A Crystal of Time

Rhian’s eyes roamed the crowd. “You there, Ananya of Netherwood, daughter of Sisika of Netherwood.” He pointed down at a thin, unkempt woman, stunned that the king knew her name. “For thirty years, you’ve slaved at your kingdom’s stables, waking before dawn to groom horses for Netherwood’s witch-queen. Horses you’ve loved and raised to ride in battle. Yet no pen tells your story. No one knows about what you’ve sacrificed, who you’ve loved, or what lessons you might offer—lessons more worthy than any puffed-up princess the Storian might choose.”

Ananya blushed red as those around her gave her admiring looks.

“And you there, what about you?” said Rhian, pointing at a muscular man, flanked by three teenage boys with shaved heads. “Dimitrov of Maidenvale, whose three sons applied to the School for Good and were each denied, and yet all now serve as footmen for the young princes of Maidenvale. Day after day, you work to the bone, even though deep in your hearts you know these princes are no better than you. Even though you know that you deserved an equal chance at glory. Must you too die without your stories told? Must all of you die so ignored and forgotten?”

Dimitrov’s eyes welled with tears while his sons put their arms around their father.

Hester could hear the murmurs building in the crowd, awed that someone with such great power was honoring people like them. That he was even seeing them at all.

“But what if there was a pen that told your stories?” Rhian offered. “A pen that wasn’t controlled by mysterious magic, but by a man you trust. A pen that lived in plain sight instead of locked behind school gates. A pen made for a Lion.”

He leaned forward. “The Storian doesn’t care about you. I do. The Storian didn’t save you from the Snake. I did. The Storian won’t answer to the people. I will. Because I want to glorify all of you. And so will my pen.”

“Yes! Yes!” cried the people.

“My pen will give voice to the voiceless. My pen will tell the truth. Your truth,” the king announced.

“Please! Please!”

“The reign of the Storian is over!” Rhian bellowed. “A new pen rises. A new era begins!”

On cue, Hester and the crew watched as a sliver of the Snake’s gold suit peeled off and floated over the balcony wall, out of view of the crowd. The golden strip reverted to a scaly black scim as it drifted higher into the air, still unseen. Then it descended over the mob and into sunlight towards King Rhian, magically morphing into a long, gold pen, knife-sharp at both ends.

The people gazed at it, enthralled.

“At last. A Pen for the People,” Rhian called out, as the pen hovered over his outstretched hand. “Behold . . . Lionsmane!”

The masses exploded in their most passionate cheers yet. “Lionsmane! Lionsmane!”

Rhian pointed his finger and the pen soared into the sky over Camelot’s castle and wrote in gold against the pure blue canvas like it was a blank page—

THE SNAKE IS DEAD.

A LION HAS RISEN.

THE ONE TRUE KING.

Dazzled, all citizens of the Woods, Good and Evil, kneeled before King Rhian. Dissenters from Camelot were forced to a knee by those around them.

The king raised his arms. “No more ‘once upon a time.’ The time is now. I want to hear your stories. And my men and I will seek them out, so that each day, my pen can write the real news of the Woods. Not tales of arrogant princes and witches fighting for power . . . but stories that spotlight you. Follow my pen and the Storian will no longer have a place in our world. Follow my pen and all of you will have a chance at glory!”

The whole of the Woods roared as Lionsmane ascended into the sky over Camelot, sparkling like a beacon.

“But Lionsmane alone is not enough to overcome the Storian and its legacy of lies,” Rhian continued. “The Lion in the tale of The Lion and the Snake had an Eagle by his side to ensure that no Snake could ever find its way into his realm again. A Lion needs an Eagle to succeed: a liege to the king who can serve as his closest advisor. And today, I bring you this liege who will help me fight for a greater Woods. Someone you can trust as much as you trust me.”

The crowd hushed in expectation.

From inside the balcony, the Snake started to move towards the stage, his green mask still in place, his back to Hester and the crew.

But just before he moved past an obscuring wall and into the view of the mob, the scims that made up the Snake’s mask dispersed into the air, flying out of sight.

“I present to you . . . my Eagle . . . and the liege to your king . . . ,” Rhian proclaimed. “Sir Japeth!”

Into the light walked the Snake, revealing his face to the throng, the gold of his suit kindling to shimmers in the sun.

Gasps came from the crowd.

“In that old, obsolete school, two just like us ruled over a pen. Two of the same blood who were at war with each other, Good and Evil,” the king heralded, holding Japeth close beneath Lionsmane. “Now two of the same blood rule over a new pen. Not for Good. Not for Evil. But for the people.”

The crowd erupted, singing the new liege’s name: “Japeth! Japeth! Japeth!”

That’s when the Snake turned and looked right into Hester’s projection, revealing his face to the imprisoned crew, as if he knew they were watching him.

Taking in the Snake’s beautiful, high-boned face for the first time, Hester’s whole body went slack.

“What was that about staying one step ahead?” she breathed to Professor Dovey.

Good’s Dean said nothing as Sir Japeth grinned back at all of them.

Then he turned and waved to the people alongside his identical twin brother, King Rhian . . .

The Lion and the Snake now lording over the Woods as one.

3

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SOPHIE (#ulink_bb7d97a9-75c6-5bf4-b6e7-3f6e2bd53b0f)

Bonds of Blood (#ulink_bb7d97a9-75c6-5bf4-b6e7-3f6e2bd53b0f)

While the guards held her offstage, Sophie saw all of it.

The Snake becoming the Lion’s liege.

Rhian’s brother unmasked.

Lionsmane declaring war on the Storian.

The people of the Woods cheering on two frauds.

But Sophie’s mind wasn’t on King Rhian or his snake-eyed twin. Her mind was on someone else . . . the only person who mattered to her right now . . .

Agatha.

Even with Tedros set to die, at least she knew where he was. In the dungeons. Still alive. And as long as he was alive, there was hope.

But the last she’d seen of Agatha was her best friend being hunted by guards through the crowd.