The School for Good and Evil #5: A Crystal of Time

by Soman Chainani

“Wesley and I went to the armory and realized there isn’t an axe sharp enough to cut off Tedros’ head,” said the king, mouth full. “So we considered how many swings it would take to sever through his neck with a dull axe and whether the crowd might cheer harder for that than a clean blow.”

  “Oh. That’s nice,” Sophie croaked, feeling ill. “Anything else?”

  “Met with the Kingdom Council. A gathering of every leader in the Woods, conducted via spellcast. I assured them that as long as they support me as king, Camelot will protect their kingdoms, Good and Evil, just as I protected them from the Snake. And that I would never betray them, like Tedros did, when he helped that monster.”

  Sophie stiffened. “What?”

  “I suggested it was Tedros who likely paid the Snake and his rebels,” said Rhian, clear-eyed. “All those fundraisers his queen hosted . . . Where else could that gold have gone? Tedros must have thought that if he weakened the kingdoms around him, it would make him stronger. That’s why he has to be executed, I told the Council. Because if he is lying about being Arthur’s heir, then he could be lying about everything.”

  Sophie was speechless.

  “Of course, I personally invited all members of the Kingdom Council to the wedding festivities, beginning with the Blessing tomorrow,” Rhian went on. “Oh, almost forgot. I also proposed demolishing the School for Good and Evil, now that it no longer has its Deans or a School Master.”

  Sophie dropped her spoon.

  “They voted me down, of course. They still believe in that decrepit School. They still believe the Storian needs to be protected. The School and the Storian are the lifeblood of the Woods, they say.” Rhian wiped his mouth with his hand, streaking red across it. “But I didn’t go to that School. The Storian means nothing to me. And I’m King of the Woods.”

  His face changed, the cold sheen of his eyes cracking, and Sophie could see the smolder of resentments beneath.

  “But the day will come when every kingdom in the Woods changes its tune. When every kingdom in the Woods believes in a King instead of a School, a Man instead of a Pen . . .” He stared right at Sophie, the outline of Lionsmane pulsing gold through his suit pocket like a heartbeat. “From that day, the One True King will rule forever.”

  “That day will never come,” Sophie spat.

  “Oh, it’ll come sooner than you think,” said Rhian. “Funny how a wedding can bring everyone together.”

  Sophie tensed in her chair. “If you think I’ll be your good little queen while you lie like a devil and destroy the Woods—”

  “You think I chose you because you’d be a ‘good’ queen?” Rhian chuckled. “That’s not why I chose you. I didn’t choose you at all.” He leaned forward. “The pen chose you. The pen said you’d be my queen. Just like it said I’d be king. That’s why you’re here. The pen. Though I’m beginning to question its judgment.”

  “The pen?” Sophie said, confused. “Lionsmane? Or the Storian? Which pen?”

  Rhian grinned back. “Which pen, indeed.”

  There was a twinkle in his eye, something sinister and yet familiar, and a chill rippled up Sophie’s spine. As if she had the whole story wrong yet again.

  “It doesn’t make sense. A pen can’t ‘choose’ me as your queen,” Sophie argued. “A pen can’t see the future—”

  “And yet here you are, just like it promised,” said Rhian.

  Sophie thought about something he’d said to his brother . . .

  “I know how to get what you want. What we both want.”

  “What do you really want with Camelot?” Sophie pressed. “Why are you here?”

  “You called, Your Highness?” a voice said, and a boy walked into the dining room wearing a gilded uniform, the same boy Sophie had seen evicting Chef Silkima and her staff from the castle.

  Sophie tracked him as he gave her a cursory glance, his face square-jawed, his torso pumped with muscle. He had baby-smooth cheeks and narrow, hooded eyes. Sophie’s first thought was that he was oppressively handsome. Her second thought was that he’d looked familiar when she’d noticed him in the garden, but now she was certain she’d seen him before.

  “Yes, Kei,” said Rhian, welcoming the boy into the dining room.

  Kei. Sophie’s stomach lurched. She’d spotted him with Dot at Beauty and the Feast, the magical restaurant in Sherwood Forest. Kei had been the newest member of the Merry Men. The traitor who’d broken into the Sheriff’s prison and set the Snake free.

  “Have your men found Agatha?” Rhian asked.

  Sophie’s whole body cramped.

  “Not yet, sire,” said Kei.

  Sophie slumped in relief. She’d yet to find a way to send Agatha a message. All she knew from her Quest Map was that her best friend was still on the run. Inside Sophie’s shoe, her toes curled around her gold vial, out of Rhian’s sight.

  “There is a map in the Map Room tracking Agatha’s every move,” the king said to his captain sourly. “How is it that you can’t find her?”

  “She’s moving east from Sherwood Forest, but there’s no sign of her on the ground. We’ve increased the size of the reward and recruited more mercenaries to track her, but it’s as if she’s traveling invisibly or by air.”

  “By air. Has she hitched herself to a kite?” Rhian mocked.

  “If she’s moving east, we think she’s headed towards the School for Good and Evil,” said Kei, unruffled.

  The school! Of course! Sophie held in a smile. Good girl, Aggie.

  “We’ve sent men to the school, but it appears to be surrounded by a protective shield,” Kei continued. “We’ve lost several men trying to breach it.”

  Sophie snorted.

  Rhian glanced in her direction and Sophie went mum.

  “Find a way to beat the shield,” Rhian ordered Kei. “Get your men inside that school.”

  “Yes, sire,” said Kei.

  Sophie’s skin went cold. She needed to warn Agatha. Does she still have Dovey’s crystal ball? If she did, maybe they could secretly communicate. Assuming Aggie could figure out how to use it, that is. Sophie had no idea how crystal balls worked. Plus, Dovey’s seemed to have made the Dean gravely ill . . . Still, it might be their best hope. . . .

  “One more thing,” Rhian said to Kei. “Do you have what I asked for?”

  Kei cleared his throat. “Yes, sire. Our men went from kingdom to kingdom, seeking stories worthy of Lionsmane,” he said, pulling a scroll from his pocket.

  “Go on, then,” the king responded.

  His captain peered at his scroll. “Sasan Sasanovich, a mechanic from Ooty, has invented the first portable cauldron out of dwarf-bone and demand is so high that there’s a six-month waiting list. They’re called ‘Small-drons.’” Kei looked up.

  “Small-drons,” Rhian said, with the same tone he usually reserved for Tedros’ name.

  Kei went back to the scroll. “Dieter Dieter Cabbage Eater, the nephew of Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater, has been named assistant dumpling chef at Dumpy’s Dumpling House. He will be in charge of all cabbage-based dumplings.”

  Kei glanced up. Rhian’s expression hadn’t changed. Kei spoke faster now: “Homina of Putsi chased down a burglar and tied him to a tree with her babushka. . . . A maiden named Luciana created an igloo from cheese rinds in Altazarra to house the homeless from milk monsoons. . . . Thalia of Elderberry came second in the Woods-wide Weightlifting Championships after bench-pressing a family of ogres. . . . A baby son was born to a woman in Budhava after six stillbirths and years of praying. . . . Then there is—”

  “Stop,” said Rhian.

  Kei froze.

  “That woman in Budhava,” said Rhian. “What’s her name?”

  “Tsarina, Your Highness,” said Kei.

  The king paused a moment. Then he slipped open his suit jacket and Lionsmane floated out of his pocket. The golden pen twirled in the chandelier glow before it began to write in midair, gold dust trailing from its tip, as Rhian directed it with his finger.
/>   Tsarina of Budhava has borne a son after six stillbirths. The Lion answered her prayers.

  “Lionsmane’s first tale,” said Rhian, admiring his work.

  Sophie guffawed. “That? That’s your first fairy tale? First of all, that’s not a tale at all. It’s barely two lines. It’s a blurb. A caption. A squawk into the night—”

  “The shorter the story, the more likely people are to read it,” the king said.

  “—and second of all, you couldn’t answer a prayer if you tried,” Sophie spurned. “You had nothing to do with her son!”

  “Says your pen, maybe,” Rhian replied. “My pen says that Tsarina of Budhava didn’t have a child until I happened to take the throne. Coincidence?”

  Sophie boiled. “More lies. All you do is lie.”

  “Inspiring people is lying? Giving people hope is lying?” Rhian retorted. “In the telling of tales, it’s the message that matters.”

  “And what’s your message? That there’s no Good and Evil anymore? That there’s only you?” Sophie scoffed.

  Rhian turned back to the golden words. “It’s ready for the people—”

  Suddenly, the pen reverted midair from gold to a scaly black scim and magically defaced Rhian’s message with splotches of black ink:

  “My brother is still upset with me, it seems,” Rhian murmured.

  “Japeth’s right. It is weak,” said Sophie, surprised she could ever side with the Snake. “No one will listen to your stories. Because even if a story could be that short, it has to have a moral. Everyone at the School for Good and Evil knows that. The school you want to demolish. Maybe because it’s the school you didn’t get into.”

  “Anyone can poke holes in a story who doesn’t have the wits to write their own,” Rhian said defensively.

  “Oh please. I or any one of my classmates could write a real fairy tale,” Sophie flung back.

  “You accuse me of being self-serving when you’re nothing but an airheaded braggart,” Rhian attacked. “You think you’re so clever because you went to that school. You think you could be a real queen? About as likely as Japeth taking a bride. You couldn’t do any real work if you tried. You’re nothing but shiny hair and a fake smile. A no-trick pony.”

  “I’d be a better king than you. And you know it,” Sophie flayed.

  “Prove it, then,” Rhian scorned. “Prove you can write this tale better than me.”

  “Watch me,” Sophie hissed. She stabbed her fingerglow at Rhian’s story and revised it in slashes of pink under Japeth’s defacements.

  Tsarina of Budhava couldn’t have a child. Six times she tried and failed. She prayed harder. She prayed and prayed with all her soul. . . . And this time the Lion heard her. He blessed her with a son! Tsarina had learned the greatest lesson of all: “Only the Lion can save you.”

  “Takes a queen to do a king’s job,” said Sophie, frost-cold. “A ‘king’ in name only.”

  She looked back at Rhian and saw him peering at her intently.

  Even the blackened pen seemed to be considering her.

  Slowly, the pen magically erased its graffiti, leaving Sophie’s corrected tale.

  “Remember Hansel and Gretel?” Rhian said, gazing at her work. “Your pen says it’s about two kids who escape a nasty witch . . . while my pen says it’s about a witch who thinks herself so superior that she’s duped into working against herself.”

  Rhian turned his grin on Sophie.

  “And so it is written,” the king said to the pen.

  Lionsmane coated back to gold, then thrust at Sophie’s tale like a magic wand—

  Instantly, the golden message shot through the bay windows and emblazoned high in the dark sky like a beacon.

  Sophie watched villagers far in the distance emerge from their houses in the valley to read Lionsmane’s new words, shining against the clouds.

  What have I done? Sophie thought.

  Rhian turned to his captain. “You’re dismissed, Kei,” he said as Lionsmane returned to the king’s pocket. “I expect Agatha in my dungeon by this time tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sire,” said Kei. As he left, he gave Sophie a shifty-eyed look. A look Sophie knew well. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Rhian’s captain had a crush on her . . .

  It only made Sophie feel queasier, her eyes roving back to Lionsmane’s first story. She’d come to this dinner hoping to gain the upper hand over a villain. Instead, she’d been tricked into amplifying his lies.

  She could see Rhian watching through the window as more of Camelot’s villagers emerged from their houses. These were the same villagers who’d resisted the new king at the morning’s coronation, vocally defending Tedros as the real heir. Now they huddled together and took in the Lion’s tale, quietly reflecting on its words.

  Rhian turned to Sophie, looking less a ruthless king and more an enamored teenager. It was the same way he’d looked at her when they first met. When he’d wanted something from her.

  “So you want to be a good queen?” said the king cannily. “Then you’ll be writing each and every one of my stories from now on.” He studied her as if she was a jewel in his crown. “The pen chose you wisely after all.”

  Sophie’s insides shriveled.

  He was ordering her to write his lies.

  To spread his Evil.

  To be his Storian.

  “And if I refuse?” she said, clutching at the side of her dress. “One drop of this iron gall on my skin and—”

  “You already stained your wrist when you sat down for dinner,” said Rhian, spearing a piece of squid in his soup. “And you’re as healthy as can be.”

  Slowly Sophie looked down and saw the smear of blue on her skin; harmless ink she’d extracted from a quill in the Map Room and dyed with magic.

  “Your wizard friend refused to help me too,” said the king. “Sent him on a little trip afterward. Don’t think he’ll be refusing me anymore.”

  Sophie’s blood went cold.

  In a single moment, she realized she’d been beaten.

  Rhian was not like Rafal.

  Rhian couldn’t be wheedled and seduced. He couldn’t be manipulated or charmed. Rafal had loved her. Rhian didn’t care about her at all.

  She’d come down to dinner thinking she had a hand to play, but now it turned out she didn’t even know the game. For the first time in her life, she felt outmatched.

  Rhian watched her with a trace of pity. “You called my story a lie, but it’s already come true. Don’t you see? Only I can save you.”

  She met his eyes, trying to hold his stare.

  Rhian prowled forward, his elbows on the table. “Say it.”

  Sophie waited for the fight to swell inside of her . . . the witch to rear her head. . . . But this time nothing came. She looked down at the tablecloth.

  “Only you can save me,” she said softly.

  She saw Rhian smile, a lion enjoying his kill.

  “Well, now that we’ve made our deal . . . ,” he said. “Shall we have cake?”

  Sophie watched the candles in the Lion centerpiece melt wax onto their holders.

  Cheap candles, she thought.

  Another lie. Another bluff.

  A dark flame kindled inside of her.

  She still had a bluff to play of her own.

  “You think I’m afraid of death? I’ve died before and that didn’t stop me,” she said, standing up. “So kill me. Let’s see if that keeps the Woods on your side. Let’s see if that makes them listen to your pen.”

  She swept past him, watching Rhian’s face cloud, unprepared for her move—

  “And what if I agree to your terms?” he asked.

  Sophie paused, her back to him.

  “One person from the dungeons that will serve as your steward, just as you asked,” he said, sounding composed again. “Anyone you like. I’ll free them to work in the castle. Under my supervision, of course. All you have to do is write Lionsmane’s tales.”

  Sophie’s heart beat faster.


  “Who would you pick to be freed?” Rhian asked.

  Sophie turned to him.

  “Tedros included?” she asked.

  Rhian stretched his biceps behind his head.

  “Tedros included,” he said decisively.

  Sophie paused. Then she sat back down across from him.

  “So I write your stories . . . and you let Tedros go,” she repeated. “Those are the terms?”

  “Correct.”

  Sophie watched Rhian.

  Rhian watched her.

  Now I know the game, she thought.

  “Well, in that case . . . ,” Sophie said innocently. “I choose Hort.”

  Rhian blinked.

  Sophie stretched her arms behind her head and held his stunned glare.

  It had been a test. A test to make her pick Tedros. A test to call her bluff and prove she could never be loyal. A test to make her his slave from this moment on.

  A dirty little test he expected her to fail.

  But you can’t beat Evil with Evil.

  Which meant now they had a deal.

  She would write his stories. Hort would be freed.

  Both would be her weapons in time.

  Sophie smiled at the king, her emerald eyes aglow.

  “I don’t eat cake,” she said. “But tonight I’ll make an exception.”

  7

  AGATHA

  Agatha’s Army

  Straddling the spine of a stymph, her arms around her old Beautification professor, Agatha tried to see through the gaps in the canopy of branches as she flew high over the Endless Woods. Autumn was coming, leaves already losing their green.

  It must be six o’clock in the morning, she thought, since it was still too dark to see the forest floor, but the sky overhead was starting to simmer with tones of gold and red.

  A hand reached back holding a blue lollipop.

  “Stole it just for you,” said Professor Anemone. “It’s illegal to take candy from Hansel’s Haven, as you well know, but, given present circumstances, I think we all need to break a few rules.”

  Agatha lifted the lollipop from her teacher’s hand into her mouth and tasted its familiar blueberry tartness. Her first year she’d gotten detention from Professor Anemone for stealing one of these lollipops off the candied classroom walls in Hansel’s Haven (along with marshmallows, a hunk of gingerbread, and two bricks of fudge). Back then, she’d been the worst student at the School for Good and Evil. Now, three years later, she was returning to the school to lead it.