by Bridget Zinn
The king gave his daughter one last squeeze, then pulled back. “We’ve got work to do.”
Within a few hours, Kyra was standing in the sun-dappled woods north of the city, surrounded by a contingent of the King’s Army, who were going to assist in the capture of Arlo Abbaduto. Two members of the team had been a surprise to Kyra. They weren’t soldiers.
They were potioners.
Hal and Ned.
They’d come up to her beforehand, looking like puppies who’d eaten her slippers.
“Kyra,” Hal said. “I’m so sorry. We—”
“It’s okay,” Kyra said. “I wish you’d trusted me, but I don’t hold it against you.”
“I would if I were you,” Hal said. “I was a fool. You always were too headstrong for me.”
“And you never were…”
He waited. “Yes? Never what?”
“I don’t know. Enough, I guess? Sorry,” Kyra said.
He nodded and said, “True.”
“I’m glad you’re back, Kyra.” A grin took over Ned’s wide face. “Hal’s been driving me nuts.”
Kyra smiled. “I’m glad to be back.”
“We’re in this together, right?” Hal said.
“Yeah, Hal, we’re in this together.” It was shocking to her to realize she meant what she said.
“Arlo is a formidable enemy,” Kyra began, speaking to the team. “We cannot underestimate him. Hopefully, we’ll have the element of surprise, because wherever he’s hiding, we’ll find him. We’ve got this.”
She held up a small container—one she’d kept since her dealings with the King of Criminals. Something inside it rattled angrily, like a bug in a box. “Inside is a potioners’ coin, one of a handful I paid to Arlo a few weeks ago. I changed the owner’s imprint over to him, but I held on to one of the coins…as an insurance policy. I didn’t know whether I could trust him or not.”
One of the soldiers snorted.
“Of course I couldn’t trust him,” she added, and the group broke into quiet laughter. “This coin, once released, will do whatever it can to find Arlo.”
Potioners’ coins were driven by two distinct traits: a need to be with their owners, and sneakiness. They waited until there was no chance that anyone would notice, then they slipped out of the till or pocket they’d been put in and slowly found their way back home. But the coins weren’t smart—they were easy to fool. Kyra knew that all she had to do was pretend to look the other way.
She opened the container, fished the coin out, and set it on the ground. Then she made a great show of crossing her arms and looking up at the treetops.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the coin quiver, flip up onto its edge, and then roll away into the woods.
“And with that, gentlemen, the hunt is on!”
They’d been riding so long that it was now late afternoon, and Kyra was behind the soldiers she’d set to keep watch on the coin. They’d let their mounts graze, and casually notice the coin wiggle and roll away down the path, then they’d nudge their horses forward.
Ned brought his horse up beside Kyra’s.
Her life had changed so much in the past day. No longer was she chasing after her best friend. She was with the army instead of hiding from them. She was part of the Master Trio of Potioners again.
And she was following a coin as it merrily rolled along through the woods.
“You haven’t been on a horse in a while, have you?” Ned asked.
“Do I look that bad? My riding muscles and calluses are completely gone. I feel like an idiot.”
“You’ll get them back. It’ll just take a little bit of time.” He gently touched her shoulder. “So tell me about this potion you created—the one that will take down the shape-shifter things.”
“The shape-shifter things are called obeekas, and there are at least two with Arlo,” Kyra said. “I was hoping you and Hal would be the ones to go after them while I focus on capturing Arlo.”
Hal had ridden up on her other side. “Of course we will.”
Kyra caught Ned rolling his eyes.
She nudged him with her foot and continued. “It’s a concoction using the Cera Truth Serum. Peccant Pentothal is too dangerous to use unless absolutely necessary, and I don’t think we need anything that strong anyway. Just something to cast the obeekas in their true form so we can bind them.”
“That is brilliant,” Hal said, his eyes glowing.
“We needed something you two can throw easily, so I created these.” She showed them a dozen small balloons she’d filled with the potion. “Just like our old water balloon fights in summer.” She felt wistful for a moment thinking about it. Those days were gone forever.
Hal hefted one in his hand. He looked wistful too. “It’s a good idea, Kyra. These will work well.”
In a town a half day’s ride outside Wexford, the coin began moving more erratically, zigging and zagging.
“That strange behavior means the coin is almost home,” Kyra said. “We’re near Arlo.” It had grown dark and was well past dinnertime. Down the street was a large pub blazing with light.
The coin began vibrating as it neared the building.
Kyra slid off her horse and caught the coin in front of the pub. Then everyone dismounted and gathered by the entrance. They all knew their roles.
“There could be innocents inside. Try not to kill anyone.” She checked her weapons.
Kyra stepped inside—Hal on the left of her, Ned on the right, the soldiers filing in behind. The pub smelled stale, like grease and old ale.
She spotted Arlo immediately at a gaming table on the far end of the pub, his back to the wall. The position of power. The guy next to him looked weirdly familiar.
“Arlo Abbaduto.” Kyra’s voice rang out over the sounds of the filled tavern. “You are under arrest by order of the King of Mohr for a plot against the kingdom.” The room quieted as everyone turned to look at her. “Do not resist arrest. Anyone who obstructs us will be considered in league with the plot against the kingdom and tried as such.”
Silence followed. The eyes on Kyra were unfriendly. Men missing teeth, covered in scars, and clutching mugs of ale leered.
Then Arlo started to laugh. “Ha-ha-ha!”
The crowd joined in. Soon the whole room quaked with laughter.
“So nice of you to come visit, Master Potioners,” Arlo said. “I hope you don’t mind if we disagree on how this is going to go. You see, you’re outnumbered. Men,” he shouted, “kill the king’s soldiers!”
And suddenly the room broke into motion, the men in the bar surging forward even as the soldiers brandished swords and pulled Kyra and Hal and Ned backward. The air was filled with the clash of metal and shouts and grunts, and fists and boots hitting flesh.
Kyra tried to get a glimpse of Arlo through the melee, but was pushed down to the floor by two brawling men.
Quickly, she stuck them both with Doze needles and shoved them away. Hal and Ned each took a hand and pulled her back on her feet.
There was no way around the tumult. Arlo was right—they were vastly outnumbered. She was going to have to change the odds a bit.
“I’m going to try taking a few people out,” Kyra shouted to Hal and Ned as she jumped up on a table.
Needles tipped in Doze rained from the air until Kyra found herself flung up as someone flipped over the table. Her body slammed into the sticky floorboards so hard it jarred every bone in her body.
Kyra gulped in air and scootched across the floor until she found a small clearing where she could stand. Immediately, an elbow caught her in the gut.
She spotted Ned and Hal a few feet in front of her, about three tables away from Arlo, then watched in horror as the concierge’s assistant shrank down to a hairy rodent and darted away through the crowd.
“I’ll get him!” Hal shouted, running off in the same direction.
The man who’d been sitting on the other side of Arlo grew into a huge troll.
Ned sighe
d. “Of course I get stuck with the giant one.” He moved forward, bashing brawlers out of the way with his baton in one hand, a potion-filled balloon in the other.
Kyra glanced at Arlo. He wasn’t even paying attention to her.
He wasn’t worried about her at all.
He was enjoying this. The chaos, the fighting, the blood—he was drinking it in. Every now and then he’d clap his hands when a particularly good hit connected.
Kyra stepped close and shouted above the roar of the brawl, “Arlo Abbaduto! Under the name of the King, you are—”
“—enjoying this immensely.” Arlo finally turned his attention to her. “It’s quite a show you’ve put on here.”
“You aren’t going to weasel out of this one, Arlo. We’ve got you.”
“You think you can take me, Master Potioner?”
She was out of needles and had already thrown the knife she kept tucked in her waistband at the small of her back.
“Or have you come to join me?” Arlo stood up from his table. “We both know you’ve turned criminal. That’s why you came to me when you needed help finding the princess.”
Kyra couldn’t help herself. “I came to you because I was desperate. Why did you send me to Ellie the hermit?”
“He made a terrible lackey.” Arlo’s smile revealed his large mossy teeth. “I thought in your rage at not finding the princess, your little murderer’s heart would see fit to take care of him for me.”
“I am not a murderer.”
Arlo began laughing again. “Not a murderer, eh? You tried to kill the princess, you almost killed me once upon a time—there is murder in you. You’re just like me.”
“She wasn’t the real princess!” Kyra ducked a mug that smashed on the wall behind her.
“You didn’t know that. You were prepared to kill her anyway.”
“You’re going to prison, Arlo.” Kyra resorted to her weapon of last defense: she swung out a fist and landed a solid blow to his jaw.
It hurt her hand.
Arlo swatted her to the floor.
“And arresting me wouldn’t be murder?” He leered down at her. “Do you think they’re going to slap me on the hands for this and send me on my way? You want me to hang.”
Kyra shoved hard on his knee with the ball of her foot and stood as he stumbled. “It would be justice.”
“It would be what’s in your little murderer’s heart.” He swatted at her again, but this time she dropped and rolled, taking some of the force out of the blow. Still, it hurt. Fighting him was like fighting a giant boulder with arms.
“Why are you doing this?” she shouted as she came back to her feet again.
“When the Kingdom of Mohr fails, it will be the Kingdom of Criminals. My kingdom.”
Kyra tried to look for an opening.
“And I’ll need a queen—one who knows her way around potions, one with royal blood by birth, who can appease our citizens while I take my place. A queen with murder in her heart.”
Kyra jumped up on the table directly in front of him, smacking her hands to her thighs.
“What say you, little girl—are you the next Queen of Mohr?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, and pursed her mouth to blow the poison out of her hands and into his face.
KYRA SET HER POTIONS SATCHEL on the sturdy oak worktable in her old bedroom in the palace. Two days had passed since she’d arrested Arlo, and he was waiting downstairs in the courtroom. She couldn’t believe he’d elected to have the serum again. Maybe he thought she’d make another mistake. But there was no way he was getting off this time.
Kyra had decided to make up the dilution in her room. She didn’t want to spend one second more in the same room with the criminal than she had to in order to administer the serum.
And she wanted to enjoy this one last time with her potions. As punishment for holding a knife to her mother’s throat, Kyra had been forbidden potions work for half a year. Instead, she was to play the role of a proper lady: wait on the queen, attend royal events, and make herself useful around the castle.
Kyra would rather have poked out her own eyes.
But she knew better than to cross her mother. So she was going to do what she was told. Just this once.
She swirled the last drop of Peccant Pentothal into the dilution and put the cap back on the vial. Sighing, she cleaned up her work space and picked up the truth serum.
In the hall, a maid curtsied as she went by. “Thank you so much for saving the kingdom, my lady.”
Kyra hurried past. Everyone in the entire kingdom seemed to think she was some kind of hero now and felt the need to thank her personally. She was used to being somewhat famous—she was the queen’s niece and a Master Potioner, but this was a whole new level of fame. It would take some getting used to.
She found Arlo in the same interview cell as the first time they’d met. A scribe sat at one end of the table, and court officials were scattered throughout the room.
Arlo leered when he saw Kyra. “How nice of you to grace us with your presence, Master Potioner. Maybe this time you’ll succeed in killing me.”
“I wouldn’t be so cavalier if I were you,” Kyra said, setting her bag down on the table, across from him. “You won’t be getting out of this.”
“We’ll see.”
Kyra ignored him and carefully squeezed a drop of serum on one of his large manacled hands. He waited—perhaps for the same reaction as last time—but nothing obvious happened.
Kyra smiled and stood. “I don’t need to be here for the interview,” she said to the scribe and court officials. “I’ve seen enough of him to last me a lifetime.”
“You’ve made a mistake,” Arlo said as she turned to go. “You think you’ve got me, girlie, but you don’t. Not by a long shot.”
He began laughing. The sound filled the chamber, chasing Kyra as she slipped out.
The next day, Kyra heard that this time the serum had worked: Arlo had admitted to everything—plotting against the kingdom, kidnapping the princess and replacing her, manipulating poor soft-in-the-head Ellie the hermit, and everything else to do with the kidnapping.
He did not, however, admit anything about his other crimes. Somehow, his mind was a fierce blank in the kingdom’s interrogations. He kept hinting that no one was asking the right questions, and that if only they did, they’d find out everything they wanted to know. Because of what he might know, he wouldn’t be going near a hangman’s noose anytime soon. The king saw him as too valuable a resource to merely execute him.
But if staying alive made Arlo think he’d gotten the best of Kyra, he was totally wrong. She was more than happy to let him rot in the dungeon.
With Arlo behind bars, the queen started planning for a celebration ball in honor of the heroes. She had plenty of work for Ariana, Fred, and Kyra, and didn’t bother to respond when Ariana pointed out that loading them up with work was certainly not a reward for heroic services rendered. The queen had just kissed her on the head and sent her off to write out invitations.
Kyra didn’t mind the work at all—it was a distraction. Later that day, she went up to Ariana’s room and entered without knocking. The doors to the princess’s balcony, locked throughout her childhood, stood open. Kyra could hear laughter floating in.
Ariana and Fred. Her gut twisted. She was going to have to get used to this.
Kyra walked out and found her friends lounging on chairs.
Rosie and Langley were cuddled together by the low wall of the parapet. As Rosie ran up, her pink nose in the air, Kyra picked her up and set her on her lap. “Did you lift her, Fred? I think Rosie’s gained weight already! You brought her with you to the kitchens, didn’t you?”
“Of course. Sofie loves her. She’s a lovable creature.”
“A lovable creature who’s getting pudgy.”
“She’s not pudgy,” Fred said. “She’s just jolly. I don’t mind her getting fattened up at all.” He reached to pat Langley on the head.
“Which you will as well,” Ari said, “if you’re just going to lounge around here.”
“Nothing wrong with lounging.” Fred scooted further down in his chair. “We deserve a little nap.”
“No time for napping,” Kyra said. “Not when there are parties to plan.”
“Ugh!” Ariana said. “Don’t remind me. I promised Mother I’d do place settings by end of day. What time is it?”
Fred pulled his watch out of his pocket. “Quarter to three.” He set it down on the table between them.
“Plenty of time to do that and get in a nice ride in. If you two are just going to lie around here, I’m heading out.” Ari stood up and brushed her hands off on her pants. “Later, lazybones!”
“Your future wife sure is a sweetheart,” Kyra said, though it hurt to joke about the nuptials that were undoubtedly right around the corner.
Fred didn’t appear to catch her tone. “I’ll say.” He settled back with his eyes closed.
Kyra desperately wanted to say something, demand that he explain why he’d kissed her when he was an engaged man; if there’d been anything there between them or if he’d just been messing with her. But she didn’t say anything, just watched as he appeared to fall into a deep sleep. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
She picked up his pocket watch, the one the witch had stolen. And he’d apparently stolen back.
She looked and understood why.
Engraved on the back in tiny writing was PRINCE FREDERICK LANTANA III, OF ARCADIA. He hadn’t wanted anyone to find out who he was.
And she’d thought he’d stolen back her necklace to be nice.
The evening of the ball finally arrived, and when it did, Kyra found herself hesitating outside the giant arched doors of the ballroom. She’d left Rosie in the kitchen with Langley, to be spoiled rotten by Sofie and the staff.
Ariana tramped down the hall, a new green dress swishing around her, and stopped short at the sight of her friend. “You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Kyra said. “I just haven’t been in there since, you know, I tried to kill you and all.”
“I guess you want to relish the moment.” Ariana bumped her shoulder playfully.
