Whatever she’d seen faded into the night, like a vision or a dream.
Three pairs of eyes stayed glued out the window, into the void.
Merlin’s too, his shrieks gone quiet.
“Uh, guys?” Hort swallowed. “I’m sure it’s just me . . . But did that kinda look like . . . you know . . .” He spun to his friends. “A wizard tree?”
Agatha held her breath.
One look at Tedros’ face and she knew what they were both thinking.
Yes, Hort.
Yes, it did.
11
SOPHIE
Vault 41
The witch was back.
Sophie strutted through the feather-strewn streets of Putsi, her hair bloodred and cropped into a bob, her white dress skintight and beaded with sharp red spikes.
It was listening to her now, Evelyn Sader’s old dress. Helping to disguise her. Melding to her desires. Doing exactly what she wanted it to do. She didn’t trust it, of course. But as long it was on her side, she’d use it to her advantage.
Putsi’s hoggishly pale citizens shot her looks, yet no one recognized her. They’d all watched the same spellcast. As far as they knew, Sophie was still a blond angel, playing house at Camelot, tending to her king.
How dare he, Sophie raged. How dare he hijack her mind. How dare he control her.
No one controlled her.
No one.
What a coward, she thought. Rhian, at least, had battled her on fair terms.
Japeth cheated.
Her ears still throbbed where she’d ripped out those scims.
The reckoning was nigh.
That’s why she’d come to Putsi.
To find him.
To stare into his eyes as she cut out his heart.
Until now, she’d been fighting for her friends. To get Tedros and Agatha their Ever After.
Not anymore.
She was fighting for herself now.
Japeth had made this personal.
But how to find him?
All she knew is that he and Kei had set course for this birdbox yesterday. Hoping to track them, Sophie had stolen one of Camelot’s horses and made it to Gillikin, where she’d caught a fairy flight from the market.
Wedged on the sea between Kyrgios and Glass Mountain, Putsi was less a kingdom and more a port of entry, managed by cantankerous goose guards with shiny green hats, who registered new ships at the docks and patrolled the crowded streets, stopping and frisking passersby. (“Foreigners on the rise!” a goose squawked. “Can’t trust anyone!”) From what Sophie could glean, these “foreigners” were arriving via ships, from lands far, far away: a different side of the Endless Woods, beyond the mapped realms, with names like Harajuku and Mount Batten and Tsitsipas.
“Name. Kingdom. Business,” a goose blared at each new body coming off a boat.
“Bao of Vasanta Vale,” said a muscled boy with a pet griffin. “Here on royal business for the Sugar Queen.”
The goose cuffed Bao in a metal collar. “Sugar Queen has no power here. King Rhian is ruler of these Woods. You’re restricted to Putsi’s borders until your hearing. Attempts to cross into other kingdoms will activate your collar, causing instant death.”
“When’s my hearing?” Bao asked.
“A hearing will determine when your hearing is,” the goose said. “Next!”
The dusty port was packed with these collared immigrants, seeking clearance into the Woods, along with sour natives, resentful of sharing their city. Word of the tournament had spread here too, with merchants selling cheap Lion crowns for Rhian supporters and Snake crowns for Tedros’. No one was buying the latter. It’d been like this in Gillikin too, Sophie thought. Arthur’s will taken seriously. Rhian the presumed winner. They had no idea, of course, that Rhian wasn’t Rhian. That the real Snake was their king. A traitor to everything Arthur stood for.
Sophie combed the streets, hunting for Japeth. But there were neither signs of his or Kei’s horses, nor a royal palace, where he’d have been received—
A trumpet of squawks erupted overhead, as hundreds of geese flew towards the docks from all over the kingdom, awaiting an incoming ship.
No, not a ship, Sophie saw, milling closer.
A palace, floating in from offshore, mint-green with gold minarets, scorched in places as if it had been recently attacked. Goose guards kept patrol on the balconies.
The doors flung open and down the dock came Empress Vaisilla, crystal crown askew, swaddled in a goose-feather stole. She paraded past the goose captain, who hustled to keep up, his army of winged guards waddling behind, the Empress throwing shaded looks at anyone with a monitoring collar.
“Good-for-nothings,” the Empress murmured as Sophie eavesdropped. “Kingdom Council votes to let them in, because they don’t have to deal with them. ‘Vaisilla’s problem! Let them overrun her land like pests!’” Her shoes squashed through goose dung. “Perhaps King Rhian will have sense to ignore the Council and close our borders once and for all—”
She turned sharply and barreled straight into Sophie.
“Idiot,” Empress Vaisilla hissed, shoving past her and sidling closer to her captain. “Rhian is riding to the bank. We’ll meet him at Albemarle’s office. Listen to this: I’ve heard from my spies in Camelot that Sophie’s gone missing from the castle and might be joining the rebels . . . Seems she’s up to her old tricks. Send our scouts into the Woods. If we catch her, we’ll arrange a trade to Rhian for a seal on our borders—”
Her eyes widened. She stopped cold and whirled to the idiot she’d bumped into . . .
But all she found was feathers and dust.
ALBEMARLE.
Sophie knew that name.
Tedros had a business card with it: Albemarle, Bank Manager. He’d found the card with a bank ledger for “Camelot Beautiful” amongst Lady Gremlaine’s letters to King Arthur.
Now Sophie just needed to find this bank manager and wait for Japeth to arrive . . .
The Bank of Putsi imposed against the sunset, a circular, jade-green fortress, crowned with flags from around the Woods. Carved into the face of the bank was a gold inscription:
BETWEEN GOOD AND EVIL
LIES
TRUST AND TRADITION
Here, there were no goonish geese or chaotic mobs; the streets were clean and lined with sword-armed men, their chainmail branded with crests from an array of kingdoms, as if the area around the bank was a protected zone, like the Four Point.
As she darted up the steps, Sophie glanced over the rail at a fenced-in plot, where visitors to the bank had secured their horses, magic carpets, and other transports. Still no sign of Rhian’s or Kei’s horses. Squawks echoed and she turned to see the Empress and her goose caravan nearing the bank. Sophie barreled up the last steps, flashing a flirty smile at a guard with a flip of her new red hair, then scooted through the doors before he could get a better look.
The interior of the bank was a jade temple, rising in a cylindrical hollow to three different levels rimmed by floor-to-ceiling glass, each glass panel stenciled with lettering. The first level up: BRONZE BANKING, packed with patrons in line; the second level: SILVER BANKING, with neon-haired nymphs serving rose water to customers on couches; and the top level, almost higher than Sophie could see, DIAMOND BANKING, obscured by tinted glass. Meanwhile, the bank’s atrium, rising all the way to the ceiling, held three statues of gold phoenixes, frozen midair in different poses, like a pretentious art installation.
A bank manager would be somewhere up there, Sophie thought. But there were no staircases on the lobby level. No receptionists or concierge. Down here, the marble was completely bare, except for a quick-moving line of customers waiting for something. Sophie cut to the front, spotting three white circles on the floor. One of these circles started glowing, words materializing inside: NEXT CUSTOMER.
The first woman in line, an elegant dowager, stepped into the circle—
Instantly one of the phoenixes came alive, swooping
down and seizing her so fast Sophie almost missed it. The statue flew the woman up to the Silver Level and deposited her through the opening in the glass, before the bird refroze in the atrium, the other two phoenixes already plunging for their next customers.
Not an art installation, after all.
Down in the lobby, Sophie inched closer to the circles, noticing the other customers shooting her threatening looks: humans, mogrifs, elves, ogres alike . . .
The next circle glowed.
“Sorry, darling,” Sophie chimed, cutting off a troll.
A phoenix dove and swept her into gold-metal wings, glaring hard at her with fire-colored eyes.
“Bank manager, please,” Sophie ordered.
The phoenix threw her onto the Bronze floor, where she landed in front of a desk, manned by a smelly, single-browed hag. Sophie noticed her name tag:
Goosha G.
NEW ACCOUNTS
“Poor, Rich, or Filthy Rich?” Goosha inquired, tapping on her desk, a magical tablet Sophie couldn’t quite see.
“I’d like to speak with Albemarle,” Sophie replied.
“Albemarle handles Diamond accounts only,” Goosha snipped.
“Camelot Beautiful,” Sophie said. “That’s my account.”
The hag gave her a prunish look. Tap, tap, tap into her desk . . .
She went still.
Goosha smiled up at Sophie. Fake and tight. The kind Sophie gave to everyone in the world except Agatha. “Thank you for banking with us. I’ll fetch Albemarle. Wait right here.”
She tapped a few more things, shot Sophie another cramped smile, and headed into a back office.
Sophie immediately leaned over the desk. Red words screamed against a black background—
IMPOSTOR ALERT
KILL ON SIGHT
In the desk’s reflection, Sophie glimpsed armed guards coming from the left. She turned and saw more from the right.
Alarms pealed through the bank: wild and deafening, like a heartbeat out of control. The tinted glass around Diamond Level morphed to iron, locking the floor in.
“THERE!” a cloying voice cried.
Sophie’s eyes flew to the Empress in the lobby, pointing up at her, the Empress’s goose captain and guards spearing towards Sophie’s head, beaks sharp as daggers.
Left, right, down . . . she was cornered from all sides—
Except one.
Sophie was already charging for the glass, kicking up into a flying leap and smashing through the pane, a glitter-rain of shards cascading over her as she fell past storming geese and plummeted through the atrium . . .
. . . straight onto the back of a phoenix.
The metal phoenix screeched and thrashed to life, trying to throw Sophie off its spine. Overhead, the Empress’s geese swerved, dive-bombing Sophie and stabbing her with their beaks, drawing blood from her arms and thighs. More and more geese came, Sophie too besieged to light her finger, the birds slashing her head and neck, their hellish squawks melding with the alarms. Panicked crowds scattered from the Bronze and Silver Levels as Sophie’s bucking phoenix accidentally batted geese through windows. Sophie couldn’t see anymore, her field of view nothing but feathers and blood and falling glass, her breaths shallowing with pain—
Then it stopped.
Geese went limp and dropped out of the air, impaled by small red spikes.
Red spikes from Sophie’s dress.
One by one they fell dead at the Empress’s feet, splattering her with blood.
Empress Vaisilla let out a howl of anguish, patrons fleeing around her.
Gobsmacked, Sophie looked down at her dress, pure white now, all the red spikes gone.
For the second time, the dress had come to her rescue.
Evelyn Sader’s dress.
Why?
No time to think about it.
A statue was still trying to kill her.
Make that three statues.
As her phoenix tried to fling her off, its two sisters were upon her, bludgeoning Sophie with iron wings. Together, the three statues grappled her in a headlock, wresting her higher, yet somehow Sophie still clung tight. But now she realized the birds’ plans, the three hemming her close and surging towards the ceiling, faster, faster, about to crush her against the stone. Sophie tried to defend herself, but they had a steel hold. Fight fair, she seethed. No one fights fair. Fear and rage ripped through her blood, lighting up her fingertip—
The statues bashed her into the ceiling at full speed, wings crumpling to shrapnel, before the wreckage plunged, cratering into the lobby and imploding the floor.
The alarms softened . . . then stopped.
A dull silence faded over the bank, as guards and patrons peeked out at the carnage of glass, metal, and dust.
Slowly, the misshapen phoenixes grunted to life, staggering out of the crater, their smooth gold bodies steeling back to form. They smiled at the Empress, expecting to be rewarded for their cleverness, for obliterating the intruder . . .
But the Empress wasn’t looking at them.
She was staring at the ceiling, where statues and prisoner had dashed against stone.
Four bodies went up.
Vaisilla had seen it herself.
But only three had come down.
MOGRIFYING OUT OF danger was a cheater’s game.
But as Sophie fluttered beneath the doorway of the Diamond Level and down serene hallways sealed from the chaos outside, she didn’t feel the slightest twinge of guilt. In her years at school, Good and Evil played by the rules.
But in the Camelot years?
Play by the rules and you die.
Choosing a blue butterfly had been cheeky, but even in the worst danger, Sophie had to find a way to have a little fun. It was Evelyn Sader who’d started all this: the twins’ wicked mother, who’d duped King Arthur and borne his heirs.
At least that’s what she’d seen in Rhian’s blood crystal.
Except Japeth had denied it to Tedros at the wedding. She’d heard his voice inside that bubble, the scim tuned to the ones inside her head. Japeth had told the prince that he wasn’t Tedros’ brother . . . that he wasn’t Arthur’s son at all . . .
Truth, Lies, Present, Past . . . It was all mixed up now.
But sorting it out took short shrift to Sophie’s mission.
Finding the Snake.
The Diamond Level was a luxurious fantasy, even by Sophie’s standards. As her butterfly wove through, she spotted patrons getting manicures and massages, others partaking in caviar and champagne, even one doing yoga while a bank teller recited the status of their accounts. Unnaturally perfect plants spritzed rosy fragrance into the air, while a choir of green geckos floated in a soap bubble singing dulcet tones. Aside from the guards lining the iron-sealed glass, whispering into Lion badges on their armor, in touch with their colleagues outside, there were no signs that anything in the bank was amiss. Sophie drifted closer to the guards to listen.
“No sign of Sophie up here, Empress,” a guard murmured into his badge. “Yes, Empress. As you wish.”
He whispered to his fellow guard. “Empty the floor. King Rhian just arrived. He’s been briefed on the intruder situation. Wants privacy with the Bank Manager.”
Guards began rounding up tellers and patrons—a security situation, they insisted; the floor had to be cleared.
Sophie’s wings beat faster. Japeth would be here any minute. She needed to find Albemarle’s office and take the Snake by surprise.
Her butterfly zipped through halls, scanning workers’ name tags: Rajeev, Vice President . . . Francesca, Vice President . . . Clio, Vice President . . . everyone a Vice President . . . but now Sophie spotted a room set off from everything else, its door heavy and onyx-black.
BANK MANAGER, the plaque read.
Sophie squeezed beneath the door, the space so tight it trapped her. She’d thought she’d finally shed Evelyn’s dress when she mogrified, but now she could feel it burning against her thorax as if it was still on, the
dress sure to reappear the second she reverted. She jammed harder under the door, about to rip her wings—oooof—
And she was through.
Albemarle, the Bank Manager, was in the heat of conversation with a customer—
Sophie’s butterfly leapt in shock.
Albemarle! The woodpecker!
The one from the School for Good and Evil, responsible for tallying ranks!
Sophie had known his name, of course, but she’d never entertained that a middleman at school might be moonlighting at the Woods’ most prestigious bank. And yet, here he was, with his white spectacles and red-topped head, perched on a desk, with a massive steel vault looming behind him, as he argued heatedly with a patron.
That was the other surprise.
Seated opposite Albemarle was a skeletal woman with stringy gray hair, a high forehead, and thin, cutting eyes.
Sophie recognized her at once.
Bethna.
The third Mistral Sister, who’d been missing from Camelot.
“You cannot freeze a Diamond account,” she contended. “It’s our gold—”
“It’s my bank to manage,” said Albemarle. “And it’s clear Camelot Beautiful is a fraudulent account. You and your sisters have been stealing Camelot funds and stashing them here for years. And now, voilà, the funds flow back to Camelot, just in time for the new king to spend it.”
“Irrelevant,” Bethna dismissed. “It’s Rhian’s money now.”
“It’s Camelot’s money,” Albemarle replied. “And per Arthur’s will, Camelot currently has no king to make use of that money. Not until the Tournament of Kings is won. So until Excalibur names the victor, this account is frozen.”
“Let’s see what your superior has to say,” Bethna challenged. “Someone who I’m sure doesn’t spend his free time playing janitor for students.”
“The bank chose a woodpecker family to manage its accounts for the same reason the school did: we are planners, by nature. Which means my only superior is my father like his father before him and neither is alive for you to appeal to. As for my time at school, I’m lucky that my wings have afforded me a part-time position there when I’m not taking appointments at the bank. And I was even luckier to serve under Clarissa Dovey, who your king saw fit to execute. Like me, Professor Dovey believed money meant little without a compass for spending it.” Albemarle stared Bethna down. “And like Clarissa did, I find students more worthwhile than the old and corrupt.”
One True King Page 14
