. “That he and your mother were . . . ‘love’?”
Dot nodded. “Funny to think he loved someone else besides you, isn’t it?”
Marian’s eyes widened.
“Oh please, even the town fool knew Daddy was obsessed with you,” Dot teased. “It’s why he hated Robin so much. But you were always so kind to Daddy, even with him intent on killing your true love. Sometimes I wondered if you and Daddy had a secret friendship. A moment when you and him were more than enemies.”
“Only a moment,” said Marian quietly. “Your collar. The stitching’s come apart. Let me fix it.”
Marian used a pin from her hair to rethread Dot’s armor.
“You smell nice,” Dot said.
“Like beer and chicken wings?” Marian laughed. “That’s what I smelled like working at the Arrow.”
“No . . . like a homey blanket or pillow.”
“Oh,” said Marian tautly, continuing to sew.
Dot looked up at the Celestium’s moon, made out of cheese, which Merlin took bites out of between rounds of mischief. Dot’s brown skin glowed under the half-eaten orb. For a moment, she seemed ageless. “Daddy never told me about my mother. Said she died when I was young. A few other things here and there. That she was so beautiful that Good and Evil both loved her. That she had a kind heart, even to those who treated her poorly. That she was a good tailor. Not much more than that. But it doesn’t matter, does it? If it was love, real love, like he said . . . then that’s all I need to know.”
Marian let go of Dot’s collar, putting the pin back in her hair. Her hand trembled. Her throat bobbed. Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“What is it?” Dot asked, confused.
Marian hugged old Dot tight. “Your mother would be so proud of you.”
Agatha gasped audibly and dropped to another cloud before Marian or Dot spotted her.
The emotions hit her hard.
Marian is Dot’s mother.
The clues had always been there, but she hadn’t put the pieces together until now. The way Marian skirted tensely around Dot and her friends. The way the Sheriff treated Dot, his pent-up fury and cruelty borne of unrequited love. The way Robin had a soft spot for Dot, as if he knew Marian’s secret. Dot’s warmhearted charm, inherited from her mother, balanced with the dark edge of her father. Agatha peeked up to see Dot, joined by Anadil and Hester, with Marian studying the latter’s tattoo, mystified by how it worked. From Dot’s relaxed pose, it was clear Dot didn’t know the truth about her mother. Or didn’t want to know. Young or old, Dot had a new family now. A family that, unlike her own, had been there for her from the beginning.
Agatha heard a loud sigh and turned to find Nicola in the shadows of the cloud.
“If you’ve come to tell me to be more social, I’m perfectly fine on my own,” Nicola said. “Always have been.”
“Actually I didn’t even know you were here—” Agatha started, but Nicola was already unburdening herself.
“In the pub, I felt okay at first, because it was my decision to break up with him. He needed to know he wasn’t treating me right. That I deserved to be more than second best. But now he doesn’t even seem upset about it”—Nic swished a hand at Hort and Sophie on a faraway cloud—“as if he and I never were together. He hasn’t even come to check on me. I know I broke up with him, but still! He should see how I’m feeling! He was my first boyfriend. My first kiss. And now he’s talking to her. Again.”
“To be fair, he’s been talking to ‘her’ since the first day of school,” Agatha pointed out. “And if Tedros ever broke up with me, I would bomb his castle before I ever checked in on him.”
“But Hort did like me,” Nicola barreled on. “We had time together in Sherwood Forest and Foxwood when Sophie wasn’t around . . . We were happy. But when she’s there, it’s like I don’t exist. Because of how I look. Because I don’t look like her.”
“No,” said Agatha. “It’s not about that.”
“She’s blond and thin and has a small nose and no pores and I’m—”
“It’s not about how you look,” Agatha repeated.
She said this so sharply that Nicola stopped her monologue.
“And as long as you have doubts about the way you look, you’ll never be able to truly love someone,” Agatha preached. “Take it from me. Even if you have the most loving, doting fairy-tale boyfriend, you’ll reject his love if you don’t believe you deserve it. And then it’s only too easy to blame it on looks or something else that you can’t possibly control, because the one thing you can control—how you feel about yourself—you were too afraid to change.”
Nicola grimaced. “But—”
“Let me finish,” Agatha said. “Yes, Sophie is beautiful. Yes, Hort has always been fond of her. But Hort also believes in true love, even though he’s a Never. And he wouldn’t have kissed you and been your boyfriend if he didn’t think there was a chance that you were the one. Period. Hort is too kind and honest and real to settle for anything less. Maybe he wasn’t ready in the end. Maybe you’re not ready. Maybe you two just aren’t right for each other. But this isn’t about you not having blond hair or a princess figure or anything else. This is about letting yourself take chances at love and not giving up. That’s why love is the ultimate test. It forces us to grow, to be better, and even then, sometimes it’s not enough. We get in our own way. We’re our own worst villains. But only a true villain believes he can control love. Love can’t be controlled any more than a wildfire can. It lives in the balance of fate and free will, Man and Pen. We do our part, we hope, we wish . . . but it writes its own story in its own time, the way it’s meant to be. For you. For Hort. For everyone who believes in Ever After. For me too.” Agatha clasped Nicola’s shoulder. “Love makes fools of me and Tedros each and every day.”
Nicola didn’t say anything for a long while. Then she peered hard at Agatha. “I can’t believe I’m taking advice on boys from the girl who hung skulls in Gavaldon Square on Valentine’s Day.”
“You knew that was me?” Agatha said, surprised.
“Everyone knew it was you.”
The two girls cracked up.
“Nic!” a voice called.
It came from above: Hester, Beatrix, and Kiko crowded onto Nightwind, which had left Merlin asleep on top of the moon and now seemed enthused about new riders.
“Room for one more!” said Kiko.
Agatha smiled at Nicola. “Go.”
Nic was already running.
Agatha couldn’t leave Merlin teetering on the moon, so she hopped up clouds, like a frog jumping lily pads, but still found herself too far away to retrieve him. Only th
en did she realize she was hovering directly above Hort and Sophie, who were on the cloud below, the weasel looking scrawnier than usual in his fluff diaper.
“So out with it, what did you and Tedros really talk about when you were flying on that stymph?” said Sophie.
Hort’s eyes roved around. “I should find some clothes—”
“Do you think anyone here hasn’t seen you without your clothes on? Even when you were the History Professor. And don’t think of lying to me,” Sophie hectored. “First of all, you’re not good at it and second, you and I are too close for you to keep secrets from me—”
“I was asking him for girl advice, okay,” Hort blurted.
Sophie hesitated. “What kind of girl advice?”
“Like . . . what it was like to, you know . . .”
“No, I don’t know.”
“What it was like to kiss you.”
Sophie stared at him.
“Versus kissing Agatha. Like how he felt kissing you in comparison,” said Hort. “Because when I kissed Nic, it was amazing and fun . . . and yet, something was missing. And I just wanted to know what kisses feel like to him because he’s probably kissed lots of girls.”
“So let me get this straight,” said Sophie. “You asked Tedros what kissing me was like versus Agatha so you could figure out whether your kisses with your girlfriend—”
“Ex-girlfriend.”
“—were good kisses or bad kisses.”
“Essentially.”
Sophie looked so galled that Agatha wondered for a moment if she might clobber the poor boy, before Sophie flattened her lips and squinted hard at him. “What did Tedros say about kissing me versus—actually, forget it. I don’t want to know.”
“Not that I take anything that lump says seriously,” Hort offered. “Can you imagine kissing Tedros? He’s slobbery and smells like grass.” He shivered. “Bleecchh.”
Sophie cackled so loud it woke Merlin up. “Oh, Hort. You really are a goon.”
“Better than a sad, soft boy,” Hort muttered.
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