The School for Good and Evil #6: One True King

by Soman Chainani

  “I’ll take that slap now.”

  A DAY LATER, they camped on the frigid banks of the Frostplains, under frozen docks that stretched out into the Savage Sea.

  When night came, Uma woke her charges, expecting the camel to lead them on the next leg of the journey.

  But the camel didn’t move, remaining curled up beneath the docks.

  “What are we waiting for?” Uma asked, shivering.

  “For our ship to come in,” the camel told her.

  TWO DAYS LATER, the ship still hadn’t come in.

  While Uma flew the stymph out to sea to forage for more fish, her wards huddled beneath the docks as the sun rose, warmed by a small fire and their own body heat as they cuddled against the camel’s belly. None of them could sleep, including Merlin, age five and fully alert, who was skipping around the fire, tossing sticks and seaweed and whatever else he could find into the flames and watching them burn.

  “When’s this damned ship coming?” Tedros groused, eyeing the sleeping camel. “And where’s this blasted beast taking us?”

  “As far from Shazabah as it can get,” Hort guessed, fire-smoking pieces of salmon and handing them to Sophie, who Hort was spooning under his arm. “Probably hiding us in the unmapped realms.”

  “But how does that help me win the second test without killing Agatha?” said Tedros, harboring his princess to his chest. “Wherever we go, the Snake will hunt us. Running away doesn’t stop him or keep Agatha safe. Running away isn’t what my father would have wanted me to do. It’s just . . . cowardice.”

  “‘Trust is the way.’ That’s what the camel said,” Agatha sighed, nestling deeper into her prince’s arms.

  “Trust also means ‘death’ in Camel,” Tedros cracked.

  “It’s saved our life before,” Agatha reminded. “That’s why the Storian pointed us to it.”

  “Same Storian wrote murdering twins into our fairy tale right when we should have been getting married.”

  Something about the way Tedros said this, at once angry and loving, made Agatha’s face change. “I wish I hadn’t swallowed the pearl,” she said quietly. “I wish I’d caught it and given it to you. You’d be on to the second test. The real second test, whatever it should have been.”

  Tedros stroked her hair. “Trust is the way, remember?”

  Sophie could see Agatha relaxing under her prince’s fingers, her eyes closed with pleasure. “Better stop doing that or I’ll get used to it,” Agatha murmured to him.

  “You’re very bossy,” said Tedros. “Just stop thinking and let go for once.”

  Agatha settled deeper into his chest. Then she sprung up on her elbows. “And that vision I saw in the pearl means nothing to you? Evelyn Sader as the link between Japeth and the Green Knight?”

  Tedros gave up on his massage. “Thought about it on the stymph ride, after you mentioned it. But Evelyn Sader had nothing to do with the Green Knight. Nor does Japeth, as far as we know. Why would my father hide that in the pearl? Doesn’t make the slightest sense. Like everything else in this story.”

  They watched Merlin throw more things into the fire and pip “Shazam!” as if he was the one spawning the flames.

  “Our kid is growing up,” Tedros mused, pulling Agatha towards him.

  Sophie nibbled on salmon, watching them kiss.

  “Hope it tastes okay,” Hort said, his bicep hugging her. “Tried to cook it just right.”

  Sophie knew she shouldn’t be letting him hold her like this. That it was giving Hort the wrong idea. But it was glacial out here. And Hort was wonderful at spooning, soft in all the right spots. Plus, with Agatha hunkered with Tedros, either she nested with the weasel or slept alone by the camel’s buttocks.

  But there was something else, of course.

  The way he’d saved her.

  Not just that Hort had rescued her from death, but also that burn in his glare, that red-hot ardor, as if the boy had molted into a man. She’d always thought him a weenie, a lovestruck sop, but now she’d seen the alpha wolf inside, the one who commanded her love and didn’t back down. She’d never admit to being aroused by the thought; she’d plotted the death of any boy or beast who dared to claim her . . . Yet here she was, letting this one touch her, even though his fingers smelled of smoke and fish.

  She rolled over to Hort. “What did you and Tedros talk about up there on the stymph? Every time I looked, you two were deep in conversation.”

  Hort and Tedros exchanged glances.

  “Fitness tips,” said Hort.

  “Rugby,” said Tedros.

  “Ah,” said Sophie.

  Liars.

  “Maybe this is the real second test, though,” Agatha wondered, finally freed from Tedros’ lips. “The more I think about this tournament, the stranger it is.”

  “Here she goes again,” Tedros said. “Thinking.”

  “A revelation to you, I imagine,” said Sophie. “Aggie, what do you mean?”

  “The tournament is a race. Three tests. Whoever stays ahead wins,” Agatha reasoned. “If Tedros or Japeth swallowed the pearl, one of them would have had a head start on the next test until the other figured it out. So how did Arthur know neither of them would win? How did he have that second test prepared?”

  Tedros sat up. “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t,” said Sophie. “But Aggie’s right. Arthur’s ghost is speaking from the dead. And yet, he was ready for the case that neither you nor Japeth would win.”

  “My dad is thorough,” Tedros defended. “He would have readied for all possibilities.”

  “Or he knew all along killing Agatha would be the second test,” said Sophie. “Because he’d planned for Agatha winning the first.”

  “You think my dad wants me to kill my future queen?” Tedros mocked.

  But Agatha was still looking at Sophie. “That line when he announced the tournament. ‘The future I have seen has many possibilities . . .’”

  “Somehow he had a view to the future,” Sophie said, finishing Agatha’s thought.

  Tedros scoffed: “My father wasn’t a magician. He couldn’t have seen the future.”

  “And yet, he knew we would be at his archive, looking for the first answer. That’s why he had Sader leave clues for us there,” said Agatha. “Either Arthur made a lot of lucky guesses . . . or your father saw ahead, even when August Sader couldn’t.”

  Tedros’ face changed. “But who would have told him? Who would have helped him see the future?”

  “You’re asking the wrong question,” said Hort.

  They turned to him.

  “The question is whether that person was on your side,” said Hort.

  Sophie and the others fell silent.

  Together, they gazed at Merlin, who seemed to have developed command over the fire, summoning magical shapes out of the flames: a tree . . . a cave . . . a sword . . .

  “Mama, Mer-Mer is a wizard!” he said, hopping around. “See, look, Mama!”

  “I’m looking, Merlin,” said Agatha, seemingly both relieved that he had his magic and disconcerted by how fast Merlin was growing. In the last day, he’d become unpredictable: in touch with his powers and still weeks away from knowing his potential.

  “So many things we don’t know,” said Tedros. “Why Dad hid that riddle . . . how the Green Knight and Snake are connected . . . whether my future is fated or within my control . . .” The prince petted the sleeping camel. “Trust better be the way, Sir Camel. Because it’s the only way we have left.”

  “Sir Camel is a ‘she,’” said Agatha.

  Princess and prince drifted off to sleep.

  Hort, too, began to yawn, leaving only Sophie to keep watch as the sun rose, tinting the docks with wintry light. Soon, Uma returned with a scanty stock of fish and fell asleep with the others, while her stymph flew back out to sea. Merlin, meanwhile, was still babbling and pitching things into the fire, conjuring random shapes. But in time, even the wizard child had enough, and aft
er Sophie fed him the next drop of potion, he went down between her and Hort.

  Sophie forced herself to stay awake, her eyes pinned on the sea for any incoming ships. Her lids heavied, her focus blurring back to the fire. The flames seemed to heighten, glowing unnatural colors, yielding new shapes, as if Merlin could control them even in sleep, a view into his unconscious. First, a blue butterfly . . . then a black snake . . . then a green, headless man rising from the fire, his neck a bloody stump . . .

  But he had a head, Sophie saw now.

  He carried it under his arm.

  Tedros’ head.

  “Peekaboo!” Tedros said.

  Sophie bolted awake to a wash of sun.

  The fire was out, the ashes long cooled.

  Merlin was sound asleep, snuggled on Hort’s chest. Agatha and Tedros, too—

  But something was different.

  The camel, Sophie realized.

  It was gone.

  Sophie lifted her eyes.

  A ship was at the docks.

  Sails, red and gold.

  Across the stern, carved letters spelled its name.

  Shazabah Sikander

  Shadows cast over Sophie and her friends, as if clouds had cloaked the sun.

  Only there were no clouds, the sky a vacant white.

  Slowly Sophie turned around.

  Her blood chilled.

  “Aggie?” she croaked.

  Agatha stirred, following Sophie’s eyes. She jerked upright, snatching Tedros awake. Hort and Uma roused too, with the weasel grabbing Merlin.

  At least fifty soldiers glared down at them, wearing red-and-gold armor, wielding curved sabers and spears.

  They had the camel, collared and wrapped with chains.

  But the camel didn’t resist. It wasn’t fighting its captors at all.

  It was smiling.

  Grinning at Agatha and Tedros, as if this was the ship it’d been waiting for all along.

  It grunted calmly, the same sounds again and again.

  Sounds Sophie had heard before, the camel’s guiding phrase.

  Trust is the way.

  Trust is the way.

  Trust is the way.

  But as guards came towards her and her friends, sabers raised, suddenly Sophie understood.

  The camel never meant “trust.”

  The camel meant something else.

  “Trust” and “death” were the same word in Camel.

  And they had gotten it wrong.

  16

  THE COVEN

  The Knights of Eleven

  “The queen,” the attendant sniffed in his pink-and-yellow uniform, standing tall at the door to Castle Jolie. “I’m to believe the queen sent for you.”

  Hester, Anadil, and middle-aged Dot blinked at him, the three witches in filthy black hoods, held at the necks by a pair of guards.

  “Found them sneaking across the border, smelling like skunks,” said a guard.

  “We weren’t sneaking. The queen invited us,” Hester snapped. “We’ve traveled for days to get here. We’re her guests!”

  The attendant snorted. “Throw them out.”

  “We have an urgent message! About Princess Bettina!” Dot insisted, flapping her arms. “She’s been ki—”

  “Kin to us. Like family,” Hester cut in, glowering at Dot, before puffing up at the attendant: “Is this how you treat friends of the princess? Tell the queen we’re here.”

  “The queen is in a meeting with her knights,” the attendant sniffed. “And Nevers aren’t permitted inside Castle Jolie. Especially after pirates laid waste to our kingdom, with whom you no doubt sympathize.”

  “We’re Nevers, not thugs,” Anadil scorned.

  “Would you deny your queen’s guests because you object to their appearance?” Hester piled on. “No wonder pirates target your realm to punish such arrogance. No wonder the Snake chose your land to occupy, with people like you serving it.”

  The attendant hesitated, with a rankled scowl. Then he rolled his eyes and flung open the door. “Last time someone disturbed the queen, she made him kneel as a dinner table for her children’s supper. Let’s hope you suffer something far worse.” He clacked away, glaring back at the guards. “Don’t let them touch anything.”

  The witches followed the guards inside. “Why didn’t we tell the truth?” Dot whispered to Hester. “About Bettina being killed?”

  “Who would he think killed her? Especially with a creepy adult looming around Ani and me like you’ve kidnapped us,” Hester retorted. “We need to see the queen. That’s why Tedros sent us. To get her help fighting the Snake. And for that, we’ll tell as many lies as we need to.”

  “Such a wise leader,” said Dot.

  Hester looked touched.

  Dot smiled back. “But am I lying or telling the truth?”

  “Point taken,” Hester growled.

  Ten minutes later, the witches were still waiting, the two guards keeping watch from across the foyer. Hester’s eyes were red, her nose runny, as she sat on a bench beneath a wall of hydrangeas, the pastel, pom-pom-shaped petals blanketing every inch of Castle Jolie.

  “Rats can’t pick up the scent of Nicola or Guinevere,” Anadil fretted, her pets returning to her pocket. “Couldn’t pick up Marian’s scent in Glass Mountain, either.”

  “Glass Mountain reeked of fungus and blight. And rats won’t pick up the scent of anything here but these damn flowers,” Hester muttered, wiping her nose.

  “Cleaned up the place nice, at least. Last time we were here, the Snake’s pirates pee-peed everywhere,” said Dot, plucking a flower and turning it to chocolate. Instantly, the wall began an endless loop of music: “Tipple Top, Joy and Jaunt, Come and Be Jolie! Tipple Top, Joy and Jaunt, Come and Be Jolie! Tipple Top . . .” (The guards groaned.) But the music gave the witches cover to talk—

  “Let me handle negotiating with the queen,” Hester whispered. “To kill the Snake, we’ll need her Knights of the Eleven.”

  “But what if her message was a trap?” Dot asked. “Nic and Guinevere were supposed to come here and there’s no trace of them. What if the queen killed them? What if she’s on the Snake’s side?”

  “Don’t be daft,” Hester barbed, but now her chest felt tight.

  “Think Robin could have left Maid Marian somewhere else in Glass Mountain?” Anadil said, still inspecting her rats. “Somewhere we didn’t search?”

  “Robin told Sophie he hid Marian in a sanctuary,” said Hester. “Only place like that is the sacred orchard and she wasn’t there.”

  “Plus, Robin wouldn’t have planned on leaving her long,” Dot added. “Been four days since the wizard tree battle. She’d have gone searching for him.”

  “Stink of the blight would have been enough to drive her off,” said Hester, sniffing Dot’s clothes. “No wonder the guards found us.”

  “That camel at school smelled worse,” said Dot. “Let’s hope Agatha’s safe.”

  “Sooner we kill the Snake, sooner we’re all safe,” said Hester.

  By now, the music was rattling Hester’s skull: “Tipple Top, Joy and Jaunt, Come and Be Jolie! Tipple Top, Joy and Jaunt, Come and—”

  A black fist went through the flowers. The song sputtered out.

  Slowly, the witches raised their eyes to a huge man in gold chainmail tinted with pearlescent colors. A mask of mesh covered his nose and mouth like a veil, his dark eyes slashing through them.

  “The queen will see you now,” he snarled.

  The witches hurried after him.

  “You’re a Knight of the Eleven,” Hester said eagerly. “Fiercest warriors in the Woods—”

  “Saddle the horses,” the knight barked at a passing page boy. “Queen says the Eleven ride tonight.”

  The boy looked alarmed. “But I’ve just seen the Knights. They’re in no condition to—”

  “Now!” the knight roared.

  The boy scuttled away. With every step, the knight grew angrier, his jaw grinding, his fists cra
cking, and only when they turned the corner did Hester see why.

  Eight mountainous men stood in their underpants, helping a ninth and tenth disrobe their armor, before they handed this armor to the attendant the witches had encountered outside, now posed at the entrance to a double-doored room.

  The black knight sneered at the witches. “Queen is waiting,” he said, stabbing a finger at the doors. Then he turned his ire on the attendant. “This is madness, Jorin. An insult to the Knights.”

  “Turn over your armor, Sephyr,” the attendant said. “Queen’s orders.”

  Sephyr growled and stripped off his chainmail. He shoved it at Jorin, who folded it with the two other suits of armor, before opening the doors to the witches. Hester led Anadil and Dot inside, the coven utterly confused, especially since Jorin, who once treated them like fleas, was now bowing his head as they entered, then following them in. Ani and Dot clung to Hester as the witches made their way into a small room, muggy and windowless, the floor creaking underfoot.

  Torches illuminated eight knights around a table, wearing the same pearlescent armor and mesh veils the knights outside had been forced to shed.

  Three seats at the table were empty.

  “The Knights ride with Eleven,” the leader spoke at the head of the table, addressing the coven. “And we are eight. Which is why I’ve brought you here.”

  The leader’s pale hands lifted the armored mask, like a funeral veil. Queen Jacinda gazed intensely at them.

  “Welcome, new Knights,” she said.

  Jorin put a suit of armor in each of the witches’ hands.

  “New what?” Hester said.

  “W-w-we don’t understand—” Anadil stammered.

  The other knights at the table removed their veils.

  Dot was so stunned she turned her armor to chocolate.

  NICOLA.

  Guinevere.

  Beatrix.

  Reena.

  Kiko.

  Maid Marian.