A Crystal of Time

“The Storian began its retelling of The Lion and the Snake before you and Sophie left on your quest. That’s how we’ve stayed up-to-date on everything that’s happened since Rhian took the throne.”

“But can’t we show the Storian’s tale to the rest of the kingdoms?” Agatha asked, adjusting Dovey’s bag on her arm, feeling Tedros’ jacket that she’d taken from Robin’s house cushioned around the crystal ball inside. “If we can make their rulers see that Rhian and the Snake are working together—”

“The Storian’s tales reach other kingdoms only after The End is written, including your bookshops in Woods Beyond,” said her teacher. “And even if we could bring the Kingdom Council to the School Master’s tower, the Storian won’t allow anyone to look backwards in a fairy tale while it is writing one. Nor should we involve the Kingdom Council until we have clearer proof of Rhian’s plot, since their allegiance is to the new king. That said, Professor Manley has been monitoring the pen’s movements and our first years have been briefed on the story thus far.”

“And they’re trained to fight?” Agatha pressed.

“Fight? Goodness, no.”

“But you said they’re my army!”

“Agatha, they’ve been at school for less than a month. The Evergirls can barely produce passable smiles, the Nevers are hopeless with their Special Talents, and they’ve just had their fingerglows unlocked two days ago. There hasn’t even been a Trial by Tale. They’re certainly no army yet. But you’ll whip them into shape.”

“Me? You want me to train them?” Agatha blurted. “But I’m not a teacher! Sophie can bluff being a Dean because, well, she can bluff anything, but not me—”

“You’ll love the new Everboys. Charming little foxes.” Professor Anemone glanced back, her makeup dried out and cracking. “Especially the boys of Honor 52.”

“Professor, I don’t even know these students!”

“You know Camelot. You know the castle, you know its defenses, and most importantly, you know the false king who sits upon the throne,” said Professor Anemone. “You are far better equipped than any of the teachers to lead our students in this fight. Besides, until you complete your quest, you’re still an official student, and given the Storian is writing your tale, the teachers cannot interfere in it. Clarissa made that mistake and clearly paid the price.”

Agatha shook her head. “But can the students even do basic spells? Will the Evers and Nevers work together? Have you told them what’s at stake—”

“My dear, take advantage of the peace and quiet while you can,” said her teacher, steadying the stymph at a cruising altitude. “There won’t be much of either once we get to school.”

Agatha exhaled through her nose. How could she relax until her friends were free? And how was she supposed to lead a school? A school full of students she’d never met? If she wasn’t so overwhelmed, she’d appreciate the irony: Sophie had been thrust at the head of Camelot, where Agatha was supposed to be queen, and now Agatha was expected to command the School for Good and Evil, where Sophie was supposed to be Dean. Agatha’s heart revved up, then sputtered, drained of adrenaline after her all-night visit to Sherwood Forest. She could feel her eyelids drooping . . . But with Dovey’s crystal ball slung on her shoulder, weighing her down, she didn’t dare fall asleep, for fear it would yank her overboard and drop her like a stone.

Clutching Dovey’s bag tighter, Agatha scanned the landscape and spotted a golden castle ahead, thin spires clustered like organ pipes.

Foxwood, she remembered. The oldest Ever kingdom.

In front of the castle, the thick forest receded, giving way to Foxwood’s outer vales, with rows of cottages surrounding a tree-lined square. The pavilion was mostly deserted this early in the morning, except for a baker setting up his cart in front of a stone fountain. Wrapped around the fountain, Agatha could make out colorful banners hand-drawn by the kingdom’s children.

So Long, So Long, the Snake is Gone!

HAIL KING RHIAN, THE SNAKE SLAYER!

Long Live Queen Sophie!

As the stymph soared over increasingly lavish houses, closer to Foxwood castle, Agatha glimpsed three young kids in gold-foil Lion masks jousting with wooden swords as their father raked the yard of leaves. She’d seen the same thing in Gillikin: children idolizing the new King of Camelot as their hero. Disturbed, Agatha looked back up.

The stymph was about to smash right into the side of the king’s castle.

“Professor!” Agatha shrieked—

Professor Anemone snored awake and in a single move shot a spray of sparks at her stymph, which jolted from its own slumber with a squawk, skimming the golden tower just in time.

The stymph reared in midair, panting hard, as Professor Anemone stroked its neck, trying to calm it down. “Seems we both fell asleep,” she croaked as the stymph peeped sheepishly at his riders through eyeless sockets. “And no wonder, given the rumpus at school. Thankfully we’ll be there soon enough.”

“Rumpus” didn’t sound good, Agatha thought, but right now she was worried they’d woken the Foxwood guard. If anyone spotted her, they’d surely alert Rhian. She peeked back towards the castle, about to urge Professor Anemone to get moving. Then her eyes widened—

“What’s that?”

She’d been so busy looking down that she’d missed the giant message in gold, embedded in the lightening sky overhead.

“Lionsmane’s first fairy tale,” said Professor Anemone, still caressing the stymph. “You must have been deep in Sherwood Forest to miss it. Been up there nearly a full day now. Visible from any kingdom in the Woods.”

“Lionsmane . . . You mean ‘Rhian’s pen’? The one he’s pit against the Storian?” Agatha said, remembering the newspaper in Gillikin. She quickly read the message in the sky about a woman named Tsarina, blessed with a child after several stillbirths. “‘Only the Lion can save you’? That’s the moral of the story?”

Her teacher sighed. “The Storian spends weeks, months, often years crafting a tale for the purposes of bettering our world. And now a new pen arrives that replaces storytelling with a king’s propaganda.”

“A fake king and a fake pen,” Agatha bristled. “Are people actually believing this? Is anyone fighting for the Stori . . .”

Her voice trailed off, because Rhian’s fairy tale suddenly faded. Agatha and Professor Anemone exchanged anxious looks, as if their presence here was somehow responsible. But then a blast of light shot from the west, branding a new message in the sky, replacing the first one.

Citizens of the Woods! Revel in the tale of Hristo of Camelot, only 8 years old, who ran away from home and came to my castle, hoping to be my knight. Young Hristo’s mother found and whipped the poor boy. Stay strong, Hristo! The day you turn 16, you have a place as my knight! A child who loves his king is a blessed child. Let that be a lesson to all.

“Now he’s going after the youth,” Professor Anemone realized, grim-faced. “Same thing Rafal tried when he took over both schools. Own the youth and you own the future.”

Down below, Agatha could still see the kids’ tiny figures swordplaying in their Lion masks. Only they’d stopped now and were gazing up at the Lion’s second tale, along with their father. After a moment, the father’s eyes swept towards Agatha and her teacher, perched atop their stymph.

“Let’s go,” said Agatha quickly.

The stymph propelled towards the rising sun.

Agatha looked back one last time at the Lion’s new tale, her stomach screwing tighter. It wasn’t just the Lion’s message, smoothly glorifying himself as king . . . but it was how familiar the message was, its lies sounding like truths . . .

Ah. Now she remembered.

The Snake’s pen.

The one he’d shown her and Sophie the first time they’d met.

His fake Storian that took real stories and contorted them into something darker and untrue.

His pen peeled off his own murderous body and now presented to the people as their guiding light.

His slimy, scaly strip of lies.

That was Lionsmane.

THE SCHOOL HAD taken no chances once Merlin and Professor Dovey had been captured. As the stymph descended, Agatha saw the two castles had been shielded in a protective, murky-green fog. A dove happened to get too close and the mist inhaled it like a living creature, then spewed it back out like a cannonball, pitching the shrieking bird fifty miles away. The stymph, meanwhile, passed through unscathed, though Agatha had to hold her nose to endure the fog, which smelled like rancid meat.

“One of Professor Manley’s spells,” Professor Anemone called back. “Not as secure as Lady Lesso’s old shields, but it’s kept out Rhian’s men thus far. A few were caught snooping the past couple days. They must suspect you’re on your way.”

More than just suspicion, Agatha thought. If Rhian was the Snake’s brother, then that meant Rhian had the Snake’s Quest Map. He could trace Agatha’s every move.

In the meantime, all she could do was hope Manley’s shield would hold.