One True King

by Soman Chainani

  That’s what the pearl had unleashed.

  A victory she thought she’d claimed for her prince.

  Instead, a death sentence. For her.

  But before the pearl had spoken to the boys, it had spoken to Agatha first.

  She’d hurled into the night without thinking, streaking past friends and foe hunting an answer and swallowing it herself. The cold glass caught on her tongue, sliding down her throat with ease. Instantly, it dissolved, spewing harsh, stinging vapors that surged to the roof of her mouth, through her nostrils, and behind the eyes.

  Looking inwards, she watched it take shape, this silvery mist, congealing into a ghost . . .

  The Snake, in his green mask and suit of scims.

  Only then he wasn’t the Snake anymore. His muscles swelled, his mask shedding, Agatha faced with the Green Knight instead.

  Then he became the Snake again.

  Back and forth, the phantoms went, Snake, Knight, Snake, Knight, faster, faster, until they morphed into a third ghost—

  Evelyn Sader.

  Smiling at Agatha.

  As if she, Evelyn, was the link between Snake and Knight.

  A hidden secret for the winner to find.

  But the mist was changing again . . . now the ghost of Arthur, the Lion of Camelot, her true love’s father, glowering at Agatha—she, the wrong winner; she, a mistake—the once-king rearing high inside her like a dragon . . .

  Then she breathed him out like fire.

  WHEN AGATHA WOKE up, she was in her old room at school.

  It hadn’t changed a bit, Purity 51, as if she’d fallen back in time: jeweled mirrors on pink walls . . . murals flaunting princesses kissing princes . . . a fresco of clouds across the ceiling with cupids shooting love arrows. Over the bed was a white silk canopy shaped like a royal carriage, and at the end of the mattress a glass tray with milk-soaked oats, two hard-boiled eggs, and a chopped banana dusted with sugar. A card propped up against the tray had Sophie’s handwriting:

  Clearing

  Agatha glanced across the room, the middle bed unmade, topped with a bowl of uneaten cucumber salad and a basket of beauty creams and potions. Agatha smelled the cloud of lavender left behind. There was a book open on the bed table: Black Magic Healing, Level 2, spread to a page about repairing broken limbs—

  She threw aside the sheets, revealing her right leg, shattered badly only a few hours ago.

  No longer.

  She stood, gently putting weight on it.

  Aside from a dull ache within the bone, the leg seemed healed.

  Last she remembered, she was nestled into Sophie aboard a stymph, her best friend whispering, “It’s okay, Aggie; it’s going to be okay,” as Agatha lay shell-shocked, unable to speak. In her haze, she must have fainted or fallen asleep. She didn’t remember getting to school or making it to this room. She certainly didn’t recall her leg being subject to witchcraft.

  Agatha mustered a deep breath. She was awake. She could walk. It was time to face what was coming. But she couldn’t. Instead, she ate the food Sophie left her, taking the time to watch the violet sunrise and lick her fingers of every last grain of sugar. After noticing a spare Evergirl uniform in the closet, Agatha ambled to the toilet down the hall, disposing of her torn, filthy gown and stepping into the bath. Scalding water hit her skin, fogging her in with pleasure and silence. She pretended that she could hide away here, closed off from the world, like she once did in a graveyard long ago . . .

  But then the dread came, the panic and regret, all the feelings she was trying to keep down.

  This whole time they’d been fighting for the Storian.

  Fighting for the Pen and the fate of its tales.

  Tedros’ tale, above all.

  The story of a boy trying to prove himself king.

  And here she’d gone and hijacked it.

  Swallowed it whole, like a whale inhaling the sea.

  She wished she could say it was an accident.

  But it wasn’t.

  She saw a way out and took it . . . and lost sight of whose test it was.

  And now the price.

  For Tedros to become king, she’d have to die.

  Not just die. He’d have to kill her.

  Chills stung her skin, as if the bathwater had turned cold.

  For her true love to defeat Japeth and keep his life—for all her friends to keep their lives—she’d have to give hers up.

  The same sacrifice her mother made to save her.

  Palms sweaty, nausea rising, she armored herself in the sleek pink uniform, the putrid color offset by the illusion that she was just an ordinary first year again, about to go to class. But there were no other students as she made her way through the halls. No teachers, fairies, wolves. Only a lone nymph, sweeping up candy dust that had shed off the walls of Hansel’s Haven, delicate piles of jellybean and gumdrop shavings that Agatha had just tramped through . . .

  Once upon a time, she’d been the villain of a fairy tale. The sure pick for the School for Evil, while Sophie was destined for Good. But then came the Great Mistake. Two friends switched into the wrong schools. Only it wasn’t a mistake, the Pen said then. Agatha was the princess. Sophie the witch.

  But now Agatha was the Evil one.

  The witch who ruined a prince’s fairy tale.

  And the strange thing was: it felt expected. As if she never fully believed herself a princess. Not the way Professor Dovey had, who’d insisted she was 100% Good. Not the way everyone else did, either, always trusting her to do the right thing. Deep down, Agatha never felt as Good as people thought her to be. And now, the truth would be clear for everyone to see. The Great Mistake was real—she belonged in Evil after all.

  It was only when Agatha was halfway through one of the glass breezeways, still thinking of her old Dean, that she had a thought. That vision in the pearl . . . the riddle Arthur had hidden inside . . . What if she figured it out? The link between the Snake and the Green Knight . . . between two Japeths and Evelyn Sader . . . Then maybe she could expose who the Snake was! Maybe she could fix all this!

  Her shoulders slumped, hope fading as quickly as it came.

  Who Japeth was didn’t matter.

  Not when she’d bound her prince to an impossible test.

  Kill his princess or hand his throne to a Snake.

  That was the trap she’d made for him.

  He would protect her, of course.

  He would give up Camelot for love.

  But the second test wasn’t Tedros’ alone.

  That’s why Japeth had smiled so wickedly as the prince flew away.

  Because he knew Tedros would never finish the job.

  The Snake would, though.

  He’d hunt Agatha until it was done, putting him a single test from Excalibur killing Tedros.

  Two birds with one swallow.

  Agatha had put her and her prince in a death knot.

  She was the true Witch of Woods Beyond now.

  Even Professor Dovey would have seen that.

  Through the glass passage, she gazed out at the School for Good and Evil, connected by Halfway Bridge, the sky over the castles crystal blue—

  Agatha’s heart jammed.

  A new message from Lionsmane glowed to the west.

  Tedros uses his princess to

  cheat the first test.

  Now he’ll pay the price.

  His Agatha is the second test.

  Help me, my Woods.

  Wherever she runs . . .

  Bring her to me. Alive.

  Agatha’s chest clamped so hard she thought her ribs cracked.

  She felt someone watching her.

  Her focus shifted to the School Master’s tower at the center of the bay.

  In the spire’s window, Bilious Manley stood next to the Storian as the pen hovered over an open book. But the professor’s eyes lingered on Agatha. He stared at her long and hard before clouds raided the sun, vanishing him into shadows.

  A
gatha picked up her pace. She could hear the buzz of conversation as she crossed from the breezeway into the Tunnel of Trees, leading outside.

  The Clearing was full, the way it used to be at lunch. Only this time, there was no dividing line between Good and Evil, with friends, faculty, and first years crowded into the intimate picnic field outside the Blue Forest gates. As Agatha exited the tunnel, she spotted the young Everboys and Evergirls in the back: Bodhi, Laithan, Devan, Bert, Beckett, and Priyanka among them. In front of the Evers sat the first-year Nevers: Valentina, Aja, Bossam, Laralisa, and more. Then the crew of fourth years that had rescued them from Putsi—Vex, Ravan, Mona—plus others who had recovered from their quest injuries, including big-boned, flesh-headed Brone, his leg still in a cast. (Why didn’t someone use black magic to heal him too? Agatha wondered.) Next was Agatha’s own team: shirtless Hort, nursing his feet against ice blocks, his face and arms sunburnt, his chest lily-white, grumbling to himself while swigging cold cider, as if he’d gone from man-wolf to overcooked pirate. Beside him were Bogden and Willam, both bandaged and rubbed with colorful salves. Then Hester, Anadil, and Dot, with Dot still old and baby Merlin clutched to her chest. At the sides of the field, the faculty gathered: Professor Emma Anemone, Professor Sheeba Sheeks, Castor the Dog, and others, both Good and Evil. Only Yuba and Princess Uma were missing. Sophie, too, Agatha realized now. Students and teachers alike took in Agatha as she entered, her once allies, her only family, now silent and grim, like witnesses to a trial.

  Overhead, Lionsmane’s message shimmered like a golden scar in the sky.

  The audience returned their focuses forward: to their leader, seated on a stump between the two tunnels.

  Tedros.

  He had no shirt on, his body bruised and cut up, his breeches torn and dirt-stained. His gold curls still had leaves in them. Scim scratches blemished his right cheek. While Agatha had slept, eaten, bathed, he’d done none of these things. His cloudy blue eyes zeroed in on her, her prince sitting straighter.

  Agatha wanted to say something, but Tedros spoke first.

  “Sit down,” he ordered.

  Agatha obeyed, searching in vain for Sophie, before dropping beside Hort.

  “Hello, Fatima,” Hort slurred.

  Agatha gave him a look.

  “Fatima of Neverland whose tale the Storian told because she had so many friends but then did stupid things to lose them, one by one, until she had none.” Hort swigged more cider. “Friendless Fatima. That’s you.”

  Agatha tried to tune him out.

  “You knew Sophie was out there. And you didn’t tell me,” Hort flamed, itching his sunburns. “So instead of protecting her, I end up a wolf chauffeur, ferrying Bilbo Bogden, his boyfriend, and a baby across Mahadeva in a heatwave, this after carrying you and Tedious around the Woods, and now I have sunstroke so bad Castor had to seal me in an ice coffin just to get me to remember my own name. But I remember what you did. Oh yes, I do. Taking Sophie for yourself. Keeping me from helping her.” He glowered at Agatha, who could see Tedros watching her from his stump, just as intensely.

  “Witches were saying they were the ones who got the stymphs to rescue us,” said Tedros, emotionless.

  “No offense, but we didn’t trust you out there on your own,” Hester explained to Agatha. “Not with the Snake on the loose. Once we got to school, we told the teachers. Figured they should put out a team to protect you.”

  “Glad you were of some use, considerin’ we sent you here to find an aging spell,” Hort heckled.

  “We did find an aging spell, actually,” Anadil said, knife-sharp.

  “Not the kind that works,” Hort blustered. “Dot’s still a fishwife and I can smell Merlin’s diaper from here.”

  “Because it has to be done in steps, you boiled rodent,” Hester retorted.

  “It’s called an Age Defyer,” Anadil said, her two rats asleep on her shoulders. “Ages or de-ages you a single year each day, for as long as you take it.”

  “Same one my mother used to stay young enough to birth me at an old age,” said Hester. “Professor Sheeks helped us brew it. A stew of rat tears, turtle scales, and moldy cheese. Piping hot to grow older. Ice cold to turn young.”

  “Fed some to Merlin and myself this morning,” said Dot, snuggling the infant. “Death would have been preferable to the taste.”

  Agatha inspected Dot closer: indeed, she looked a tad fresher than she had in Bloodbrook, while Merlin was longer, plumper than before, clad in purple velvet robes and fur booties, his eyes radiating intelligence.

  “Mama!” he babbled, spotting Agatha and hopping out of Dot’s arms to crawl towards her. “Mama llama! Mama llama!”

  Limited intelligence, Agatha thought.

  She scooped Merlin up, his belly soft against her chest. The wizard baby had new white-blond curls beneath his cone-shaped bonnet, which smelled of sweet milk. Merlin drummed his fingers on Agatha’s cheeks. “Mama llama!”

  “In a matter of days, Merlin will be able to speak coherent sentences and communicate with us,” said Hester. “And in a couple weeks, he’ll be our age, equipped with his sorcerer powers.”

  “If he keeps his powers,” Professor Sheeks said, concerned. “We don’t know what he’s lost.”

  “AND WE DON’T HAVE WEEKS!” Castor the Dog blared, waving a paw at Lionsmane’s message. “WHOLE WOODS IS COMING FOR AGATHA!”

  “Castor’s right,” echoed Professor Anemone, unusually disheveled. “We can’t protect Agatha here. Not under that kind of attack.”

  “Of course we can,” said Laithan, the muscled, red-haired Everboy, rising to his feet. “Good always wins. That’s our duty as Evers. To hold our ground and fight for our queen.”

  “Nevers too,” said dark-browed Valentina, standing. “We defend Agatha. We defend the school!”

  “Like we did against Rafal,” said Ravan, bounding up. “We took down him and his army of zombies. We can do it again!”

  “No, we can’t,” Tedros repelled. “Rafal’s zombies were zombies. Kill Rafal and they died with him. This is the whole Woods, men, women, and creatures from a hundred kingdoms, each fighting for a leader they don’t even realize is their enemy. A leader far more vicious than Rafal. Robin Hood couldn’t defeat the Snake. Kei couldn’t either and he was a trained assassin. Japeth murdered Tinkerbell. He slayed my friend Betty like it was nothing. He killed Lancelot, Chaddick, the Sheriff of Nottingham, and so many more. And you think you can win this war for me. The same way Agatha thought she could. Which is why we’re here. About to lose.”

  Agatha reddened, like she’d been slapped.

  Everyone’s eyes went to her. Even Merlin’s, the baby skittish and mute.

  Tedros gave her a long stare. Not angry or cold, but weary and defeated, as if when a prince didn’t act a prince and a princess didn’t act a princess . . . this was the fitting result.

  “So what do we do, then?” said blond Bert.

  “How do we win?” asked blonder Beckett.

  “How else? Make Tedros kill Agatha,” a voice said.

  The crowd turned to Hort.

  “It’s the second test, ain’t it?” he groused, waving his cup, splashing cider everywhere. “Dear ol’ Teddy spears her and he wins. Then all he has to do is finish the third test and the Snake’s dead. Trade Agatha’s life for ours. That’s what a king would do.”

  Agatha gaped at Hort, speechless.

  “What you get for hoardin’ Sophie to yourself,” Hort murmured.

  “You have a girlfriend!” Agatha hissed back.

  “You have a girlfriend and boyfriend!” Hort scorched. “You kiss everyone!”

  “Enough!” Professor Sheeks boomed. “As long as Agatha and Tedros are students at this school, there will be no killing!”

  “But Agatha’s not a student anymore,” hairy, three-eyed Bossam pointed out. “And Hort’s right. If Agatha dies, we’re all safe—”

  “You don’t think ‘King Japeth’ will destroy the school the first
chance he gets? Along with everyone in it?” Professor Anemone assailed. “As long as Agatha’s sitting here, she’s a student. And our best one at that.”

  “If she’s the best, then why did she mess things up?” Bossam pushed.

  “Yeah,” said Aja angrily, “why do we have to die defending her because of her mistake?”

  More Nevers rumbled. Evers too.

  “Because it wasn’t a mistake, you fools,” a voice declared from a tunnel, followed by Sophie flouncing into the clearing, hair styled, makeup done, her white dress molded into a glittery winged kimono. “Sorry, I’m late. The hex to fix Aggie’s leg picked one of my own bones to break in return.” She held up her right hand, wrapped in bandages. “Could have been worse, of course, but beautifying with one hand is about as enticing as a night with Hort.” She smiled at the weasel, as if she’d overheard everything he’d said to Agatha in her absence.

  Hort went pink.

  “Oh right, and this so-called ‘mistake,’” Sophie said, fluttering her good hand at the crowd. “Agatha swallowed the answer to stop Japeth from claiming it first. Tedros had plenty of chances to win, but as usual, he didn’t get the job done. It was Agatha who saved him from losing. It was Agatha who saved us from the Snake being ahead in the race. If anything, it was she who acted the king.”

  Agatha blushed with love. Sophie. Her knight in shining armor. Sophie, who’d broken herself to heal her best friend. Sophie, who’d found the Good in her, even when Agatha thought herself Evil. Her friend was never a witch. Just like Agatha wasn’t a princess. They were both, always both, the line between princess and witch as thin as the line between stories and real life.

  Tedros eyed Sophie stonily. “So I’m to blame, then. My own princess interfering in my test is my fault. My father telling me I have to kill her is my fault.”

  “Do you think I’d have done it if I’d known what would happen?” Agatha stood up, the baby bobbing against her chest. “I was trying to save us. I wasn’t thinking—”

  “That much we can agree on,” said Tedros.

  “Because you’re the model of calm, deliberate thought,” Sophie chirped, flanking Agatha.

  Students and teachers peeked between the prince, his princess, and her best friend, three points of a triangle.