“So your mother was closer to Japeth?” she asked. “He seems quite attached to her.”
“Too attached,” said Rhian crisply. “It’s why Mother loved me more.”
Sophie looked at him. “Go on.”
“Japeth couldn’t share my mother with anyone. Including me. If my mother showed me even the slightest bit of attention, he’d have terrible rages. When I made her a cake for her birthday, he put something in it that made her ill. When she showed our cat too much love, it disappeared. After every incident, he’d be sorry; he’d cry and vow it would never happen again. But it always did. And worse each time. Mother and I were prisoners of his rage. It’s what made us so close.”
Sophie tensed, still unused to feeling sympathy for the boy she’d come to kill. “And there was nothing you could do? You couldn’t send him away or . . .”
“My brother?” Rhian said, stone-cold. “My twin?”
“But from what you’ve said—”
“Every family has problems. Every single one. You find a way to right the wrong. To heal the rot at the core.”
“You speak about family the same way you speak about the Woods,” Sophie said cynically. “But Evil can’t just be erased.”
“Well, here I am, still at my brother’s side, our relationship stronger than ever. Tells you what I’ll be like as king, doesn’t it?” Rhian boasted. “I never gave up on him. Unlike my mother.”
Sophie raised her brows, but Rhian anticipated her question.
“The rages got worse,” he explained. “Nearly killed my mother and me a few times. She used her butterflies to spy on him. To pin him down during his fits. Thankfully she was more skilled with her magic than he was with his. That’s how we stayed alive.” Rhian paused. “Then she wrote the School Master about him.”
“The School Master? Why?”
“My mother taught there once. My uncle August had gotten her a job as Professor of History. She and the School Master grew close—too close, I hear, since he ended up expelling her from the school. My mother believed that women didn’t have the same advantages that men like her brother had. That her only chance at glory was to cozy up to powerful men. Like Arthur. Like the School Master. Both attempts backfired. Clearly Arthur wanted nothing to do with her. And the School Master didn’t just banish her; he cut off contact entirely. My mother sent him letters, begging him to accept Japeth to the School for Evil, to take him off her hands. He owed it to her, she said. But he never answered. Nor was Japeth claimed by the stymphs when the time came.”
“Did your brother know any of this?” Sophie asked, treating another bruise. “That your mother was trying to get rid of him?”
Rhian shifted uncomfortably. “No. We were out of money by that time too, barely having anything to eat. Finally my mother told us she was going to see our father. If she could just face him in person, she had hope he’d help her. She’d make him help her. In the meantime, my brother and I would be enrolled at Arbed House. She’d had a talk with Dean Brunhilde, who, after meeting my brother, assured my mother she could handle Japeth, or ‘RJ’ as the Dean affectionately nicknamed him. She seemed to relish lost causes. Even so, my mother insisted I be there to help keep an eye on him. Until she came back, of course.”
Rhian took a shallow breath.
“Never heard from my mother again. My guess is Arthur rejected her. This was around the time the king died. Something in her must have broken after that. She never came back for us. Didn’t send a single letter. The love I thought she and I shared . . . the bond I thought we had . . . None of it mattered. She wanted to get away from Japeth. She wanted to get away so badly she was willing to leave me behind too.”
A tear hovered at the corner of his closed eye.
“For a long time, we didn’t know where she was. We heard rumors. That she met the Mistral Sisters and became interested in the theory of the One True King. That she joined a colony of women, intent on enslaving men. That she killed King Arthur herself. All we knew for sure is that she ended up at the School for Good and Evil as its Dean, with a vendetta against Arthur’s son. It only gave me more proof that Arthur was our father. Clearly she wanted to take revenge on Tedros for his father’s betrayal. For taking everything her sons deserved. She even tried to bring the School Master back from the dead to kill Tedros. But in the end, it was the School Master who killed her.” Rhian exhaled. “My brother and I were on our own for good.”
A warm gust curled through the veranda as they sat in silence, Rhian’s heart pumping under Sophie’s palm. For him, this was digging into the darkness of the Past; for her, it shined new light on the Present. Evelyn’s dress softened against her body, like a loving embrace, as if at last she knew all its secrets. For a moment, any agenda, any plan she’d had evaporated in the wind.
“She abandoned you,” Sophie said quietly. “She abandoned you because of your brother.”
Rhian didn’t answer.
“Does he know?” Sophie asked.
Rhian opened his eyes and the tear fell. “He thinks she went to see our father because she still loved him and was proud to tell him about her sons. That when he rejected her, she died of a broken heart. I could never tell Japeth the truth. That it was him that drove her away. That it was him that broke her heart. It’s the curse of being Evil. It makes you torment the ones you love. And Japeth loved my mother too much.”
Sophie went quiet, thinking of all the times love made her a monster.
“Not long after my mother died, the Mistral Sisters came to us,” said Rhian. “They told us King Arthur was our father, just like I’d always known. When Japeth mocked them, they gave us that dress you’re wearing now. My mother’s dress that came alive before our eyes. It led us to the pen that showed us our futures. The pen that picked you as my queen. The pen you think is a mystery . . . but that dress knew where to find it. The pen told us our mother’s wishes. That the future queen be given her dress. That her son seize his rightful throne. And if we did as she said, there was a way to bring a soul back from the dead. To bring her back from the dead. All the Evils of our past would be erased. The story would have a new ending: me, the One True King . . . Japeth, Mother, and I, reunited at Camelot’s helm . . . Our family restored, as it was meant to be.”
Sophie thought about Lionsmane’s storybook at the Blessing; the one that told Rhian’s fairy tale. It had left out the secrets. The shades that mattered. Like all storybooks.
“What did Japeth say?” Sophie asked.
“Well, he went from mocking them to suddenly believing I was the One True King. He made me promise that if he helped me become that king, I would bring the one he loved back to life. It took time for us to work out our plan, of course . . . but Japeth never flagged. He was as invested as I was, now that he had my mother at stake. I could see the hope in his eyes,” Rhian recalled.
Sophie pictured Evelyn Sader, with her milky skin and bee-stung lips . . . with her manipulative ways and vengeance against men . . . with her nefarious butterflies and revisionist histories worthy of her son’s pen. . . .
But Evelyn Sader had been a mother too.
A mother, like Sophie’s own, who’d made mistakes.
A mother who’d died, wishing for another chance.
Sophie’s skin goose-pimpled under the white lace, caressing her like someone’s touch. She let out a breath of disbelief.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Your mother’s dress,” Sophie said, brushing her hands across the downy corset. “I know it sounds absurd, but all of a sudden, I feel like it . . . likes me.”
She raised her eyes. Rhian was watching her through clear, blue-green pools. A Lion’s deep, assessing gaze.
“I see why every boy falls in love with you,” he said.
“Before, you saw why every boy dumped me,” Sophie replied. “Which is it?”
Rhian leaned over his chair and took her hand. “I thought I knew your fairy tale. But no story can do you justice. It took me time to see d
eeper. Beneath the beauty and wit and games. I know you now, Sophie. The real you. Petals and thorns. And I love you for them both.”
Sophie couldn’t find air, blood pounding through her. She hadn’t been spoken to with such passion. Not since Rafal.
“You have your brother,” she said weakly, trying to keep her wits. “You have Japeth. You can’t have me too.”
“After what happened with my mother, I was afraid to ever love someone,” he said, sliding off his chair. “I couldn’t let Japeth do to them what he’d done to her. I had to put him first. But I can’t give you up, Sophie. I need you too much. I can be myself with you like I can’t be with anyone else, even my own twin. I love you in a way I can never love him.” He put his lips to her neck. “Because this is love that I choose.”
He slipped his hands around her throat and lifted his mouth to hers. His hands ran over her dress and the lace turned to white butterflies beneath his fingers, rippling and flapping in waves, the sound of their wings beating, the symphony of a kiss.
Then, as their lips tangled and danced . . . a chill swept through the room.
Rhian didn’t notice, his hands sifting through Sophie’s hair.
But Sophie noticed, along with the shadow creeping over the veranda.
She kissed Rhian harder. “What do we do about Japeth?”
“Mmmmm?” Rhian said, in a hot fog.
“I don’t want to end up like your mother,” Sophie breathed. “I want us to be happy. Just the two of us. We could be alone. We could be free.”
“What do you mean?” Rhian asked, between kisses.
Sophie let the words come. “If he was . . . gone.”
Rhian stopped kissing her.
He pulled back, his face hard.
“I told you. He’s my brother. He’s my blood.”
Sophie gripped his shoulders. “You think your mother will be happy to see him when you bring her back? He’ll drive her away, like he did the first time! ‘Past is Present and Present is Past. The story goes round and round again.’ Your words. And you said she wanted to get rid of him . . . that she left because of him . . . that she loved you more—”
“Did she?” said a voice.
Rhian stopped cold.
Slowly he turned to see his twin standing against the wall of the corridor, bloody and beaten in his tattered suit of scims.
“Well, then. Give Mother my regards,” said Japeth, walking away.
He tossed something at Rhian’s feet.
A silver ring, stained with blood.
The king stared at it, his eyes wide and frozen, before they rose to Sophie. . . .
Then he went after his brother.
SOPHIE HAD ORCHESTRATED this, of course.
The moment she’d seen Japeth’s shadow and sensed that chill. She’d chosen her words to Rhian and made sure his brother overheard.
Witches knew how to start wars.
If all went well, Japeth would soon be dead.
Whether she let Rhian live or die, on the other hand . . .
Maybe that’s why the scene in the crystal cut off before she killed him. Before she buried Excalibur in his back. Because even the future didn’t yet know what would become of Camelot’s king.
Clouds brewed darker overhead. Sophie followed the boys’ voices to the catwalk between towers. She peeked around a stone column.
“I told you she’s dangerous,” Japeth boiled, his cheeks bruised in violet hues. “She’s the real snake.”
“I didn’t mean those things. Not in the way she said,” Rhian defended as he threw on a shirt, the two boys separated by a long length of stone. “Mother loved you. I love you—”
“You think I’m stupid. You think I didn’t know our own mother? I know she loved you more. I know what I am,” Japeth lashed. “What I didn’t know is that you’d trade me, your own blood, for the kisses of a wench.”
“You don’t know Sophie. Not like I do,” Rhian battled. “I told you she’d come back. She’s my queen, just like the pen said. That’s why she escaped the rebels. That’s why she betrayed her friends. She believes in me. She’s loyal!”
“Did you ask how she escaped?” Japeth attacked. “Or where the rebels are?”
“She doesn’t know,” Rhian returned fervently. “They’re always on the move. . . .”
Japeth smirked, letting him hear the echo of his own words. Doubt shadowed Rhian’s face.
“Your ‘queen’ is a liar,” said the Snake. “She won’t be happy until we’re both dead.”
A scim began to shriek, squirming over his mangled shoulder. Japeth lifted it off his suit like a butterfly, letting it softly babble in his ear.
The Snake’s eyes floated up to Rhian . . . then past the king’s shoulder.
“Come out, come out, little spy,” Japeth cooed.
Sophie’s heart leapt into her throat.
She knew better than to disobey.
Without a word, she stepped onto the catwalk.
“Brother?” Japeth said calmly.
The king glanced at Sophie, then at the Snake.
“Bring me her blood,” said Japeth.
Rhian returned an empty stare.
“You speak of loyalty? Look at my wounds! Look at what I’ve endured to get the last ring! For you!” Japeth scorched. “That was the pen’s promise. You get a queen and I get her blood. Forever. Now, bring it to me.”
Rhian flexed his jaw.
He didn’t move.
A scim launched off Japeth’s suit, tore across the catwalk, and slashed Sophie in the cheek, spilling blood onto her white dress.
Sophie screamed, repelling into the stone column and hitting her head. She grabbed at her cheek, her skull exploding with pain, blood slipping through her fingers.
Across the catwalk, the eel had returned to its master, dripping Sophie’s blood onto him, healing the Snake’s face to a smooth, flawless white and breeding new scims to sew up his suit. He gave his brother a venomous look.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Your Highness. I’m going to go sit in your bath and by the time I get out of it, either that witch is gone from this castle or I’ll kill her myself. Magic blood be damned.”
He shot Sophie a lethal glare, then strode into the Gold Tower.
Rhian watched him go.
Slowly the king’s eyes moved back to Sophie, splotched with blood, flattened against the stone column.
“He’s the devil,” she gasped. “You have to fight him! You have to kill him!”
Rhian shook his head. “I told you. He’s my family. My family,” he gritted. “I can cure him. I can make him Good.”
“Good is about standing up to Evil!” Sophie blasted. “Real Evil, even if it’s your own brother! He drove your mother away from you. And now he wants to drive me away too. Past is Present and Present is Past. The story repeats until you change it. That’s what a hero does. That’s what a king does. You say you love me? You say you’re Good? Well, until you fight back, all I see is a coward. All I see is a fool.”
Rhian’s mouth trembled, his whole body slacking under the weight of his emotions. For a moment, he looked like a little boy. A little boy who’d had to make this choice many times before.
He steeled himself, his face a hollow mask.
“Take the carriage,” he said. “Leave here and never come back.”
He limped off the catwalk, Excalibur askew at his hip.
Then he was gone.
Sophie stood there, tasting her own blood in her mouth.
Waves of fury crashed and foamed through her.
To think she almost let that coward live.
No.
Rhian would die.
They would both die.
But how?
Japeth was taking a bath.
Rhian had surrendered to him.
The promised fight would never happen.
And she had nothing to replace it, no weapons, no plan, except a crystal in her pocket—
She held still.
<
br /> Across her gashed face crept a wicked smile.
A crystal and a bath.
They were all the weapons she would need.
BY THE TIME Sophie neared the king’s bedroom, she could hear the bath running.
From behind a column in the dim hallway, she spied two pirate guards outside the doors, swords on belts.
Her eyes roved to the other end of the hall . . . and a massive chandelier over the foyer to the king’s wing.
Sophie’s finger seared pink—
She shot a flare, shattering the chandelier, spraying crystals in every direction.
“Whawazzat?” one guard pealed.
The two of them abandoned their post, sprinting for the foyer.
Quickly Sophie darted from behind the column and kneeled at the doors to the king’s chamber. Her cheek throbbed with pain, still dribbling blood onto her dress. Through the crack, she saw the bedroom empty, the door to the bath half-closed, the sounds of the tub filling behind it. She caught a glimpse of Japeth through the bathroom door. No sign of Rhian anywhere.
She slipped into the king’s chamber.
Pearl-gray skies glowed through the windows, illuminating the gold-and-crimson silkprint walls, the chairs carved with Lion crests, and the perfectly made bed, the gold-and-red curtains drawn back. She heard Japeth’s footsteps padding behind the half-closed door in the corner.
Treading lightly, Sophie crawled under the bed. She had to get Japeth out of the bathroom, long enough for her to sneak inside.
She’d only get one shot.
Raising her lit finger, she launched a flare into the closet, which detonated like a firecracker, collapsing all the racks of clothes.
Instantly, Japeth bolted out, still in his suit of scims. While he inspected the closet, Sophie slithered on her stomach through the door.
The king’s bathroom shimmered like a gilded mausoleum, with mirrors reflecting mirrors and Lion crests carved into every tile and tap. Steaming water gushed into a vast tub, perched on gold-sculpted lion claws, the bath nearly overflowing now. A separate nook for the toilet lay dark and tucked away in the corner.
Sophie glanced into the bedroom as Japeth emerged from the closet, frowning, and pulled open the doors of the king’s chambers, only to see the two guards missing.
The School for Good and Evil #5: A Crystal of Time Page 42