The School for Good and Evil #5: A Crystal of Time

by Soman Chainani

“This is your decision, Agatha,” the witch said. “You’re Queen of the Castle, here or Camelot or anywhere else. We trust you.”

  “All of us do,” said Anadil.

  Kiko and Reena nodded. “Me too,” said Beatrix.

  Hort crossed his arms.

  They glowered at him.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll do what she says,” Hort grumped, “as long as she doesn’t kiss my new girlfriend like she kissed Sophie.”

  “Priorities,” Dot wisped.

  Agatha was lost in thought, gazing at her quest crew, depending on her as their leader . . . at her injured classmates, itching to go into battle . . . at the teachers, who were looking at her for directions the way she once looked at them . . . at the first years who would risk their lives on her command. . . .

  She’d always been a fighter.

  That’s who she was.

  But Good isn’t about who you are. Her best friend had taught her that lesson once upon a time. Good is about what you do.

  She took a deep breath and looked at her army.

  “We wait,” she said.

  Everyone heaved a sigh of relief.

  As they went back to whispering amongst themselves, Agatha suddenly heard scratching from the corner. . . .

  The Storian was drawing again, amending its painting of the tower.

  Strange, she thought. Nothing in the scene had changed.

  She crawled over to the Storian’s table and slid up the wall, out of view from the window, so she could see what the pen was drawing.

  The painting was the same as it was before: Agatha, the teachers, her friends, and the students hiding in the tower, while down below the pirates searched the shore. But the Storian was adding something else now. . . .

  A blast of gold in the sky.

  The beginnings of a new message from Lionsmane.

  High over the Endless Woods.

  Even stranger, Agatha thought, peeking out the window at the clear sky with no message from Rhian’s pen in sight. Why would the Storian draw something that isn’t there?

  Agatha gazed at the night’s blank canvas, listening to the pen behind her, presumably filling in the fictional message. It didn’t make sense. The Storian recorded history. It didn’t invent things. She felt herself tighten, doubting the pen for the very first time—

  Then a flash of gold lit up the sky.

  A message from Lionsmane.

  Just like the Storian promised.

  Sometimes the story leads you, the gnome had said.

  As the light settled over the Woods, Agatha read Rhian’s new tale in the sky, praying it was still by Sophie’s hand, praying she’d snuck another code into it—

  She stumbled back in shock.

  She read the message again.

  “Agatha?” a voice said. “What is it?”

  She turned to see her whole army quietly staring at her.

  Agatha bared her teeth like a lion.

  “We need to get to Camelot,” she said. “Now.”

  14

  SOPHIE

  He Lies, She Lies

  Sophie stood at the edge of a black pond, swathed in white furs, a babushka wrapped over her hair, as she sprinkled sunflower seeds to a family of ducks.

  In the dusty water, the dark sky reflected as if it was a scene in a crystal ball, the three-quarter moon tinged with red like a severed head. The crack of a hammer made her shudder and she looked up at the workers building a stage on the Gold Tower hill, directly over the imploded hole exposing the dungeons. Aran paced the stage, a dagger on his belt, his coal-black eyes fixed on Sophie through his helmet. Two maids flooded the stage with buckets of soapy water and scrubbed the wooden planks, siphoning the dirt into the grass, where it ran downhill, collecting in the pool at Sophie’s feet.

  Overhead, a new message from Lionsmane gleamed in the sky.

  Due to the attack on the Blessing by Tedros’ allies, Tedros’ execution has been moved up.

  The similarity of this attack to the Snake’s suggests Tedros and his allies were in league with the Snake all along, sabotaging your realms to make himself stronger. The sooner he is dead, the safer our Woods will be.

  The Kingdom Council will witness the execution at dawn and the traitor’s head will be mounted on Camelot’s gates for the world to see.

  Sophie could feel herself holding her breath. It was the first message Rhian had written without her help.

  Part of her wanted to admire Rhian. The boldness of his lies. The ambition of his Evil.

  But she couldn’t admire him. At least not until his head was mounted on that gate.

  Wind blew through the holes in the fur that she’d salvaged from Madame Von Zarachin’s scim-ravaged box and magically mended as best she could. A short while ago, she’d been about to get on Hort’s stymph and escape this place. Holding Hort’s hand, she’d tasted freedom. She’d looked into the eyes of a boy who cared about her, the real her, warts and all. She’d glimpsed what happiness could look like in a different life, a different story. . . .

  But her story wasn’t about happiness anymore.

  It wasn’t about her at all.

  That’s why she’d stayed behind.

  Under her furs, the white dress itched at her skin, more urgently this time, grabbing her out of her thoughts.

  Midnight had long come and gone.

  In a few hours, Tedros would be dead. Along with Professor Dovey and five more students and friends.

  How do you stop an execution?

  How do you stop an axe from coming down?

  She didn’t even know where the prisoners were being kept, with Rhian sealing her under Aran’s supervision while he met with the Kingdom Council inside the castle. The rulers of the Woods had descended upon Camelot for a week-long royal wedding, along with their servants and flunkies, packing every last inn and guesthouse, and now less than a day after they’d been dungbombed out of a church, they would gather for the beheading of King Arthur’s son. Until now, they’d mostly sided with Rhian over Tedros, believing their new king to be a Snake-slaying saint. But Agatha’s appearance in the sky had changed all that. Sophie had seen the rulers’ faces outside the church, looking at Rhian with new doubt, new questions. He’d lied to them about her best friend’s capture. He’d lied to the entire Woods. What else had he lied about? they must be wondering. . . . Surely this was why the Council had convened a meeting.

  She glanced back at the castle, where she’d seen the leaders stream in before sunset, grim-faced and muttering to one another. There’d been no sign of them since.

  Sophie’s heart hummed faster. She had to tell them the truth about Rhian. About the Snake. About everything. They’d never have believed her before, these other rulers. Not after everything Rhian had done to save their kingdoms. But they might believe her now. She just needed to find a way to speak to them. . . .

  The pond rippled as footsteps crackled in the grass behind her, a pale, copper-haired boy appearing in the water’s reflection.

  “Crystal,” said Japeth, barechested in black breeches, his face and body scalded from Dot’s boiling chocolate. “The first letters in your tales spelled out the word. That’s how you communicated with Agatha about a crystal ball. Clever, I must say.”

  Sophie said nothing, watching the workers lay down an ornate block of dark wood, with a divot for a prisoner’s head.

  “When the Mistrals told us we were Arthur’s sons, I didn’t believe them,” said Japeth. “It took a pen to convince me. A pen that showed Rhian and me the future. A future with you. You would be queen to one of us; your blood would keep the other from dying. Keep you at our sides and we’d be invincible. That’s the future the pen promised.” His cold breath shivered her neck. “Of course you’re thinking: Which pen? Lionsmane can’t see the future. So it must be the Storian. Except neither my brother nor I ever went to your precious school. So which pen could it be? That’s the part you have to figure out, Clever Little Cat. Just like my brother had to figure out that girl
s can’t be trusted, even his shiny new queen. He thought if he kept some of your friends alive, you’d fall in line. But now he sees what I’ve been telling him all along. The only way to keep a queen loyal is to keep her at the blade of fear. To destroy everything she loves. You think cleverness can save you. Despair cures cleverness. Pain cures cleverness. That’s why your friends will all die now. My brother made the mistake of thinking you could be reasoned with, but he’s learned his lesson. . . .” His lips touched her ear. “You can no more reason with a girl than you can with a Snake.”

  Sophie spun, glaring into his hateful blue eyes. “You think Agatha will let you kill Tedros? You think the school won’t come for their Dean? They’ll all come.”

  The Snake smiled. “We’re counting on it.” He flicked his tongue at her mouth—

  Sophie punched him in the head, gashing open his temple with the diamond of Rhian’s ring, sending blood spilling down his brother’s blistered cheek.

  Instantly Japeth seized her wrist and for a second, she thought he was going to snap it like a stick. Sophie wrenched away, terrified—

  But then she felt a familiar stab of pain and she turned to see her palm dribbling blood, a scim wiggling back into Japeth’s suit . . .

  . . . and the skin of his face and chest perfectly restored.

  He backed away, grinning, as a black horse sprinted towards him, and he turned and swung onto it. Behind him, twenty pirates in black shirts, black breeches, and black balaclavas rode their own black horses, carrying swords, spears, and clubs. Japeth morphed into his black Snake’s suit and looked up at Aran. “Take her to the castle. My brother’s orders.” Japeth lowered his gaze to Sophie. “The Kingdom Council would like to see her.”

  Sophie’s eyes widened as the Snake and his pirates galloped down the hill and out the castle gates, nothing more than dark shadows against the night.

  “KING’LL CALL WHEN he wants ya,” said Aran, bringing Sophie and her bandaged palm to the double doors of the Blue Ballroom.

  A maid scurried over and whispered in Aran’s ear. Something about the Map Room.

  “Don’t move a inch or I’ll cut yer in half,” Aran ordered, following the maid. He reached back and ripped Sophie’s coat off her. “And this ain’t part of your uniform.”

  Sophie knew better than to argue. But as soon as he was gone, she tiptoed up to the door of the ballroom and cracked it open, just wide enough to get a peek inside.

  A hundred leaders were gathered in the castle’s biggest hall, seated at a constellation of round tables that looked like moons orbiting Rhian’s throne, gleaming on an elevated dais in the center of the room. As the king presided in a clean blue-and-gold suit, Excalibur on his waist, Sophie noticed that each ruler had magically emblazoned their name on the placard in front of them, the names blinking and quivering like moving pictures: THE SULTAN OF SHAZABAH . . . THE QUEEN OF RAJASHAH . . . THE KING OF MERRIMAN . . . THE GRAND VIZIER OF KYRGIOS . . . The ballroom, meanwhile, had been completely overhauled from the stale, crumbly space Sophie remembered: the walls and columns now retiled in mosaics of blue, the floor embellished with a gold Lion crest, and the ceiling fitted with a colossal blue-glass Lion’s head that reflected the king’s throne below.

  “So you’re admitting Agatha’s capture was a lie?” said the King of Foxwood, gaping at Rhian.

  “In Ooty, liars have all their clothes taken away and they must earn them back, one truth at a time,” drawled an eight-armed female dwarf, sitting high on cushions. She was close enough to the door that Sophie could see she was wearing the same silver ring with carvings that she’d noticed on the Queen of Jaunt Jolie and the Elf King of Ladelflop at the church.

  “Tedros may have been a coward, but he didn’t lie,” growled the Wolf King of Bloodbrook, also flaunting a silver ring.

  “Except about being king,” said Rhian stonily.

  “How can we be sure?” said the Princess of Altazarra, curvy and milk-smooth. “Tedros went to the School for Good like me, where you’re taught not to lie. Clearly you went to a school whose standards were not as exacting.”

  “If you lied to us about Agatha’s capture, then you could be lying to us about many things,” said the horned King of Akgul. “This is why we want to talk to Sophie.”

  “And you will. I don’t expect you to take my word, given what’s happened. Not until I explain myself. In the meantime, I’ve sent my brother to fetch her,” said Rhian, his eyes moving to the door. Sophie dodged so he wouldn’t see her spying. The king turned back to his audience. “But now it’s my turn to speak.”

  “We want to talk to Sophie first,” demanded the Minister of the Murmuring Mountains.

  “She’ll tell us the truth!” the Queen of Mahadeva agreed.

  “Camelot’s own Courier suggests that Tedros is still the true king, not you,” said the old, graceful Queen of Maidenvale, seated directly below Rhian. “There was no reason to believe them before, but your lies about Agatha give me pause. Indeed, there’s even talk that you’ve kidnapped Sophie and that she still supports Tedros’ claim to the throne. Until Sophie vouches for you and gives us proof that you’re the king, how can we trust you—”

  A sword shot through the air and impaled her table.

  “That is the proof,” Rhian thundered, his face reflected in Excalibur’s steel. “I pulled the sword. I passed my father’s test. Tedros failed. He usurped the throne that belonged to me by right. And usurpers are beheaded by Camelot law. By all of your kingdoms’ laws. As are traitors. I didn’t hear your support for Tedros when he turned his back on your kingdoms while a Snake tore them apart. I didn’t hear your support for Tedros when I was saving your children from being hanged.”

  The room fell silent. Sophie saw Rhian watching the Queen of Jaunt Jolie, the intended audience of his last line. The queen had lost the defiance she’d showed in the church, her head bowed, her throat bobbing. Sophie thought of the way Rhian had gripped the queen’s arm, hissing into her ear. Whatever he’d said had made its mark.

  “I lied about Agatha’s capture because I hoped to have her in my dungeons before the people knew otherwise,” Rhian declared to the Council. “Now that they know Agatha and her friends are free, they sense a threat to Camelot’s new king. And that gives Agatha power. Power that endangers not only my kingdom, but all of yours too. So yes, I lied. I lied to protect you. But I can’t protect those who are not loyal to me in return. And you cannot be loyal if you continue to wear those rings.”

  Leaders glanced down at the carved pieces of silver on their hands.

  “Each of you wears a ring that pledges your kingdom’s faith to the Storian and to the school that harbors it,” said Rhian. “A ring that bonds you to the school and that pen. A ring that has been passed down in your kingdoms since the beginning of time. A ring that now puts you in danger. And I am telling you: if you want my protection, those rings must be destroyed.”

  Leaders murmured, a mix of amused chuckles and snorts. Sophie could see red rising in Rhian’s cheeks.

  “King Rhian, we’ve advised you repeatedly,” said the Elf King of Ladelflop, “these rings keep the Storian alive—”

  “Those rings are your enemy,” Rhian assailed, standing from his throne. “As long as Agatha is free, she fights under the banner of that ring. She fights under the banner of the Storian and the school. She is a scheming terrorist. A rebel leader who will do anything to put her feckless boyfriend back on the throne, including attacking your kingdoms. Wear that ring and you are aligned against me. Wear that ring and you are as much my enemy as Agatha and her army.”

  The leaders looked skeptically at one another.

  “You are right, King Rhian. Excalibur would not move from the stone for you unless the throne is yours,” said the Empress of Putsi, wrapped in goose feathers. “I believe you are the true king and Tedros is a false one. No one can deny that. It is why we did not oppose your decision to punish him and his princess. But to imply Agatha is a ‘terrorist’ . . . tha
t is a bridge too far.”

  “Especially considering you’re the proven liar,” said the Duke of Hamelin. “King Arthur once wore the same ring you want us to destroy. Then the Mistrals became his advisors and it was said that he destroyed his ring at their urging. That he destroyed Camelot’s ring forever. It is why Tedros never wore it and why you never took possession of it. Arthur died an ignoble death. Burning his ring brought him nothing.”

  “Because he was too weak to recognize the enemy—” Rhian pounced.

  “Or because he listened to voices like yours,” the Duke lambasted. “Why should we believe you over thousands of years of tradition? Why should we believe you over a school that has taught our own children or a princess who is a hero in these Woods? Agatha may have colluded with a usurper, wittingly or not, but she is trained in the ways of Good. And the first rule of Good is that it defends, not attacks.”

  Rhian raised a brow. “Really?”

  He thrust a glowing fingertip at the doors, which swung open, and a sparrow, a hawk, and an eagle flew in, each wearing the royal collar of a kingdom messenger and carrying a scroll in their talons or beaks. The birds dropped their messages to their patron leaders.

  “A break-in at my castle,” the King of Foxwood blurted, reading his scroll.

  “Fairy nests set on fire in Gillikin,” gasped the Fairy Queen, reading hers.

  “My son has been wounded,” said the Ice Giant of Frostplains, looking up from his scroll. “He says he escaped. They were masked men in black. Like the Snake.”

  “The Snake is dead,” Rhian retorted. “But those who conspired with him are not. This is the work of Agatha and her school. She will do anything to dampen support for the real king, including disrupting the wedding and sabotaging your realms while you are all gathered here. Are you willing to see your kingdoms ripped apart again? After I put them back together?”

  The gall of his lies made Sophie gasp. These were Japeth’s attacks. She’d seen him ride off with his men. He’d attacked the Woods to help his brother win the throne and now he was attacking the Woods again to keep him there. And the sheer lunacy of the idea that it was her best friend behind it—