Guinevere and Merlin appeared on a cloud.
“Big Mama!” Merlin piped, pointing at Guinevere.
Tedros’ mother stared down her son. “Told you that mirror was trouble, Tedros. Japeth must have known you went inside his secrets. Moment you did, Merlin felt Japeth’s spirit vanish to his thinking place. Luckily, wizards can access other wizards’ thinking spots.”
“Tee Tee needs Big Mama . . . for big job . . . ,” Merlin said, winking at Tedros.
Agatha could see Tedros and his mother eyeing each other, as if they knew what Merlin meant. Whatever plan Tedros and his knights had made to defeat Japeth, the old queen was most certainly involved.
Powers, Agatha recalled. That’s what Tedros said he’d asked the genie for. That’s why he’d gone into the Cave of Wishes. What kind of powers?
“If this is Japeth’s thinking place, then where is he?” Tedros growled. “Watching us, no doubt, like the creep he is.” He bellowed to the sky. “You slithering fraud! Rhian really thought he was my dad’s son. But you? You knew the truth. You knew you were Rafal’s son with that witch—”
“What?” a voice gasped.
Tedros and Agatha turned.
Sophie was alone on a cloud, her face ashen.
“Couldn’t remember if Tee Tee needs Big Mama or Not-the-Mama, so I bring both,” Merlin squeaked at Tedros.
Agatha was already leaping to Sophie’s cloud.
“I d-d-don’t understand,” Sophie spluttered in her friend’s arms. “Rafal’s son? Japeth is Rafal’s son? With Evelyn Sader?” Her eyes brimmed with horror. “RJ. Isn’t that what Dean Brunhilde called him? R for Rafal, J for Japeth . . . Rhian and Rafal . . . The names of twin School Masters, passed down from father to sons . . . That’s how he has wizard’s blood, isn’t it? . . . His eyes . . . they’re like his father’s . . . and that ice-cold touch . . . Oh, Aggie . . . The answers were there all along!”
“That’s why you could heal them. That’s why they had to marry you,” Agatha said. “Because your blood gave Rafal’s blood power. The same way it gives power to his sons’.”
“So they aren’t Arthur’s sons for sure?” Guinevere asked. “Then Arthur would have known Tedros was his only child. Why would he create a tournament giving an impostor a chance? Why would he risk his true heir?”
Agatha and Tedros glanced at each other, still without an answer to the question they’d asked themselves.
“Mer Mer knows story,” the wizard offered. “Rafal old . . . ooga booga . . . then young . . . still ooga booga! . . . kiss Not-the-Mama . . . hurt Mama and Tee Tee . . . then Rafal die . . . then not die”—he mimicked stiff-armed zombies—“then die again. Now small Rafal. With snakes.”
Tedros blinked at him.
“Yes, Merlin, small Rafal with snakes,” said Agatha, anxiously searching the sky. “Where is he, Tedros?”
“Sophie’s scream hurt him badly. Maybe he can’t last up here,” Tedros guessed.
Sophie was still mewling: “Once upon a time, I wanted to marry a prince. Now I’m the bride of Father Evil and his two sons!”
“You didn’t marry Rafal, you didn’t marry Rhian, and you haven’t married Japeth,” Agatha countered. “They all thought your blood was the one. But you’re not the one, because you’re here with us.”
“And how long will ‘us’ last?” Sophie asked fatally. “He’s made us the villains. He’s turned the Woods against us. With no consequence.”
“We are the consequence,” said Tedros. “The Storian believes in us. Our school believes in us. My father believed in us. That’s why I wear this ring. I’m his son. I’m the king. Not Rafal’s spawn. The only place scum like that can be king is in hell.”
“Welcome to hell, then,” came the reply.
Dread snaked up Agatha’s spine.
Slowly, she and Tedros turned.
Japeth waited on a cloud in the sky.
He wore his blue-and-gold king’s suit, his sword strapped to his belt. His face was flecked with blood, his skin frayed at the edges, like a mask about to fall.
Tedros shot a spell, severing Japeth’s sword strap, the blade plunging into darkness. Japeth looked up to see the prince bullrushing him across clouds, Tedros’ fists raised—
Japeth waved a hand, magically sweeping a cloud out from under him. The prince flailed, crashing to Sophie and Agatha’s cloud, knocking the two girls down.
Agatha lurched up, expecting the Snake to attack—
But Japeth hadn’t moved. “You cheat your way into my brother’s blood. You trespass into my secrets. You attack and hate, while I defend and fight for the one I love. So who’s Evil now? There is no limit to the wickedness you’ll do to win. Even raid my soul. Fitting, then, that you’ll all die inside it.” He paused. “But not quite yet.”
He sat down on a glowing green cloud.
“You have most of it right, whatever that cheap mirror revealed,” said Japeth. “Rhian always believed King Arthur was our father, but I knew the truth about our parents. Because it was I who found the pen my father spoke of. I know: ‘Which pen?’ Now I’ll show you.” He set his sights on Sophie. “After our mother’s death, the Mistral Sisters brought us that dress you’re wearing. My mother’s dress.”
Sophie’s white gown morphed to blue, birthing a thousand blue butterflies, matching the Dean’s signature gown. All at once, the butterflies flew off it, lighting up the Snake Sky with rich blue glow. They huddled like Wish Fish, their wings turning colors, the butterflies painting scenes in brilliant mosaic . . .
“The butterflies from Mother’s dress led us to the Garden of Good and Evil. An unmarked grave. There, the Mistrals said we would find Mother’s will.”
The butterflies painted a grave and two copper-haired twins digging into it—
“Instead, we found something quite unexpected . . .”
The grave opened, revealing dozens of metal slabs, long and thin, sharp at both ends, like knitting needles.
Agatha’s eyes widened.
Pens.
A grave full of them.
Identical to the Storian, but gold instead of silver. Each pen slightly different in size, shape, and carving.
“This is what our mother wanted us to have. Pens that once belonged to King Arthur, the Mistral Sisters explained. Mother and the Mistrals had become friends—the same sisters who came to advise King Arthur after Guinevere and Merlin left him. Arthur had turned to drink, his mind dulled and judgment soft. The Mistrals wormed into his court, telling him what he wanted to hear. That he wasn’t to blame for his queen leaving. That it was the Storian’s fault. That he was the fated One True King, born to take the Storian’s place . . . Overthrow the Pen, they urged. Claim its powers. Become the One True King. Then he could write destiny as he wanted it. Then he could bring Guinevere back to him! All he had to do was get the Woods behind a new pen. A rival Storian he would control. The King’s Pen. ‘Needs a better name,’ Arthur considered . . . ‘Lionsmane.’ Tedros might like that. And yet, when the Mistrals tried to bring ‘Lionsmane’ to life, Arthur rejected each pen made for him. Too thin. Too thick. Too pompous. Too humble. Looking for every excuse not to follow through.”
More and more pens heaped into the skylit grave, Lionsmanes discarded.
“No matter how much he loved your mother, he wasn’t willing to destroy the Storian to have her back. A weak king. An even weaker man,” said Japeth.
Tedros snarled: “You, who pretended to be his son.”
“For good reason,” said Japeth, unfazed. “After Arthur drank himself into the grave, Rhian and I learned of our own mother’s death. Our mother had planned to tell us we were King Arthur’s sons once we came of age. But in the case of her death, she’d trusted the Mistrals to find us and give us her dress. The butterflies would tell us what we needed to know. Butterflies that had my mother’s spirit.”
Across the Snake Sky, butterflies drew more scenes . . .
“These butterflies filled in her version of the
story. How Arthur abandoned us. How to assume his throne. There would be steps to take. A carefully made plan. Sabotage Tedros, the false king. Pull Excalibur from the stone. Use Lionsmane to win the people and make leaders burn their rings. Marry the queen named Sophie, whose blood bonded with ours. Do these things—burn the rings and wed Sophie—and we would become the One True King. Immortal, invincible, with the power to bring Mother back to life . . . Only one brother could marry Sophie, of course. Only one could be king. But as long as Rhian and I loved each other, we could share the powers of Sophie’s blood. One of us made king by it. The other, magically healed by it. My mother’s dress would bind her and keep her loyal. All Rhian and I had to do was stick together. Two brothers, Lion and Eagle, against Tedros the Snake.”
Japeth watched the butterflies in the sky. “Rhian believed every word. He loved my mother. He trusted her. He longed to have her back. But I didn’t. I knew she disowned us the day she dumped us at Arbed House. Because she wanted to be rid of me. Because she wanted to find our father and be with him instead . . . But King Arthur that father? Uptight, do-gooding Arthur with my viperous mother? Psssh. I didn’t trust her story one bit . . . In the shimmer of the butterflies’ wings, I began to glimpse secrets hidden in my mother’s spirit . . . a Green Knight who was Arthur’s brother . . . a plot to steal Arthur’s throne . . .” His blue eyes narrowed. “Then I saw it.”
All the butterflies in the sky darkened except for one.
“The butterfly that the others were obeying. The leader amongst them. The butterfly that knew I’d found it out . . .”
The butterfly fluttered down into Japeth’s hands. Cupped in his palm, the insect began to shrink and shrivel . . . black scales coating its body . . . until it was no longer a butterfly at all . . .
. . . but an eel.
It sharpened at both sides like a pen, its color coal-black.
The slimy pen floated out of Japeth’s hand and slipped into his ear.
“This pen told me the true story. King Arthur wasn’t our father at all. We were the School Master’s sons. Rafal’s sons. That’s why Sophie’s blood bonded with ours, like it did with our father’s. If I was hearing this message, then Rafal’s queen had killed him and likely my mother too. We must punish his queen. Follow my mother’s instructions, the pen said. Take Camelot and bring Mother back to life. That’s how we could avenge my mother and father. This pen would help me, made of my father’s spirit. This pen would be our weapon, more than any sword. But the pen warned: I must never let Rhian learn the truth about his father. He needed to believe he was King Arthur’s son. Because he was Good inside. And I was Evil. I must always put my brother first. That’s where Rafal had cursed himself. He’d killed his twin believing he would find truer love. Evil’s love. Only to be killed by that love in return. I couldn’t repeat my father’s story. I had to stay Rhian’s faithful liege to the end. That’s why my father left this message for me to find. So if Rafal failed to find true love, he could be redeemed by his son. Just as I suspect King Arthur left three tests for his son to redeem him.”
The pen flew out of Japeth’s ear, a butterfly once more.
It landed on Tedros’ shoulder.
“Except my father miscalculated,” he said, rising to his feet. “Because he believed love for my brother would satisfy me. Our bloodline, ruling the Woods together. But it wasn’t enough for my father, was it? And it wasn’t for me. Because I found truer love too. Someone who cared for me more than my own blood ever did.”
The ghost of Aric appeared in the sky, made out of butterflies. The butterfly on Tedros’ shoulder fluttered up and joined them, adding the violet sparkle to Aric’s eye.
“Strange that Tedros and I are enemies, when we share so much in common,” said Japeth, as the sharp-haired silhouette glided towards him. “Abandoned by our mothers. Our fathers destroyed by love. No wonder Tedros and I quest to find love for ourselves. Real love. But Tedros trusts the Storian with his fate. Fate which stole love from me, just like it did from Tedros’ father. But unlike Arthur, I won’t shrink from fixing fate’s mistakes. Soon I’ll be fate’s master, with the power to take love back.”
Aric landed on his cloud and Japeth put his arms around him . . . Aric’s glowing outline crumbled, butterflies flying away.
Japeth was alone once more.
He smiled bitterly, his king’s suit blackening to eels. “But first there is a tournament to win,” the Snake said. “A last ring to burn.”
His eyes shot to Agatha.
“Which means killing that.”
The Snake’s scims sharpened, about to attack—
The light in the sky went out.
Every hint of green glow swallowed by hard, flat black.
Agatha whirled around, expecting to be stabbed in the dark—
But then she noticed Tedros gone from her side. And she could still see the shine off Japeth’s suit, the Snake frozen on a higher cloud, like he’d been taken by surprise. Agatha held her breath, trying not to move. If he hadn’t put out the lights, then who? The glint of his eels rippled as if he was turning in place, hunting his prey. It was clear he couldn’t spot Agatha in her cloak. She was too far away, the sky too dark.
Agatha smelled silky fragrance as soft wings closed around her: Sophie, her once-white dress now turned to black feathers, lifting her friend from the cloud and silently flying her down to a lower one, farther away from Japeth. “The dress did it,” Sophie whispered in Agatha’s ear. “It killed the lights. So he couldn’t kill us. It’s helping me, Aggie. It’s been helping me.”
The dress? Agatha thought. But Evelyn left it to bind Sophie to her sons. Why would it help Sophie?
“Tedros. Where is he?” Agatha whispered, unable to see in the dark.
“Thought he was with you,” said Sophie.
Agatha’s stomach knotted—
Tiny hands snatched the girls and yanked them into the cloud. Merlin was huddled in fluff, a finger to his lips. He poked a hole in the cloud so Agatha and Sophie could peek out.
For a moment, the Snake Sky was quiet.
Then the night ripped open, heavenly light pouring forth, radiant and gold.
A shadow appeared in the glow, an imposing silhouette.
Light caught his purple eyes, his ivory skin, the sharp barbs of his hair. He wore sleeveless red leather and black breeches, his legs and arms pumped with muscle.
Agatha broke into a cold sweat.
“Impossible,” Sophie breathed.
He was dead.
They’d seen him die.
But here he was.
As if he’d never died at all.
Agatha looked around for Tedros or Guinevere, but the sky was empty.
Just the Snake and the boy.
“Japeth?” the boy spoke, strapping and deep.
The Snake gave him a dead, chilly look, then continued to search the sky. “Cute trick, Merlin,” he called out, looking everywhere but at the boy. “A mimicking hex? Or transmutation?”
Agatha glanced at the six-year-old between her and Sophie, nervously biting the end of his hat. The most Merlin could do was conjure shapes and play fleeting pranks. No way this was his spell.
“Or perhaps just good old-fashioned black magic,” said the Snake, his eyes pausing on Agatha and Sophie’s cloud.
“I thought you’d say that,” the boy replied, hopping smoothly from cloud to cloud until he reached the one across from Japeth’s. “That’s why I veiled our meeting from the others. They can’t see us and we can’t see them.”
“Right. As if in addition to rising from the dead, you also acquired the power to enter a wizard’s thinking place without wizard blood,” Japeth mocked. His scims peeled off his suit and circled the boy menacingly. “No, I’d say you’re purely the figment of my enemies’ creation. Enemies who think I’ll engage a fake ghost.”
“Well, I am a ghost. That is true. Thoroughly as dead as I was yesterday,” the boy acknowledged, petting the eels with no fear. “
Which means I have the power to haunt where and how I choose, including a wizard’s thinking place. To be honest, I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
Finally, Japeth looked at him. “Even sounds just like you.” His eels probed the boys’ muscles. “Feels like you too. Any idiot can fake a ghost. But to fake a dead boy in a real body . . . I have to say I’m impressed, Merlin. If it’s indeed you hiding under there. Or is it one of your friends who took on the task? Knew we should have killed the wizard when we could, precisely to put an end to his games. But Rhian thought if he could regress Merlin to a child, then he could remake his loyalties . . .” Scims pried the boys’ eyes open, assessing his purple irises. “Amazing work, really. Too bad I have to kill you to see who you really are. Maybe Sophie, now that I think about it. She does like to get too close to the fire.” His eels dropped to the boy’s throat, about to tear him apart—
“Go ahead. I won’t feel a thing. I’m dead, remember?” said the boy, unruffled. “The moment you kill me—poof!—I’ll be gone forever and your enemies will be right where you left them, ready to fight. I hid them so I could help you, Japeth. So I could warn you what Tedros is about to do.”
“I see,” Japeth said, suddenly amused. “And what secret plan have you managed to catch wind of? What is it that the idiot prince plans to do, hmm?”
“Disguise himself as me,” the purple-eyed boy replied. “He went into the Cave of Wishes. The genie granted Tedros the power to turn into whoever he wants. The genie’s magic lives inside his blood long enough for Tedros to take on my body and warp your mind. To fool you and make you believe he’s the real thing. See, that’s him over there, waiting for his moment.” A spotlight appeared, on a second clone of the boy, posed atop a distant cloud, looking fidgety and anxious, before the spotlight abruptly went dark. The boy turned back to Japeth. “I wanted to be with you before Tedros tries. So you can remember what’s true.”
Japeth’s grin lost its shape. “Let me get this straight: you will disappear and be replaced by a new you, who is Tedros in disguise. And that’s who I should kill.” He snorted, but it was half-hearted, the Snake increasingly wary of the boy. “Well, whatever magic he’s using, it can’t be better than what is in front of me.”
One True King Page 33
