One True King

by Soman Chainani

“Why are those bad things?” Sophie came back, exasperated. “Why can’t a boy show his emotions? Why can’t a boy just be himself?”

  “Because girls like you won’t go for us,” said Hort grimly.

  “Have you considered that it’s because you are a real boy, in all your softness and sadness, that I am having this conversation with you to begin with?” Sophie asked. “I can have any handsome boy in the Woods, but they’re insufferable like Tedros or possessive like Rafal or maniacal like Rhian. But I had to learn that they wouldn’t make me happy, didn’t I? The same way you had to kiss Nicola to learn there was something missing. The same way I had to spend time with you again and again to learn that you weren’t creepy, useless Hort at all, but Hort who is open and true—and yes, sad and soft—but altogether, sweet, steadfast, and the strongest boy I know.”

  Hort’s whole body seemed to blush. “Uh, so . . . what are you saying?”

  Sophie crossed her arms. “What I am saying is . . . what I’m saying . . .” She looked up at Hort. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  The two of them stared hard into each other’s eyes, the silence as thick and wide as an ocean. Agatha tipped over the cloud to get a better look—

  Her shadow cast over Sophie, who glanced up. “Agatha, darling!”

  Agatha toppled in surprise, crashing down and landing hard on Hort, kneeing him in the groin.

  “Aggaaaain!” Hort wheezed. “The witch strikes agaaaain!”

  “I’m assuming you’re the witch, this time,” Sophie said to Agatha.

  Wails echoed above them.

  Merlin, crying from atop the moon. “Naughty! Naughty!”

  “Yes, Merlin, yes! Very naughty!” Sophie called out. “Go back to sleep!”

  Merlin wailed harder.

  “Strange,” said Agatha. “Never cried before. Puts himself to sleep and eats from his hat when he’s hungry—”

  “Guys?” Hort said quietly.

  The girls followed his eyes.

  To the corner of the Celestium.

  A tear had opened up in the purple canvas, a rip in the night. Stars tumbled out of the sky as the sky pulled apart, a shadow coming through.

  Agatha smiled at the firm chest and lean silhouette, her heart surging. “Tedros . . .”

  Then moonlight hit the shadow and Agatha stumbled back into Sophie’s arms.

  Merlin cried harder, pointing at the sky. “Naughty! Naughty!”

  Agatha choked on her scream.

  Naughty.

  Nottee.

  Not Tee.

  21

  AGATHA

  The Second Half of the Plan

  “Impossible . . .” Sophie rasped to Agatha. “He’s not a wizard . . . He can’t be here . . .”

  But he was here.

  He was inside Merlin’s Celestium.

  Japeth stared hard at Agatha, his face in shadow, the whites of his eyes glowing in the dark. He slithered through the tear in the sky and leapt down onto a cloud, landing in a crouch. Then he rose, his blue-and-gold suit rippling in the moonlight.

  Slowly, his king’s suit melted pitch-black, the Snake returned, scims shrieking and sliding all over his body.

  His eyes never left Tedros’ princess.

  Sophie shielded her best friend. “Run. Now.”

  Scims spiked for Agatha’s head and she and Sophie dove off the sides of the cloud, with Sophie crashing on a puff below. But there was no cloud for Agatha to land on; she tumbled into oblivion—

  A red horn hooked through her collar, Hester’s demon slobbering in her face—“nogoodverybadday”—before it flung Agatha onto a thick cloud with its master. “Stay behind me,” Hester hissed, blocking her. “If you die, we all die.”

  “Merlin!” Agatha pointed at the wizard, howling on the moon. “We have to get Merlin!”

  Hester’s demon soared for the ball of cheese, snatching the six-year-old in its claws and flying him higher and higher. But the Snake had no interest in Merlin. He stayed locked on Agatha, his chest exposed where the scims had peeled off him.

  Scims still on the loose.

  She spun just in time—

  They speared for Agatha’s face and she plunged into the center of her cloud, barely eluding them. She popped her head through, spitting out fluff. “Up there!” she said to Hester, pointing at the rip in the sky.

  The scims circled around, angling for Agatha harder, faster. Hester yanked her back into the cloud—

  “I’ll use that portal,” Agatha panted. “Scims will follow me out . . . All of you will be safe . . . I just need the magic carpet to get there . . .”

  She peeked up, searching for Nightwind . . . then saw the carpet veer sharply, Beatrix, Kiko, and Nicola aboard to ambush the Snake, swords aimed at his open flesh—

  Scims launched off Japeth’s shoulder and slammed into Nightwind, obliterating it to shreds, sending the girls scattering to clouds.

  “Agatha, look out!” Sophie cried from below.

  Eels whizzed upwards, nicking Agatha’s and Hester’s ears, before both girls dodged into the cloud, tunneling through fluff. They hit the end of the cloud, nearly plummeting over. Scims slashed down on either side of them, cutting holes into white. Agatha spied through one of these holes, tracking the cloud path to the gash in the sky. “I have to make a run for it . . .”

  “You’ll be dead in a second!” Hester said. “You won’t make it one cloud!”

  “Watch me,” Agatha steeled.

  Like a gazelle, she sprung for the next one up—

  Scims blasted for her; Agatha recoiled mid-jump, twisting awkwardly and flopping back onto Hester’s cloud, just missing the eels sizzling past her.

  “Ho hum,” Hester growled.

  Only now the Snake was the one moving, bounding across clouds, more scims rocketing off him for Agatha, this time from a closer distance, too fast to escape. Agatha shoved Hester aside, saving her friend, the scims about to run Agatha through—

  Dean Brunhilde lunged in front of her, hacking eels with her sword. “In all my years, did my best to turn Evil into Good! Well, killing every last one of you sounds Good to me!” Gobs of black-and-green goo sprayed onto her armor, Dean Brunhilde axing them with vengeance.

  Japeth seemed weakened, the patches of flesh on his chest and shoulder bruised and bloodied, vulnerable to attack. He charged Agatha and the Dean, hurdling cloud to cloud, only to see the Queen of Jaunt Jolie block his path, sword in hand.

  “How did you fake a wizard’s blood, Your Highness?” she cooed. “Same way you faked a king’s, perhaps? Nice snakesuit, by the way. And here I thought King Rhian was the one who killed the Snake. So you must not be ‘Rhian’ at all.”

  Agatha dashed to save her, but Dean Brunhilde grabbed her back.

  “Proud of your cleverness, are you?” the Snake taunted Jacinda. “Your daughter was too. Almost told my secret to the Woods.” He stood tall, scims still protecting most of him. “Almost.”

  “I need to help her,” Agatha fought, battling the Dean. “We need to help her—”

  “We need you alive,” said the Dean, holding her fast.

  Queen Jacinda stepped towards Japeth, sword pointed. “Your brother had a soul. He had the capacity to love. No one will ever love you.”

  “Words,” the Snake dismissed, setting his sights on Agatha once more.

  “Let’s talk words, then,” Jacinda threw back. “You say you seek the Pen’s power for the good of the Woods, when in truth, you seek to raise a boy from the dead.”

  Japeth looked at her.

  “A boy you think will admire all that you’ve done to have him,” said the queen. “But you’ve mistaken him like you’ve mistaken me. He will reject you. He will condemn the Evil you’ve done in his name.”

  “I know the end of my story,” the Snake said coldly. “And yours.”

  “You will end alone, Japeth.” The queen raised her blade. “All of this Evil done for no other reason than to damn you to Hell.”

  Th
e Snake struck the sword from her hand. Then he clasped her throat and squeezed. “I looked into your daughter’s eyes when she knew she was going to die.”

  Agatha broke free of Dean Brunhilde—

  Japeth’s fingers dug into the queen’s neck. Jacinda fell to her knees, choking for breath. Japeth bent over, strangling the life out of her. “And I see the same thing in you that I saw in her. Not courage. Not conviction. Just fear—”

  A clump crushed him in the face.

  Japeth reeled, releasing the queen. He looked up at Agatha standing over him, his face a spatter of blood.

  “It’s me you need to win the second test, coward,” she lashed.

  Agatha started running, jumping across clouds.

  Japeth exploded after her, his legs so strong that he was already closing in, Agatha cornered on the last cloud—

  A sword impaled the Snake’s bare shoulder.

  Japeth whirled, facing Dean Brunhilde, who punched him in the throat.

  “You killed Rhian. Your one hope for love,” she condemned, crushing him in a headlock. “Why? Because he was your better half? Or did Rhian know what I do? That you’re a monster. Because only monsters kill those who love them.”

  “You who took love away from me?” the Snake seethed, thrashing in her arms. “The only monster I see is you.”

  “Your mother told me something when she left you in my care,” the Dean said, struggling to restrain him. “That you have none of her blood. That you must be all your father’s.” She held him close. “Because she saw nothing in you she ever wanted back.”

  The Snake roared, elbowing her in the face. He dragged the sword out of his shoulder and slashed it across the Dean’s neck.

  “Say hello to her for me,” he said, gripping her collar. “And my ‘better half.’”

  He threw Dean Brunhilde off the cloud.

  Agatha’s heart jolted, watching her body fall into purple night.

  Until today she hadn’t known Dean Brunhilde. Yet the Dean had protected her with her life. The same way she’d protected students from their own Evil. Dean Brunhilde was brave, strong, and Good, all the things she’d tried in vain to help Japeth become. Now, she too had been lost to him. What chance did the rest of them have?

  Even so, the Dean had left her mark. Japeth wasn’t moving. He struggled for breath, his shoulder dripping blood, the scims left on him dulled and limp.

  The cold green pits of his eyes rose to Agatha’s cloud. His cheeks reddened, as if the mere sight of her rekindled his fire. Then he charged her like a lion—

  His cloud jerked suddenly, knocking him off his feet. Japeth rebounded, launching for Agatha. This time, Agatha’s cloud shifted, dragging the princess out of reach.

  A child’s giggle echoed overhead.

  Both hunter and prey looked up at Merlin, hoisted by Hester’s demon, as the child swished his arms, magically swinging Japeth’s and Agatha’s clouds away from each other like chess pieces. “Naughty hurts Choo-Choo! Now I hurt Naughty!” the child wizard promised, watching Japeth leap for Agatha and miss. Merlin puppeted the other clouds and surrounded the Snake’s with them. Japeth was trapped, nine sword-wielding females prowling at him. Beatrix. Kiko. Reena. Anadil. Hester. Dot. Nicola. Maid Marian. Jacinda. The Snake froze, his scims too sapped to ward off this many knights.

  Slowly he looked up. His eyes slitted with purpose. Agatha realized the move he was about to make—

  “Merlin!” she screamed.

  Scims shot off Japeth’s arm for the child—

  A big, hairy hand caught them and crushed them to slime.

  Hort’s man-wolf glowered at the Snake.

  “No one touches the kid,” he snarled.

  Hort turned his gaze on Agatha. “Go.”

  Agatha read his intent. She sprinted for the rip in the sky, the one Japeth had come through, Merlin hastily arranging a ladder of clouds for her to get there. The Snake would chase her to win the second test. Her friends would be spared—

  But Hort had no intention of the Snake chasing Agatha. He had no intention of the Snake leaving his cloud alive. Hort slapped Japeth hard in the face, sending the Snake flying backwards. “That’s for the Sheriff.” He slapped him again. “That’s for Lancelot.” He smacked him more. “And this is for Dovey and Dean Brunhilde and Millicent and Betty and Robin and Tink and your lying, sack-of-crap brother.” Blood gushed from Japeth’s mouth, Hort’s wolf cuffing him to the edge of the cloud.

  Agatha was almost at the portal. She glanced back—

  Hort reached his paw and snatched a star out of the sky, its silver point as keen as a knife. “And this one . . .” He raised it over Japeth’s pale chest. “This one’s for me.”

  He stabbed it down—

  “Hort, watch out!” Agatha yelled.

  A single scim flew off Japeth’s neck, slipping between Hort’s fingers. He dropped the star in shock, the eel aiming straight for his eyeball, about to gouge it through—

  It stopped short.

  Because there was a pink flare to Japeth’s throat.

  Sophie stood behind the Snake, her hand against the scimless flesh on Japeth’s neck, a six-year-old wizard having stealthily snuck her cloud behind his.

  Agatha blanched. No, no, no, no. She turned back, jumping downwards to rescue her best friend from sure death, but Merlin magically swerved Agatha’s cloud higher.

  Japeth withstood Sophie’s grip, her glow hot against his skin. “I remember how you and I first met,” he said. “We were in a room. Our bodies this close. You thought I was Rafal. You thought I was a ghost, come back to be with you . . . Fitting, isn’t it?” He leaned back, whispering into her ear. “Now it’s you who’ll be the ghost.”

  The eel at Hort’s eye reversed like a missile, cutting across the cloud, skimming Japeth’s body, about to rip into Sophie’s neck—

  “You need me,” Sophie said sharply.

  The eel stalled midair.

  “You need me as your queen.” Sophie spoke crisply, unafraid. “That’s how you become the One True King. A pen told you that. Marry me and only then can the power be yours. The power to bring back your real true love. That’s why you don’t know whether to wed me or kill me. Kill me and you can’t claim the powers you seek. Kill me and you’ll never have your precious Aric again. And yet, leave me alive and I will kill you. So I’ll give you one chance. Surrender the tournament. Tell the Woods that Tedros is the true king. Or . . . you can fight for your Aric and die. So what is it, Japeth? What do you choose? Love . . . or life?”

  Agatha saw Japeth hesitate, the scim in front of Sophie wavering.

  Then, slowly, it settled back into his body.

  The Celestium was quiet, all eyes on Sophie and the Snake.

  Japeth spoke, his voice soft. “I choose . . .”

  He went slack in Sophie’s arms.

  “Love.”

  He broke free and sprinted across his cloud, kicking against Hort’s chest, running up the man-wolf like a wall and vaulting high for Agatha, the Snake blacking out the moon like an eclipse, scims flying off him too fast for Agatha or Merlin or anyone to stop.

  Agatha thrust out her hands in terror, eel tips grazing every part of her—

  Then a scream.

  A scream so terrible and piercing that it shattered the scims to pieces against Agatha’s skin. Agatha quailed, fingers in her ears. So did Merlin and Hort and all the knights, defending themselves against the sound.

  Only one was powerless.

  Japeth crashed down in front of Sophie, the exposed flesh of his torso tightening against his ribs, cracking at the edges.

  Sophie screamed louder, lording over him, fists clenched like stones, eyes pooling with blood, her veins throbbing red.

  The Snake crumpled at her feet.

  Sophie screamed with the power of a thousand lives, mist rising into her pupils, as if her whole body might burst into flames.

  Blood spilled from Japeth’s ears and nose, his skin flaying off his bones. />
  Agatha watched, shell-shocked.

  He was dying.

  The Snake was dying.

  Sophie was killing him.

  Not to save Camelot or make Tedros king.

  But for her.

  For Agatha.

  Evil fueled by love.

  Real love.

  Japeth curled to a fetal ball, blood pooling under him. Sophie’s scream only got louder—

  Agatha’s heart lifted.

  They had won.

  The story finished as it began.

  No prince needed.

  Two souls, bonded forever.

  Two friends, at the End of Ends.

  Two girls, the One True King.

  But then . . .

  Sophie’s scream stopped.

  She clutched at her throat, as if she couldn’t breathe.

  Agatha, too, couldn’t find air. She heard her friends choking, wheezing—

  The Celestium.

  They’d been up here too long.

  In a flash, the purple sky began to vanish, like a scene being erased.

  She felt a blast of hot, thick air . . . smelled the dry, dune dust . . .

  The desert. They were going back to the desert—

  Except Japeth was still moving.

  Japeth was still alive!

  Sophie looked at Agatha in horror. She tried to force out a scream, to gasp a fatal blow—

  Too late.

  The Snake looked up at them with his last ounce of life . . .

  Then the sky and everyone in it was gone.

  SAND WHIPPED AGATHA’S face, her feet back on the ground. She couldn’t see, the dust storm too strong to yield more than glimpses of ink-blue night. But she smelled tones of lavender and vanilla, swirling somewhere near.

  “Sophie?” she croaked, her throat filling with dust. “Are you there?”

  A warm hand gripped her wrist.

  The two girls endured the punishing wind, palms at their faces, until all at once the storm dispersed. They lowered their hands from sand-caked cheeks.

  “Agatha?” a boy’s voice called.

  The last veils of sand swept away, revealing her prince and his mother, standing in the open desert, the Cave of Wishes disappeared.

  Tedros smiled at Agatha—then his eyes flared. “Wait . . . you’re not supposed to be here!” He glimpsed the cuts and welts on her arms and saw Sophie on the verge of tears. Behind the girls, the other knights were silent and shaken. Witches. Jacinda and Marian. Hort and Nicola. Merlin, too.